I watch, entranced, as his muscles flex and stretch when he stands. There’s a brutal sort of beauty to a man like Griffin. One who’s honed his body to lean, muscular perfection. He crosses the room in three long strides, and a pathetic squeak escapes my lips when he stops close enough that our chests brush with each ragged inhalation. Gulping, I peer up at him. His palms cradle my face. “What are you doing?”
“The way I see it, we’re screwed no matter what. At some point, this will come out. Whether we annul this marriage now, divorce six months from now, or make this work, your brother isgoing to find out, and he’ll probably want to castrate me.” A flash of worry darkens his eyes for only a second before he forces the emotion away and slips back into his mask of unflappable mirth. “And yeah, this wasn’t the plan, and we were drunk, but would it be so bad to be married to me? I’ve never felt as comfortable around any woman as I’ve felt living with you for the last three months. We have fun together. I get you, and I think you get me.”
“I do, Griffin. And I love living with you. But that means we make great friends. Not that we should be married.”
He lowers his face so his mouth hovers mere centimeters away from mine as his hazel eyes search me. After a moment, the corner of his lips twitch, as if he’s come to some kind of decision. “We are great friends. But are you sure that’s all we are? Do you think I haven’t noticed how you look at me when you believe I’m not paying attention?” He drags his nose along mine, and the scruff on his jaw scrapes against my cheek. “Do you think I’ve never caught you checking out my body when I walk around in sweats and nothing else?” His nose skims along my cheekbone, lips feathering across my heated skin.
It’s all I can do to keep my knees from buckling, because having Griffin’s naked body pressed against mine with nothing but a sheet toga between us is intense enough. Feeling his hands on my face and his nose and lips teasing my flushed skin is almost too much. There’s no denying that I’m attracted to Griffin, but he’s always been off-limits. I could look but not touch. But this? Having him touch me like I’m precious and beautiful and wanted?
My resolve is fracturing at an alarming rate.
“Griffin,” I murmur as my eyes fall closed. I don’t know if it’s a plea or a protest, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because my body leans into him. It doesn’t care that this is a bad idea. Isn’t worried about the consequences. All my body cares about is thatGriffin is beautiful, warm, and hard in all the right places. And my body wants him. His lips twitch against the corner of mine like he’s smiling.
“Mira.” His hands shift and move, so one cups the back of my head and the other charts a sensual path across my collarbone, down my arm, and over my hip before he grips me and pulls me tighter against his body. Shivers and heat spread over my flesh, and when he grinds his hard dick against my belly, I gasp, which earns me a chuckle. “Are you telling me that if I pulled this sheet off your body and dipped my fingers into your hot little pussy, they wouldn’t be coated in your arousal?”
My core clenches at his dirty words and the feel of him as his hips gently buck against my stomach. The cracks in my resolve grow larger. “N-no.”
Griffin chuckles. “No, they wouldn’t be coated in your arousal, or no, you’re not telling me that?” His grip loosens on my hip, and I gasp when his fingers skim across my pubic bone. “Because there’s a simple way to find out if you’re lying.”
“I… I…” I’m short-circuiting because Griffin’s lips press against my neck.
“Should we find out just how wet you are, beautiful wife?” His fingers tug on the sheet I’m clutching to my body. “See if your pretty thighs are messy?” Another gentle tug. He doesn’t pull on the fabric hard enough to rip it from my body. Not unless I let him. And I am more tempted to let go of my grip with every passing moment.
“If you’re messy, I’d be happy to clean you up.” He nips at my jaw. “I do love eating dessert for breakfast.”
Fuuuuuck me.
Being the object of Griffin’s focus when he’s like this is heady. No wonder he has women falling at his feet on the regular. Between his golden-boy good looks, his hard body, and his filthy mouth, I’m ready to combust.
I need to stay strong.
“This is crazy,” I say. The words come out breathy, and raspier than I’d like. So much for staying strong.
“Is it? Or does it make perfect sense?” Griffin kisses down my neck and my back arches, giving him easier access. His low chuckle sends tingles shooting across my skin like tiny fireworks. When his lips feather across the swell of my breasts, I gasp.
“God, Griffin.” Tangling my fingers in his messy hair, I let my eyes fall closed. He hasn’t touched my nipples or my pussy, and already I’m damn near ready to come.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I should say yes. It would be smart to say yes. This is dangerous territory, even without the issue of our drunken elopement. Add in the fact that I want to undo what we’ve done and Griffin—for some inexplicable reason—wants to give this a shot, and this thing between us is fraught with so many landmines, we’ll be lucky if both of us don’t end up maimed and broken beyond repair.
My mind recognizes this.
My body doesn’t give a single flying fuck.
I mumble out something incoherent.
“I need your words, wife.” Griffin chuckles against my chest. “Do you want me to stop?”
Yes.
“No.”
Dammit, Mira.
Another chuckle sends goose bumps skittering across my arms. Then Griffin gives the sheet another soft tug, I release it from my grip, and my whole body erupts in goose bumps when I’m exposed to the cool air and Griffin’s warm body.
Then his mouth descends on my breasts and I’m a goner.
