“Gods, Clem. You’re so sexy; it’s torture.” His voice does sound pained, and something hard brushes my leg before he shifts his hips backward.
Before Griffith can stop me, I fist the covers and rip them off of us, exposing my askew PJs and his straining erection.
“Fuck your hand while I watch.” See? I’m willing to compromise.
And Griffith, good boy that he is, obeys. He tugs down the waistband of his briefs, frees a cock that has me salivating, and strokes with a rougher grip than I would have expected.
“I’m going to do that to you soon,” I tell him. “I can’t wait to know what you feel like in my hand. In my mouth.”
Curses roll out on grunts as he thrusts into his own palm.
“How are you going to take me the first time?” I ask, breathless at all the possibilities. “You on top, driving me into the mattress? Me straddling your thighs? Or maybe you’ll bend me over the couch downstairs and fuck me from behind.”
“Gods fucking hell. You’ve got a filthy mouth, Clem.”
“You love it.” I smirk.
“I do.” He holds my eyes with his just before he rolls onto his back, and his body jerks and spills, streams of his pleasure soaking his stomach.
While he’s prone and spent, I lean forward and capture his mouth in a searing kiss. One of my fangs pricks his lip. A bead of rich blood spreads across my tongue, and when I suck to get another drop, Griffith jerks and comes a second time. I worry his eyes might roll back in his head.
I gentle my kiss to a soft trail across his cheek until I reach his ear. “Still alive, wolf?”
He chuckles and wraps me in a careful hug. “For now.”
28
CLEMENTINE
I don’t knowif it was our hot night or me threatening to sneak out when he wasn’t looking, but Griffith stops insisting on bedrest. He and Carl continue to orbit me like I’m a toddler with a fork, trying to poke electrical sockets, but I find it easy to ignore them as long as I can focus on my work.
Also helps that I’m sitting in Local Brew, where other customers demand Griffith’s attention so he can’t simply stand, staring at me, waiting for me to combust, which is what he seems to think will happen if I’m left unattended for five minutes.
I press Publish on a new web page I’ve been tweaking this past hour and roll my shoulders with a sigh before taking a fortifying sip of my beer. A little reward for a job well done. I also give my eyes a break from the screen, scanning the growing crowd. There are friend groups, maybe a date or two, and a couple of singles hanging at the bar. The overall tone is jovial, and a new song comes on the jukebox that gets a few people swaying.
I’m eyeing the not-quite dancing when Griffith appears across from me.
“Need a refill?”
“Yes, please.”
I grin when he leans toward me, knowing what he wants as payment. I cross the last inch to press a quick kiss to his delicious mouth. He hums a happy sound before scooping up my glass, knowing I’m going to want the vanilla-hibiscus sour. My beer.
The one he named Snarky Little Mermaid.
As he pours, my eyes track back to the dance floor.
“How often do you have musical acts in here?” With a tilt of my head, I gesture toward the small stage.
He shrugs. “Maybe one every other month. Not many bands come through town. There are a few locals who like to play, so if they ask, I’ll arrange it.”
My mind goes back to my conversation with Neri, the initial idea that was shoved to the back of my mind in the chaos of my wound reopening. Once again, I feel the excited anticipation of a fun challenge.
All I need is to get Griffith on board.
“Would you be interested in more music? People love a live band.”
He quirks a brow. “You got ideas?”
