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“Griffin, this is—”
“Say it again. Say it again, Fox.”
I lower my hand.
He’s looking at me with those green eyes that have always looked so deep and filled with charm.
I take a breath.
“Griffin, let me walk you back to your brother’s suite. You need to sleep.”
His face changes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Foster.”
“Griffin—”
“I don’t want to go to Bastian’s suite. I don’t want to sleep on the pull-out couch. I don’t want you to walk me down the hallway and drop me off like a package.”
“You’re—”
He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and before I can argue some more, he puts his hands on the sides of my face and kisses me.
His lips are soft and warm, like little dessert pillows, and he tastes like chocolate.
My first thought is that I’m finally kissing Finn like I’ve wanted to for almost a year. My second thought is that he isn’t drunk because he still tastes like the chocolate dessert he had after dinner. And if he drank the whiskey he says he did, I can’t taste that.
I put my hand on the small of his back, pull him closer, and kiss him back.
He makes a small sound against my mouth. His hands slide from my face into my hair. I walk him backward, slowly, one step at a time, until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sits.
I bend and kiss him again from above. He tilts his face up. His hand curls in the front of my T-shirt.
I break the kiss just enough to look at him.
“You’re not drunk.”
He smiles. “Not even a little bit.”
“Why are you here?”
I stare at him.
“I think you know, Fox.” He looks up at me. “Isn’t it obvious?”
He pushes his hips up, and they meet my hardening cock.
“Finn, this is a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“Your brother is going to end me.”
“Only if he finds out.”
