Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GRIFF
My call with Daria to let her know about me and Phil went so well—“Well, duh, Griff. Anyone could see you’re down bad for him.
”—that I called Katie to set up a meeting with Margaret too.
It’s a weird situation. Normally I would have done a face-to-face with Daria about this, since I was the one who introduced her to the idea of wearing Phallacy.
If anyone can claim that I used bias, it’s her.
But I knew she wouldn’t care, and the call was a formality more than anything else.
I also think Margaret won’t care, and since she was the one who raised the idea of working with Phallacy, it would be hard for her to say my bias influenced my choices.
But my relationship with her isn’t as casual as what I have with Daria, and she might have concerns about me dating the designer who’s working on her gown—namely, that we’ll fight or split up and not be able to remain professional.
That’s bullshit, but she’s entitled to raise it for me to address.
Which is why I’m on her doorstep at six thirty on a Friday night for a quick meeting before she goes out for dinner.
Katie opens the door with a warm smile. “Hey, Griff. Come on in—Margaret’s trying to decide what to wear tonight.”
I manage a chuckle. “My area of expertise.”
She leads me back to Margaret’s dressing room, which is bigger than my living room and organized meticulously.
We put together a system for her years ago, where I color code pieces according to what purpose they’re suitable for and which pieces and accessories can go together.
Margaret’s got a decent sense of style to begin with, but she’s adamant about always going out in public with her “best foot forward.”
“I’ve got a few things left to do before I leave,” Katie’s saying as we walk in, “but if you need privacy, I can do them in another room until you’re done.”
“No, that’s fine. It’s nothing you wouldn’t find out about anyway.”
Margaret turns with a plum-colored skirt in one hand and a dark green cocktail dress in the other. “Griff, thank goodness you’re here. Help.”
I study the two options. “What kind of dinner are we dressing for?”
“Nobu with two co-stars for my next project. The studio wants us to get the buzz started.”
That means the paps will have been tipped off. “The green. There were shoes to match that….” I head over to the shoe racks to find them, mentally cataloguing her accessories.
It takes me three minutes to pull her outfit together. “Who’s doing your makeup?” Margaret’s perfectly capable of doing her own after so many years learning tips from the best in the industry, but when she knows without any doubt that photos will be taken, she prefers to have a pro do it.
“Elise. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
I nod, satisfied. Elise has a great eye and doesn’t need me to make suggestions.
That’s a fine line I walk sometimes—the makeup and hair pros are the experts at what they do, but they don’t always have the overall vision to bring a look together.
Some prefer to have stylist notes to work with; some don’t need them; and some need them but get offended when I make suggestions.
That’s their problem—my ultimate concern is my client.
“So, Griff…” Margaret gracefully sinks onto the plush sofa in the center of the room, and Katie plops down beside her. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m contractually obliged to advise you of any potential conflicts of interest that arise,” I begin. Damian and the lawyer recommended I start that way, since it gives the impression I don’t consider this a “big deal” but am fulfilling a legal requirement.
She rolls her eyes. “Ah, contracts. Don’t tell me—the lipstick color you want me to wear to the Golden Globes is by a brand that sent you PR.”
I laugh. We get so much PR at Style Me that if I set up a meeting to disclose every item to each of my clients, I’d never do anything else.
“Not this time. I’ve started dating Phil Marchand at Phallacy, and since we’re planning for you to wear one of his gowns, there’s a conflict I’m required to disclose. ”
Margaret’s mouth dropped open when I said Phil’s name, but Katie’s squeal prompts a big smile. “You’re dating Phil Marchand? Dare I claim the title of matchmaker?”
The tiny fear that she might not be okay with it dissipates, and I relax. “You should. Phil and I only met after you said you wanted a Phallacy design.”
“That’s so cool!” Katie claps her hands. “It’s like a rom-com plot. Can I tell my mom? She loves hearing about ‘real-life fairy tales.’”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“I’m happy for you, Griff,” Margaret says sincerely. “Thank you for telling me, and consider your legal obligation complete.”
“Thank you. If you ever have any questions or concerns about how my relationship with Phil affects my work for you, you can speak to me or Damian anytime. I want you to feel comfortable.”
She gracefully rises and crosses to pat my arm. “You’ve always made me comfortable, dear. Except for that horrid undergarment contraption I had to wear under the Dior gown at the BAFTAs three years ago.”
When Phil texted this morning to ask what time I wanted him to come over, my reply was immediate, shameless, and eager.
Now.
He sent back an emoji of a running man, which made me smile, and now, half an hour later, my doorbell is ringing. I love that he doesn’t feel the need to play games any more than I do.
I throw open the door and grab him for a kiss before he can even step over the threshold.
My intention was for it to be a “hello” kiss, but it’s Phil, and his mouth and taste and the feel of him in my arms are all addictive.
I’m not even sure how long we’ve been kissing when a wolf whistle pierces my awareness.
Dazedly, I lift my head, taking a second to notice with satisfaction that Phil’s pupils are dilated and he looks blissed out. Then I glare at my neighbor, who’s paused beside my mailbox, her dog at the end of the leash looking just as amused as she does.
“Go away, Bettina.”
She grins. “You have a good day, too, Griff. Nice to meet you, Griff’s cutie.”
I growl as she walks away, giggling to herself, and pull Phil inside so I can close the door.
“Did you hear that?” he says, his cheeks pink—whether from the kiss or embarrassment, I’m not sure. “I’m your cutie.”
His eyes sparkle with mischief, and it makes me happy all the way to my bones. “Yeah, you are.”
Vivi chooses that moment to put her paws up on Phil’s leg, and he crouches down to give her some love. “What are we doing today?” he asks while he rubs her ears, and she sprawls on him like the little cuddle whore she is. “It’s a gorgeous day. Could we take Vivi to the park or something?”
I know for sure the look on my face right now would have my Marine brothers calling me a sap, but I legit don’t care. Phil including my dog in our plans makes me want to shout from the rooftops that I have the best boyfriend in the world.
It’s probably too soon to use that word. I should wait at least until Monday.
“We could,” I reply when he glances expectantly up at me. “She’s actually been invited for a socialization appointment this afternoon at this canine club I’ve been thinking of signing her up at. We could go there and check it out.”
“A socialization appointment? What’s that?”
I shrug. “I’m not exactly sure, but this place doesn’t let dogs join if they’re not good with other dogs, so I’m guessing they want to see how she does. And I want to see how she likes it too. I wouldn’t mind another opinion about whether she should join.”
“Happy to give opinions. Would… I mean, how many other people…”
I immediately get what he’s asking. “There will be other people there, but the way I understand it is that everything is centered on the dogs. The fees are high, so everyone who comes is going to care more about their dog than anything else. But we can leave anytime, and if you’re nonverbal but want to stay, I’ll be with you the whole time to run interference. ”
He stands so quickly that I don’t have a chance to step back and give him room before his mouth is on mine again. “That’s this afternoon, right?” he murmurs between kisses, and I manage a grunt of agreement. “Great. I’ve got something else we can do until then. Your bedroom’s this way, right?”
I like this assertive side of him and obediently follow him to my room. Vivi whines as I close the door in her little face, but it’s not like she doesn’t have the run of the house, and there are some things my baby doesn’t need to see.
Phil’s already shirtless when I turn back to him, a fiery red flush rising from his chest to his face, and I want to press kisses to all that pink skin and see if it feels as hot as it looks.
He reaches for the button of his jeans, and I spring into action. Sure, watching him strip is fun, but if I’m not participating in the whole getting-naked thing, our ultimate gratification is just going to be delayed.
“You, uh… wow. I guess I should have expected that a former Marine would work out a lot.”
I flash him a grin, loving the way his eyes are glued to my body. “Not as much as I used to,” I admit. “But it gives me brain time.”
He nods solemnly, climbing onto my bed. “Brain time is important.”
I toss aside my socks and crawl onto the bed to join him, a happy thrill going through me when he reaches out a hand to draw me into a kiss. The light scrub of his fingertips against the back of my head raises goose bumps over my whole body, and I gasp into his mouth.
“What do you like?” I whisper when we finally separate in search of oxygen.
He shrugs. “I’m good with most things. I’m vers, but I prefer to top.”
Excellent. “Let me get the lube, then.”
Phil watches with an intensity that’s way out of proportion to what I’m doing—opening a nightstand drawer—but knowing he feels like that about me lights me up inside.
“Gimme,” he murmurs when I’ve retrieved the bottle of lube and a condom, and I chuckle as I hand them over.
“What?”
“I love this bossy side of you. It goes with your stubborn side.”
His jaw drops. “Stubborn? Um, hello! Look who’s talking, Mr. I Don’t Want The Overskirt.”
This time I laugh properly. “Still hung up on that, are we?”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “On your back, Griff, and I’ll show you what bossy looks like.”
I steal a kiss, then obey, gladly lying back against the pillows and taking advantage of this opportunity to admire him.
Clothes make him look slimmer than he is, hiding some of his lean muscle.
The creamy pale skin of his limbs and chest is lightly furred with red hair just a little darker than what’s on his head, and a happy trail bisects his smooth abdomen.
I want to run my hands and mouth over every inch of him.
As though reading my mind, he leans over and kisses a trail from my shoulder down my chest, pausing to flick his tongue over my nipples. “I could eat you up,” he murmurs. “Later. You can be dessert.”
“I’m not the one with a cherry on top,” I say, eyes flicking up to his bright hair.
He snorts. “I think we’re doing this wrong. Bad jokes shouldn’t be part of sex.”
Using only my ab muscles, I roll up and catch his mouth in a deep, wet kiss. “Sweetheart, if it makes you happy, anything goes.”
The beautiful, slightly goofy smile that takes over his face makes me want to make even more bad jokes, but before I can think of one, he shakes his head and says, “Knees up.”
Hell yeah. I lie back down and pull my legs up, giving him as much access as he likes. He stares down at my hole and bites his lip, breathing coming a little heavier.
“Um…. That’s…” He clears his throat. “One day, maybe I could e-eat you out? Not today,” he adds quickly, and I wonder if maybe he’s not that experienced. Should I say something?
No. He’s an adult, and I need to trust him to drive this the way he wants it.
“Anytime you want, sweetheart,” I promise him, and the way his gaze turns molten is all it takes for my already stiff cock to become achingly hard.
“Next time,” he murmurs, uncapping the lube, and then I need to rethink my assumption that he’s not experienced as he proceeds to tease me to the point of begging with his long, clever fingers.
“Phil,” I whine. “Come on, sweetheart, please.”
The confident little smirk on his face is both endearing and terrifying. “Let’s switch places. I want you to ride me.”
Oh fuck yeah.
In a heartbeat, I have him on his back and am straddling his thighs. “Where’s the condom?”
He pats around on the covers until he finds it, and then I make short work of sheathing and lubing his dick. “Can’t wait to suck you off,” I tell him, and his whole body shudders.
“Let’s make a sex list,” he suggests breathlessly. “I want to do it all.”
On that glorious thought, I rise up on my knees, position us both, and sink down on his cock, reveling in the pressure and burn as the head pushes inside. Phil’s explosive gasp is music to my ears, and I hold like that, with just the tip in me. Sweat breaks out on my face, but I need—
“Griff, please,” he begs, moving restlessly beneath me, and that’s my cue.
I slide down carefully until he’s all the way in, then lift myself again slowly. Phil’s eyes close, then open as he reaches out to wrap his hand around my dick.
“Bet I can get you off first,” he challenges, his voice unsteady, and I huff a laugh.
“I bet you can,” I agree, then slide down again, tightening my inner muscles all the way.
“Maybe not,” he squeaks. “I’m not going to last long.”
“Me neither. Race you?” I don’t wait for his nod before I begin fucking myself onto his cock in earnest, and he’s only a beat behind as he jerks me off.
Sweat trickles down my spine.
Air saws in and out of my lungs.
My balls get tight, my dick leaking.
And when we come, we’re so close together that it’s impossible to tell who was first.
Just the way I wanted it.