Chapter Fourteen
Veda
Griffin and I helped clean up in the common room. Someone took care of the men who’d attacked -- both living and dead. I found myself in a state of shock, not really processing what happened or sure about how to proceed.
Before I realized he’d led me away from the others, I found myself walking across the quad toward Griffin’s apartment.
The adrenaline had burned off, leaving just the raw, nervous energy between us.
The entire walk I barely looked at him. My skin was already vibrating, every nerve ending tuned to Griffin.
The combination of violence, anger, and the raw need to know I survived simmered just below the surface and I knew without a doubt I was about to fuck this man until I passed out. I also knew he’d let me.
We made it up the lift and down the hall.
Griffin unlocked the door, opened it, and I stepped inside first. I turned, grabbed a fistful of Griffin’s shirt, and pulled him to me, clawing his shirt off in a swift tug over his head.
He met me without hesitation, palms catching my hips, pinning them tight to his as he walked me backward.
We made it three steps before my shoulders hit the wall, and the collision knocked the breath from me.
He caught the exhalation, swallowed it down with his mouth on mine, kissing me like he wanted to breathe in the last of the fight right out of my body.
I kissed him back, teeth and tongue, the edge of his stubble rubbing my chin and the taste of him still metallic from the fight where the corner of his lip wept a small line of blood.
An instant later, Griffin had my wrists above my head, one hand holding them there, the other already at my waist, dragging up the hem of my shirt above my belly to find the bare skin and slid his warm, rough palm around my waist to my back.
Then he dropped his hand to my ass and squeezed. I couldn’t bite back a whimper of need.
“Still good, Veda? You hurt – Christ, woman!” I cut off whatever he almost said by gripping the crotch of his jeans and cupping his dick through the denim.
“Don’t you fucking dare slow down,” I snapped, panting into his mouth.
He grinned against my mouth, the muscles of his forearm flexing as he shifted his grip. His other hand moved between us, tracing the waistband of my sweats and then sliding under, fingers slipping straight to my pussy where I was already wet and aching for him.
“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re fuckin’ soaked for me.”
“Link between sex and violence, honey,” I bit back, but my voice shook, and I hated how much I wanted him to know how fucking right he had me pegged. I was fuckin’ soaked for him. Only him. It worried me how much I never wanted to ever be in anyone else’s arms other than Griffin’s.
He didn’t call me out. Instead, he let go of my wrists and spun me around so I faced the wall. I braced myself, arms out, palms flat against the surface. He fisted my hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to let me know I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Hands stay right there,” he told me. He yanked my sweatpants and underwear to my knees in one rough motion, and the sudden cold was a slap to my system. He unbuckled his belt with one hand. The sound of leather leaving denim turned me on even more, and I shivered with anticipation.
He pushed up behind me, one arm around my torso to keep me from squirming. Then he fucked into me in a single, brutal thrust that drove me hard into the wall. I gasped, the pain a sharp edge that blended straight into pleasure. I steadied myself and rocked back to meet him.
I wanted him rough. I wanted the marks and the bruises and the slap of skin, because it meant I’d survived.
Griffin had come for me. And somehow, without me realizing it, Griffin had reached inside me, snagged a little piece of my heart and soul, and made it his own.
I wanted everything he had to give me. Now.
“Harder,” I cried, gritting my teeth with a need I couldn’t hide.
He gave it to me, each stroke punishing and perfect. My hands curled into fists. I felt the sweat on my lower back, felt the bruises under his fingers as he gripped my hips and held me in place, felt the violence and the safety of it at the same time. And, oh my God, the pleasure…
Somewhere in the haze of sex and lust I tried to look back at him, but he bunched his hand in my hair again, tugging my head back as he spoke right at my ear. “You want it like this?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“Yes. Don’t stop.” My voice came out breathless and needy.
He didn’t. He let go of my hip to wrap his arm under my chest, pinning my torso to his. I felt the tremor in his thighs where they pressed against the backs of mine. I trembled every time he bottomed out, deep and rough, and it only made me want him more.
I came apart first, hard and fast and ugly, making noises I’d never made in my life.
My vision went white, my legs buckling as every muscle locked around his cock.
He fucked me through it, arms tightening around me so tight I didn’t know if I could suck in a breath.
And I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way.
Griffin’s own orgasm followed quickly, his rhythm breaking, the slap of his hips stuttering as he came, groaning low in my ear. He collapsed against my back, sweat-slick and shaking, both of us held up only by the wall and each other.
For a few seconds, neither of us moved. I felt the pulse of his heartbeat, the heat of his breath in my hair, the weight of him holding me up.
I started laughing. Just a short, stupid, breathless thing that caught in my throat and felt more like a sob than a laugh.
I don’t know why, but it was all I could do.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he loosened his grip around me but didn’t let go as he urged me to turn in his arms to face him.
Griffin leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine, still breathing hard, both of us half-dressed and damp with sweat. I had his cum between my legs, trickling down the inside of one thigh.
He reached up, cradling the back of my head in one huge palm. He pulled me in and kissed me, slow and tender, as if there was no one else in the world but the two of us and this room and the mess we’d made of each other.
I knew we didn’t have long before shit started happening. And I wanted shit to start happening. I wanted my sister back.
“I know we don’t have much time. But I needed this for myself.” I reached up and framed his face with my hands, leaning up to kiss him again. “I’m glad I got to spend that time with you.”
He stepped back and took a slow, measured look at my face. “C’mon,” he said, voice gone rough around the edges. “Shower. Nap. Knuckles will let us know when shit happens.”
I followed him to the small bathroom, not even pretending not to stare at the sweep of his back or the perfect curve of his ass as he peeled out of his jeans. I shed my clothes, tossing them in the corner. Griffin started the water and finished undressing.
The bathroom filled with steam that curled my hair and made the air turn syrup-thick.
We both stepped into the shower, the fall of water gentle between us from a large shower head.
I stood under the water, letting it wash the grime and blood and sweat off my skin, and it felt fucking holy.
Griffin braced his arms on either side of me, backing me against the wall and caging me in.
The water streamed over his face and chest and made every part of him gleam.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever needed anything as bad as I needed that right then. And we’d just had sex.
He reached for the soap. “Gimme your hands.” I did, and he lathered them up, rubbing the soap between my fingers, over the healing cut and bruised knuckles.
His ministrations felt almost ritualistic.
Like something warriors did for each other after battle.
He finished with my hands, then worked his way slowly up my arms, shoulders, neck.
He took his time with my body, like he wanted to memorize every part of me.
He even soaped behind my ears, then ran his hands through my hair and massaged my scalp, every touch deliberate. I melted with each pass.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Veda.”
Griffin urged me to turn, so I leaned back against him before closing my eyes.
Griffin soaped my chest, my breasts, and the slope of my ribs where old bruises patchworked my skin.
His hands were big and rough, but he handled me like I might break any second.
The contrast made me ache with both need and affection.
I arched up into his hands, letting myself want what I wanted, and the growl he gave made me flush even hotter.
He held me like that, my back against his chest, his cock stiffening again and pressing against the small of my back as his hands roamed my body, each movement slow, almost reverent.
As if the rough, animal need we’d crashed through moments earlier had only been the first act.
This was the second, and he intended to have it burn twice as hot.
He pressed a kiss to the curve of my shoulder, then another up the side of my neck, trailing steam-soaked heat across my skin.
I let my head loll forward, trusting him to hold my weight as I sagged.
For a second, I thought he might just keep washing me, content to let his hands tell me the things words would ruin.
Then his hand dipped low, sliding across my belly and lower, fingers finding my clit and rolling it, gentle at first, then firmer, until I relaxed into his hold and whimpered with need.
“God, don’t stop.” I didn’t even care I begged him.
“I won’t,” he promised, nipping at my ear.
I turned in his arms, reaching between us to find his cock, and stroked it, twisting my wrist in a way that had him biting back a curse. I guided him between my legs without letting go of his cock.