Chapter 16 #3
With this contrary, compelling man, I’m willing to make a handshake deal.
With Griffin, I’m willing to trust.
He nods back at me, eyes shining, and I think he feels it too.
I push forward, watching his face as I enter him inch by inch. His lips part, gold-tipped lashes brush the tops of his cheeks, and those pretty eyes that caught me from the first minute glaze over with pure want.
“B-Beckett,” Griffin whispers, like my name says everything.
His hands find mine, and he threads our fingers together, gripping tight as I bottom out inside him.
Fuck. How is it possible that this man already feels like home?
I kiss Griffin, our lips clinging just as our bodies are locked together, and set a lazy rhythm because I want this to last as long as possible. Want to draw it out all night, if I can.
But the way his dick jumps and his breath punches out of him every time I tag his prostate, his mindless, needy whimpers every time I drag myself out of him, make it impossible to keep up the slow pace.
Griffin’s legs wrap around my waist, and his heels dig into the small of my back, pulling me closer, deeper, begging me to go faster.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him—sweat and skin and that damn citrus hair product that makes me lose my mind. Every single thing about him is fucking perfect, every sound he makes tightening low in my belly.
Griffin’s body clenches around me, breath ragged. “Beckett,” he whines again.
I answer by reaching between us, wrapping my hand around his cock in the way he likes, tugging him firmly while my thumb rubs over his tip.
He comes on a choked cry, like his orgasm snuck up on him. And the way his ass tightens around me, milks me, makes it impossible for me to hold back.
I come in slow waves and sigh his name into the skin of his shoulder.
Afterward, we stay like that, sweaty bodies tangled together with me still inside him, most of my weight braced on my forearms. His fingers trace random patterns up my spine and over my shoulders, and I try to memorize his features in the golden light.
I press a kiss to his temple, letting my lips linger there. “Mine,” I whisper again.
Griffin turns his face just enough to catch my mouth in a slow, deep kiss. Then he sighs, soft and content.
When his sigh turns into a yawn, I chuckle, pull out of him, and dispose of the condom. I find my boxers somewhere at the end of the bed and clean us both off, and then I turn off the light. Within seconds, Griffin has rolled himself practically on top of me.
I hold him tight, one arm around his back and the other threading into his messy golden hair.
And as I follow him into sleep, I think this is the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.
I wake to absolute chaos.
There’s beeping somewhere, like an alarm blaring, and voices outside are shouting. For a second, I don’t understand where I am or what’s happening, but then Griffin pulls out of my arms and grumbles, “The fuck? Again?”
He stumbles out of bed a heartbeat before I do and rushes, naked, to the living room. I catch him around the waist just as he’s about to throw open the front door.
“No way,” I growl, my eyes still at half-mast. “Whatever’s happening out there, you’re getting dressed this time.”
“Bossy,” Griffin breathes, sinking back against me for just a second.
A second is precisely long enough for me to realize my eyelids are not the only thing at half-mast and that Griffin’s ass rubbing against me is a surefire way to get me to full mast in no time.
He turns in my arms and lifts up to kiss me, and I groan the second our tongues touch. Griffin is light, and I am a moth, and I’m incapable of not wanting him.
I’ve just decided whatever’s happening outside can happen without us, when a feminine voice outside gives a shrill yell.
“No, sir, you will not bring that truck onto my son’s property! He said no logging trucks! You will not encroach on his land!”
“Don’t make us call our friends and turn this into a topless protest!” another woman yells.
“Please, ma’am,” a voice that sounds like Freddy’s begs. “We’re just helping out—”
While someone else says, “I wouldn’t mind a topless—” The rest is garbled.
Griffin’s body stiffens in my arms, and he pulls back just far enough for me to see that his eyes are fucking huge.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes. “Beckett! My mothers are here!”
“And my crew,” I confirm. “Fuck.”
“Get dressed!” he wails.
We run back to the bedroom, trying to find the clothes we discarded. I quickly pull on my jeans and henley. Griffin jumps into his pajama pants but then starts running in panicked circles. “I can’t… I don’t… Beckett, where’s my sweater?”
I grab him by the shoulders and force him to stop. “You weren’t wearing it when we went to bed. Find a new shirt!”
“Right. Good call.” He opens a drawer, pulls out a shirt at random, and tucks it under his arm. “Wait, shoes!”
We’re back in the living room, sliding our feet into boots, when another voice joins the fray. “Oh my gosh, you must be Griffin’s mothers! So wonderful to meet you! I’m Vivian Axford. Would you like some apple cake?”
I freeze. Griffin’s eyes widen.
He stomps into his boots and pulls his shirt over his head as I’m throwing the door open… and then I stop.
The shirt Griffin picked is my shirt—the flannel I lent him weeks ago. And it still hangs on his frame, like he’s covered in me from shoulders to thigh.
“Holy fuck,” I growl. I grab him by the buttons and haul him against me, because even in crisis mode, the sight of him in my clothes does things to me. “You are so goddamn sexy.”
He resists for only half a second, then groans and kisses me back…
Until another voice outside, cultured and urbane, drawls, “I assure you, madam, I have no interest in paving anyone’s paradise! My business is with Griffin Mercer, so please let go of my son before I have to call the authorities!”
Griffin gasps and pulls away. “Holy… Beckett, that’s my boss!”
“I’m also here to see Griffin,” another male voice insists. “I’ve made him a business offer, and he’s going to want to see me first.”
“Is that… Derek Sullivan? What the fuck?” I demand.
Griffin shakes his head helplessly.
As we head down the treehouse stairs hand in hand, I’m unsure what is waiting for us. But I also know it has the potential to change absolutely everything.