Chapter 8
Griffin
Her heart hammers against mine, and I can’t stop touching her. My hand traces her back in long, lazy strokes and I brush my lips along her temple. Jasmine swirls in the air around me and I don’t ever want it to fade.
A soft, sweet snore escapes her and I pull back to look at her. My angelic beauty is out like a light, and I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.
This woman. This vibrant, headstrong, hard-hustling woman is right where she belongs.
With me.
We’re still joined. Still wrapped up together in my favorite armchair and cocooned inside the safe space of my library.
I don’t want to leave. I don’t want the real world to come crashing down on top of me.
But it doesn’t matter. I fucked up.
Crossed a line that I never should’ve gone over, and now there’s no going back.
Honestly? I can’t bring myself to give a single shit. Even if it might cost me my friendship.
I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, there’s time yet for us to enjoy each other. Enjoy this, whatever it is.
And Andy?
Well, I’ll find a way to explain it to him someday.
I hope.
After a while, I carry her up the stairs, gently lay her in my bed and clean off both our bodies. Then I curl up with her, huddle in close, and nap alongside her.
It takes Max five days to fix the electrics. But even after he does, Sage doesn’t move her stuff back to the ramshackle house next door.
Oh, she keeps working on it. In between teaching, grading, renovating the house next door, and recording those erotic short stories for an app I’ve definitely not downloaded, Sage and I settle into something warm and domestic.
When I finish working for the day, I find her tinkering around in my kitchen or curled up in my armchair reading another script.
Other days, she stays holed up in the walk-in closet of the guest bedroom, recording for hours. Something about clothes absorbing the sound? I don’t know.
If I catch her working, I try to leave her be. I know her voice-over work lets her stay connected to performance, and it’s every bit as important for her to express her artistry as it is for me to saw, hew, and display mine.
But I won’t lie.
There are times I stand outside that door, hard as a rock and staring at the clock, waiting for her to come out and play.
Today’s not one of those days. Today’s a day when the material she reads has had a particular effect on her because she comes tearing into my workshop with a flannel tied up in a knot between her breasts.
Her jean cut-off shorts are slashed high enough to grant me a great view of her ass every time she bends over pieces of my work littered around the shop.
I straighten, remove my safety equipment, and turn off the power saw when I catch a glimpse of her eyeballing a bespoke mountain range wall artwork some professional hockey player commissioned for his new house along the beachfront.
“You need something, sweetheart?” My hand rests on my belt buckle, and my eyes travel over every curve she’s put on display.
The sparkle in her eyes tells me I haven’t read her wrong at all.
“Yeah, baby, I do. Thought you could maybe help me out because I seem to have a problem only you can fix.”
My brows lift as my cock thickens. I used to protest these visits because I wanted to wash up and get clean for her, but me being hot and sweaty never seemed to bother my beauty.
And the truth is, it’s so refreshing having someone who wants me as I am.
So when she flashes that wicked smile of hers and crooks her little finger, it only takes me four strides to cross the shop, hoist her into my arms, and deposit her on one of my spare, unoccupied work tables.
“Everything’s coming together,” she says.
“Yeah?” I growl, tearing at her clothes and tossing her shorts over my shoulder. “That include you and me?”
She laughs when I kiss along her neck and hit a sensitive spot that makes her shiver as she undoes my jeans and frees up my cock.
“I meant the house, but I’ll come with you if you make me.”
“Challenge accepted.” I arch back, line myself up and watch as my cock disappears between her folds. The sight is filthy and beautiful, but the sensation of her squeezing me is what sends me straight to heaven. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good.”
“I love feeling you inside me.”
This time, I can’t be bothered to go soft and slow. Instead, I pump into her in hard, long strokes. Her legs lock around my waist, and she clings to me, meeting me stroke for stroke.
We work ourselves into a frenzy. Our whispered words, part praise, part curse.
And when I feel her thighs shudder around me, I slip a hand between us to rub her clit the way she likes.
That’s all it takes to make her come undone. She shudders and gasps as I fuck her through her orgasm and race toward my own finish.
“Griffin,” she says, tracing my bottom lip with her thumb. “I love you.”
My throat closes up, but my rhythm doesn’t break or snap. I just hold her gaze, suck her digit into my mouth, and explode inside of her on a groan. Shuddering, with her arms wrapped around me, I press breathless kisses to the side of her neck and feel my heart race inside my chest.
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, ready to burst out of me when I hear the back gate creak open and slam shut. Then an old, familiar voice calls out.
“Griff? You out back, buddy?”
I tear away from Sage, eyes wide. We snap to attention as I toss her the discarded shorts and hike my jeans up over my hips.
“It’s my dad,” she whispers, horrified and trying to right her shirt.
“I know.” Heart stuttering in my chest, I button my fly as fast as I can and head for the door. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll handle this.”
Then, I’m out the door and in the light before she can say anything else.