17. Lennon
Chapter 17
Lennon
Crave
T he drive to his place was quick and quiet. My mind was spinning with our fight— conversation —whatever you wanted to call it. He was the only man who made me want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.
He parked along the side of the Starling and turned off the engine. He rubbed his palms down his thighs, then suddenly, he frowned as the dash lights left us in the dark. “Why aren’t my lights on?”
“Timer not on?”
“Always is. It’s dark as pitch over here.” He flicked on his headlights. “Give me a second.” He got out and went around the front of the truck to his porch.
I hopped out, slamming my door.
“Do you ever listen?”
“I don’t like people telling me what to do.”
“I’m shocked.” He sighed and stopped at the steps. Glass glittered in the diffused light. “What the hell? Watch your step.”
“Is that your lamp glass?”
“Yeah.” He opened the door and ushered me up the stairs and inside. “I’ll be right back.” He flipped on the lights, then he disappeared back to his truck.
I shrugged out of my jacket, hanging it on the pegs on the wall beside the door. Knowing I wasn’t going home, I bent down and untied the triple knots in my work shoes and kicked them off on the mat.
Griffin came back in and closed the door, locking it. “Not sure who would have done that. The Starling is in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on the orchard. It was fine before I left.”
“You making enemies, Griffin? First my tires—where is my Jeep, by the way?”
“Tommy is bringing it around tomorrow morning.”
“Bringing it where?” I put my hands on my hips.
He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Here.”
Annoyance burned under my skin. “One way to get me back here, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’d have brought it to your place if you were too spicy. Or left it at the taproom.” He took off his jacket and hung it beside mine.
I tried not to let that add to my annoyance. Very fucking homey.
It wasn’t me.
I didn’t leave shit at men’s places. Or hotel rooms. Or apartments—wherever it was that we ended up doing the bang and run. Then I noticed my boots from the night before on the mat.
Hell.
I’d forgotten them. That definitely wasn’t me either.
Fucking hell.
I paced into his living room and went right to the record player. I dragged my nail across the dozens of records on one shelf, then stopped at an old Bruce Springsteen album and slid it out, then onto the player and set it to play.
A bluesy saxophone filled the room and eased the tension out of me. I turned to find Griffin in the kitchen. He came back down the stairs with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons. “Truce?”
“For Caramel Chocolate Cheesecake? Yeah, I can do that.”
He laughed and dropped onto the couch before prying off the top and tossing it on the coffee table. He handed me a spoon. “Your tires then those big ass lanterns are fucking weird.”
I dug into the rock-hard ice cream and chipped out a sliver of ice cream with a chunk of chocolate and instead of eating it, I held it up to him. It did the trick. His worried frown eased, and he accepted the mini bribe.
I took another chunk for myself. “Maybe it was from the storm. It really got wild there for a while.”
“Maybe,” he mumbled around another bite. He cleaned his spoon and slouched in his seat, kicking out his feet. Today’s socks were white with shamrocks.
I pulled up my feet to sit cross-legged and leaned over for more ice cream. “You have enemies?”
“No. A few crazy fans over the years.”
I frowned. “You think that’s what’s going on?”
“Not really. Not like I advertise where I am. I kept my name out of the concert stuff just in case.” At my raised eyebrows, he laughed. “Fortuners are mostly harmless, but there’s always a few that make you grateful for security.”
“Fortuners?” I snickered.
“I didn’t make the name. We weren’t much into the fandom stuff, but there’s plenty of unsanctioned social media spaces. There was even a tribute band or two over the years.” He flipped his spoon and licked it clean before setting it on the end table.
I took over the pint and took another healthy scoop now that it had melted a little. I was a sucker for sweets. “What about the thing you mentioned at the taproom?”
He rolled his head along the cushion to look at me. “We sharing tonight?”
I wasn’t exactly the sharing type and yet I’d given him more details about myself than anyone else in a damn long time. “We all have a reason for trust issues. Parents, lovers, life...”
“Toxic band members, a dash of abandonment issues, and a healthy dose of fame are my monsters. How about you?” He stole my spoon and took a taste before handing it back.
“You have a spoon, you know.”
“I like yours better.”
I rolled my eyes. “Toxic band members for $400, Alex.”
He snorted. “Well, there is a reason the band broke up.” He reached for my braid and found the pin that kept it tucked under in a bun, then started unwinding the thick braid. “Was pretty cliché, to be honest. Pretty sure Fleetwood Mac did it better.”
“Oh.” I resisted the urge to groan as his clever fingers massaged my head where the braid had been tightest. “Swapping partners?”
Did that mean him too?
“Swapping, sharing, you name it. They did it.”
“But not you?” I asked, as I stabbed into a chunk of cheesecake, staring into the pint like it had the answers. It wasn’t my business, and I should have said as much, but the words wouldn’t come.
He cupped the back of my head and turned my attention onto him. “No. I didn’t want any part of their mess.” He seemed to be choosing his words, and my back went rigid.His hand slid from my hair, down my back in a soothing stroke.
“Sorry, it’s not my business.”
“It is if you want it to be.” His green eyes were tired, but clear. There was no haze of alcohol or reticence to share.
“Fine. I want to know.”
He tucked his hand lower and scooped me up off the couch and onto his lap. “They were a hot mess. Marcus, our singer, always wanted her. And Irene knew it. She was the drummer.”
I pictured his band members. I was a casual fan for the most part, but a vague memory of a blond tickled the back of my brain. “Marcus was the shorter guy with the big attitude?”
“That’s about right.” He laughed and leaned forward for a taste.
I scraped out a spoonful from the side of the rapidly disappearing pint and fed him. The intimacy poked at something in me I didn’t want to dissect. “And the blond was super hot, wasn’t she? Irene? Like hey, take care of me, but secretly, I’m going to wreck your life vibe?”
“Sure you’re not more of a fan?”
This time, I laughed as I ate a bite. “My line of work, you figure out people quick. She seems like the kind that would get two guys to fight over her at the bar and then just smile when they came to blows.”
“Well, that was a staggeringly accurate assessment of Irene. I’m pretty sure you missed your calling as a profiler.”
I shifted on his rock-hard thighs. The guy was far more muscular than he looked. And the vague memory of spooning with him sneaked in until I ruthlessly shoved it back. He might be muscular, but he was still cuddly enough to comfort.
I’d been with gym-rat guys that looked great on the outside, but it was like touching plastic. Griffin wasn’t like that. But this couch was not meant for cuddling.
Suddenly, he stood up with me in his arms, and I yelped.
“If we’re going to bare our souls, I need comfier clothes.”
Bruce sang “Hungry Heart” as he carted me up to the kitchen to toss the last of the pint back into the fridge. Then he juggled me so he could grab a pair of cans of water before heading back into the living room.
“I’m not a sack of potatoes.”
“Nothing sack-like about you, Lenny.” His grin was wolfish as he headed for his bedroom. “Grab the owl for me?”
I reached for the lever for his bedroom as the bookcase shifted and he pushed in the door. He set me on the bench.
“I was perfect capable of walking.”
“I like holding you.” He brushed a kiss along my forehead then went to his closet and came back with a white T-shirt with the E-Street Band emblazoned across the front. “Seems fitting.”
I took it. I wasn’t sure what it was about his shirts, but they were soft as hell. I was definitely stealing this one too.
Saying nothing, he went back to the built-in closet and tugged off his shirt. I had to make sure my tongue didn’t roll out when all his back muscles came into view. Most of his ink was relegated to his arms, but there was a hummingbird on his shoulder blade.
Small and green with a flash of pinkish red at the wings as if it was midflight.
As he dropped his jeans, my breath hitched for a whole new reason. Black boxer briefs cupped his tight butt. All sorts of muscles flexed as he took off his socks, as well, and tossed all of his clothes into a basket hidden in a lower panel. When he turned around, the cotton cupped all the rest of him that I enjoyed.
“Enjoying the view?”
“I am.” I stood up. “Are we getting into our jammies?”
He padded over to me and lifted my work shirt off me, then he reached around to the snaps of my bra. It flicked open a little too easily for my taste. I arched a brow at him.
“I’ve been getting into bras since I was fifteen.” He slid the army green lace down my arms, then he cupped me lightly and brushed his thumbs across my nipples until they tightened. His eyes were dark with hunger, but it wasn’t the intensity from earlier. Just the quiet and confident kind that made my skin prickle.
I swayed toward him, but instead of moving this ride along, he reached around me for the shirt. He dropped it over my head, and it fell around me like a dress, then it slid off my shoulder. Then he slipped under the shirt to unbuckle my belt, then the button of my jeans, letting them drop to the floor.
He crouched in front of me, did the same for my socks and tossed them on the bench. He trailed the tips of his fingers up my legs, along my inner thighs, then skipped where I needed him most to rest his hands on my hips, pulling me into an easy dance while Bruce sang about the haunting “ River” from the end of the album.
It wasn’t a romantic song.
It was full of pain and reality, along with so much longing for a different life.
It felt far too much like a soundtrack to a part of us. When the song ended, the record player clicked and another album that had been in the stack dropped, and the haunting vocals of James Arthur’s distinctive voice floated around us.
This song was chock full of longing in a different vein. It spoke of the one that got away. Of compromise and sadness.
It crawled into my chest and left a lump. Then his mouth lowered to mine and it started to dissolve. The kiss was light and sweet. As if he was content to simply learn me instead of devouring me like we had earlier that night.
As the soaring lyrics spoke of not being able to let go, I lifted my arms to his shoulders and held onto him.
I didn’t want to let go of him. Not tonight.
His hands slid down to cup my ass, drawing me against his hardness under the cotton, but still, he didn’t hurry. We swayed as the kiss spun out to tender touches of tongues and lips. Of the unfurling of a rising need that curled around us like the strings of the acoustic guitar that built around us.
His instrument, if not his music.
His deep and abiding love for music matched mine. It had been my only friend some days when I was moving from city to city, town to town, and job to job. The fun, the ache, and sometimes, yes, the pain had kept me sane.
I gasped as the kiss went deeper and his lips coasted to my neck and shoulder, as his fingers slipped under the borrowed shirt to my skin. I shivered as the callouses on the tips of his fingers zipped along the skin of my breasts, then skimmed my nipples.
My head fell back, and his lips raced over to my shoulder, while his fingers made trails over my breasts around my back to my hips then back to the start. Restless with the teasing touches, I arrowed to the one thing I wanted.
I cupped him through the cotton, then dipped under to curl my fingers around his thick shaft and up to find him so damn ready for me. I dropped down to a crouch and he tried to drag me back up, but I had a goal.
I wanted him in my mouth.
He drove me so damn crazy without the least bit of effort and I wanted to show him what it was like. I peeled back the cotton and took the tip of him between my lips, then took even more.
His thighs went rigid, and his fingers sunk into my hair. “Lennon.”
I hummed as I took him deeper. I focused on the salt and the warmth of him as I stroked and licked until his fingers tangled in the waves of my hair. The universal read on a man. The tightness of his muscles then his shuddered breath steered me in the right direction. But then it was about his soft oaths and the way his hips thrust forward into the pleasure.
It wasn’t just knowing my technique. It was falling into him.
Into just this moment.
My jaw ached as I kept dragging him to the edge before easing back. I dropped to my knees as the angle drew him in deeper, and I relaxed to take what I could.
He dragged my head back and stared down at me, his eyes wild with lust. My nails of one hand dug into his perfect ass as I worked him until there was nothing but our gazes locking on each other.
Until he finally let go.
Until all of him was mine.
I took him deep and drained him. When I let him go, his chest was heaving, and the room was a little dark around the edges. I didn’t realize just how revved up I got from owning this moment.
This man .
Then he dragged me up off the floor and into his arms. The bed was close, and he tumbled me onto my back. Finally, he pushed up that shirt over my head as he worshipped my breasts with his mouth, and the soft bristles of his beard. He slid his thick thigh between my legs and nudged me open so he could lay between them.
“You obliterated my brain,” he said against the underside of my breast before he dragged his chin over my belly. He dragged down the matching lace thong and when it got stuck on my ankle, he rose on his knees to tug it free, then he caught my leg and took a quick nip at my ankle.
The sudden bubble of laughter broke some of the spell that had fallen over us. He grinned down at me, then he flipped me over onto my belly.
“Hey!”
He straddled my thighs, and one big hand clapped down on an ass cheek. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Those rough hands dug into my muscles of my lower back and up to my shoulders. He hovered over me, his rapidly recovering cock digging against my ass. “You tried to detach my brain from my head with that spicy mouth of yours.” He tugged at my ear. “How am I not supposed to want all of you when you do that?”
“I’m not the first woman to suck the top of your head off, ace.”
He dragged his bearded chin across the sweep of my shoulder, then back to my neck. He pushed my hair to the side to get to me, his voice little more than a rumble of sound. “You keep trying to make this nothing more than a good workout, but you know it’s not. You know you crave my touch,” his hand tucked under my belly to dip between my thighs, “as much as I crave yours.”
He pressed his cock against my ass, dragging it ever closer to my pussy, but then he leaned over to the bedside table.
I groaned at how close he was, and then I felt something drop onto my back.
I craned my neck and saw his hair was just as wild as mine. The curls falling over his forehead endearingly. But then his eyes met mine and there was nothing sweet there.
The laughter was gone, and in its place was that intense Griffin that made me shiver.
I rolled my hips, and he cursed when the tip of his cock slid forward. My body wanted to arch back and get him inside me, which only made me even more unhinged.
I shouldn’t want this that badly.
Especially without protection.
I dropped my head onto my arms, pushing the pillows out of my way as my body burned for him. The rip of plastic and the snap of latex made me arch my back. “Griffin.”
He dug his fingers into my ass as he tightened my thighs together before he drove into me.
The tightness matched the emptiness, and I shouted out his name as he bottomed out inside of me again and again. The burn of the friction, the heat of his body on top of me, and the way I was on the absolute edge held me captive in a war between us. The way he held me down and filled me up until I couldn’t breathe around the pleasure unlocked something deep inside me.
I reached back and gripped his neck, my nails digging in until he rolled us onto our sides, and he growled against my ear. “I can't get far enough inside you.”
He was going to be permanently embedded in my body, what the hell was he talking about?
Our fingers tangled and he dragged them both over my pussy, our fingers slick with how far gone I was. But he pressed his fingers over mine to circle my clit as he thrust into me. Then lower so I could feel how we were joined. The heat of us together and the way I was so wet for him. For what we were together.
Then it was just too much.
I arched against him and the angle was wrong. He rolled my hips forward and then it was perfect.
So full.
So much.
Everything.
The orgasm rolled me under into the soft blackness of peace before I had to come back up for air and there was nothing other than Griffin wrapped around me as he rocked against me, lost to his own end.
To our own end.
He lowered his forehead to my shoulder, our fingers still linked as he locked his around mine on the mattress.
Slick with sweat, overwhelmed, and absolutely demolished, I could barely catch my breath.
“You trying to kill me?” I managed.
He laughed against my back and collapsed beside me as he slid free of me. “Might as well bring you to the same place I am.”
I rolled onto my chest, unable to move.
He slipped away, but came back in a moment, rolling me off the bed.
“I’m dead. You can’t take me anywhere.”
He laughed. “You’ll like this.”
“No, I won’t,” I whined, but I wrapped my arm around his shoulders.
He brushed that sweet kiss on my forehead again. “You will.” He brought us into the bathroom and sat me down on the side of the tub. “Just what you need.”
“Oh, a bath? I might drown.” I rested my head against his shoulder and held on so I wouldn’t simply ooze onto the floor.
He laughed. “No, you won’t.”
The sound of the water enhanced my exhaustion. I was pretty sure I dozed off, until he picked me up. Instead of setting me into the tub alone, he stepped in with me and cradled me against his massive body.
The bathtub was extra-large and easily fit us both.
“Do you like a bath?”
“I do.” He drew his hands over my skin under the water. “The stage was brutal, and I learned that water was better than any tour masseuse.”
The water was warm, but not too hot.
“I never had the time for a bath.” I slipped my fingers through the water, cupping it to let it roll down my neck.
He rested his chin against my shoulder. “Your breasts are art.”
I giggled at how they floated in the water as the tiredness eased back a bit and left me in a hazy relaxation. “They were a lot of trouble when I was a kid. Stick-thin with a rack like this got me lots of unwanted attention.”
The memories of snide remarks about me and my mom wanted to come forward but then he cupped my breasts in his big hands and brought me back to the here and now.
The only place I longed to be.
“I’m sorry about that.” Lightly, he toyed with them under the water, but it was more soothing than anything else as he kissed my neck. “Kids are crap.”
Not only kids, but now wasn’t the time for that.
I turned and he kissed me. It was as soft as the water and just as soothing.
He washed me gently with a soft knit cloth and then we both stood and rinsed off with the showerhead. My hair was a lost cause, so quickly, I wrung it out and braided it into one long tail that I could pull over my shoulder.
He bundled me into a towel and steered me back into his bedroom. He grabbed the shirt off the bottom of the bed and dropped it over my head. He was still damp when he followed me into the bed, but I was too tired to care.
And also, I was much too tired to pretend I didn’t like him—or even more—wrapped around me.