Chapter 24 #2
He crushes his lips to mine.
At the altar, the kiss was electric. New. Shocking.
But there, we had an audience. Now, we’re all alone.
Griffin walks me backward as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his teeth scraping against my lips, clicking against mine. He’s hard and soft all at once; needy and giving. I cling to his shoulders as he presses me up against the wall, sliding his hand down to my clavicle and pinning me in place.
Then, just like that, he pulls away. For a moment, we just look each other in the eye, both of our chests heaving.
My heart pounds so hard I swear it’s thundering through the room.
He opens his mouth, and I hold my rapid breath. I’ll say yes to anything right now.
“I’m going to the shop,” he says. “I’ll be back in an hour so I’m out of your way when you’re doing that thing you do.”
My heart drops. Are you fucking kidding me? Also—“What thing do I do?”
“Walking back and forth in that T-shirt.” He lets me go and waves his hand around in the air as if to demonstrate.
Then he makes a final choked kind of angry sound and spins on his heel, ripping his tie out of his collar as he goes.
He doesn’t hang anything up. I watch as he tosses the tie on the couch, then veers to the kitchen, stripping off his jacket and throwing it hard over a chair.
He practically rips open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer, which he cracks against the edge of the counter with a deft chop of his hand, tossing the cap in the sink.
“There are more if you want them,” he grunts out.
“Bottle opener…there.” He waves his hand at the drawers.
Then he’s gone, down the hallway and through the door to his shop, which I’ve still never ventured into.
I watch the whole thing with an enraptured kind of awe.
I should be furious. But victory spreads through me even as I nurse the sting of rejection in my chest.
At the very least, I got to him. He may have walked away, but I won that one in spades.
After he’s gone, I slump against the wall. Then I ball my hands into fists. He’s right on one thing—there’s no point talking right now, not while feelings are running high. And fuck him if he doesn’t think his are. Emotionally stunted asshole.
I grab a beer from the fridge myself, hesitate, then try the trick he did on the countertop.
I lean the bottle against the edge and karate chop the top with my hand.
All I manage to do is send a jolt of pain searing through my hand. “Ow!” I hiss in pain, my other hand nearly dropping the bottle.
I use the bottle opener like a lady, and the moment the bottle is open, I take a long swig.
This will do. I’ll numb my feelings with a beer, which I haven’t really drunk since college. Very healthy.
But it’s not enough. My body is still zinging from the intensity of what just happened.
I strip my clothes off right there in the kitchen, just as a little fuck-you to Griffin. Let him see them later so he knows I got naked in the middle of this room. Let him use them as jerk-off fodder later when he’s trying to satisfy something he could walk into the next room to take.
Asshole.
I set the beer down on the counter, then get in the shower, blasting it on cold. I don’t want to stay wanting him tonight.
But the moment icy water hits my skin, I shriek.
“Oh, hell no.”
I scramble for the faucet, cranking it so it warms up.
I’ve just gotten it to lukewarm when I hear the knock on the door. It’s not tentative.
I freeze. I squat down in the tub; covered, sort of.
“Sasha.” It’s not a question.
“What do you want?” I’m not willing to be especially kind.
“Can I talk to you?”
I wrap my arms around my knees. “You want to talk? Go ahead.”
“I’m opening the door.”
I jerk the shower curtain open wide. “You heard what I said.”
Griffin opens the door.
I want to stay mad. I want to yell at him to get lost and mean it.
But all I can do is stare.
He’s stripped off his socks, but otherwise, he’s still fully clothed.
His white dress shirt’s still tucked into his pants, but it’s unbuttoned at the top, his carved chest visible.
His sleeves are rolled up, revealing those thick, corded forearms, currently flexing as he stretches his hands beside him.
“So you finally want to talk?” I ask.
“No.” His voice is raised so I can hear him over the splatter of water, but I can still hear the rasp in it.
My stomach does a little barrel roll, my heart tapping against my ribs. “Then why are you here?”
There’s so much heat in his gaze I nearly come undone.
“I don’t know,” he rasps.
I press my hands on the side of the tub, knowing I’m revealing my breasts to him.
“Jesus,” he growls, his eyes on my bare tits.
I stand up then, revealing all of me. Lukewarm water hammers down on my shoulder, doing nothing to cool the heat burning inside me.
His eyes rake over my body, his hands flexing at his sides. “Do you know what it’s like being me?” He takes a step toward me. “Having to be close to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, one who drives me fucking insane? Who sleeps in my clothes in my bed?”
“Tell me,” I say, my voice barely audible over the sound of the water. I can feel my nipples hardening into stiff peaks for him, plucking forward, aching as his eyes dance over me.
“It’s impossible.” He reaches me, gently sliding his hands over my hips, his working hands rough against the smooth slickness of my wet skin. “I thought I was strong, but you make me fucking weak, Sasha.”
His voice is anything but weak. It’s deep and hard and makes my whole body react, like every nerve ending is on fire.
From this close, I can see the bulge at his crotch. It’s huge, jumping visibly right before he drops to his knees before me. His big hands grip my hips so hard I know I’m going to be close to bruised there tomorrow.
He seems to realize it too and softens his grip, his thumbs sliding over my skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against my stomach. Water runs over both of us.
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
I can tell he’s trying to keep what little shred of control he’s got left. But his breathing is hard, just like the rest of him.
“Because,” he growls, “I’m done pretending, Sasha.” He lifts my leg up and hooks it over his shoulder. “Now give me what I want.”
Then Griffin Kelly, as efficient as a well-oiled machine, goes right for the heart of me.