Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Reese
G riffin slips a solid arm around my shoulders and steers me past them toward a dark corner booth, his grip firm and protective. He slides into the booth next to me and adjusts himself with a grunt. “Fuck, Reese.”
I fan myself and laugh. “It’s your own damn fault. Shouldn’t be that talented a kisser.”
No joke. The man is the king of over the top, drugging kisses.
“I’m talented at a lot of things.”
“I’m sure you are. Humility among them.” I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, worrying the tender skin before forcing it free. Great. Add that to the list of things Griffin Topete will never run out of—cockiness and charm.
“And as my girlfriend, you’ll get to experience all of them.”
Figures he’s the first to mention that little white lie. “Fine, I admit I overstepped with that woman, but she was such a bitch to you.”
“Agreed.”
“So, I ran with it. Hey, you should thank me. I got her away from you. Now you get to hang out with me instead, and I’m far superior.”
Griffin’s face splits with laughter. “You are. Always prefer hanging out with my girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“Hell no. Ensured those guys knew you were taken, too.”
“Which guys?”
“You know exactly which guys. Your firefighter friends.”
“They’re Piper’s friends. I barely know them.”
“But they’d like to know you , and they can, from a safe distance.” He tips his beer back like it’s the most casual statement in the world, but his eyes never leave me.
Way to play the possessive card, Griffin.
“To be fair, I don’t think I have much of a chance of seeing any action after our public demonstration. Totally worth it, though. That woman doesn’t deserve your time.” I trace a finger along the rim of my glass, trying to keep my tone light even as my pulse still hammers from his kiss.
“You’re right. But enough about her. Let’s talk more about us.” At least he’s smiling again. The relaxed demeanor I love so much about Griffin flows back into his body, and he rests against the booth with a smile.
“What about us?”
“All the perks of being my girlfriend.”
Fine, I’ll play along. I know damn well the man isn’t mine, but if pretending buys me a few more minutes in this bubble, I’ll take it.
“Such as?”
Griffin leans back in the corner of the booth, legs spreading as his hand finds my hip. With a steady tug, he draws me in until I’m settled between his thighs, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.
And the emotions coursing through me.
I take another sip of my whiskey, desperate to control my racing heart.
But all bets are off when his hand skims the edge of my skirt, his fingertips dancing just beneath the fabric before trailing a slow line down the inside of my leg.
Every nerve ending lights up, begging for more.
The warm brush of his breath skims my ear. “You’re so damn soft. I could touch you for the rest of my life and never get enough.”
I close my eyes as tremors reverberate through me.
No man has ever evoked these emotions inside me with nothing more than PG touches. If this is what his warm-up feels like, God help me when he goes R-rated.
What if…
“I’m a good dancer. I can fix pretty much anything around the house.”
“What?” I glance up at him, confused by his sudden segue.
“Telling you all the perks of being mine.” His blue eyes are wide, innocent, as if he didn’t just kiss me senseless five minutes ago.
“Oh, continue.”
“Let’s see, I’m pretty handy.”
“Yes, you are,” I reply with a pointed look toward my leg.
His grip tightens on my thigh. “With cars and trucks.”
I sip my whiskey and offer him an exaggerated sigh. “Among other things.”
He leans down, dusting his stubbled cheek against my ear. The scrape sends a shiver straight down my spine. “Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
He chuckles, dropping a kiss to my hair. “I love animals, even ornery orange tabbies.”
“And Chowder loves you, which is saying something.”
“But the most important perk? Besides daily adoration, obviously—I would make eating your pussy my new religion.”
My jaw drops, heat flooding my cheeks so fast it feels like a slap. My fingers tighten around my glass as I fight not to choke on air. “Griffin!”
He tips his head, mouth curving in that predatory grin as his hand slides higher, thumb pressing just inside the tender skin of my thigh—possessive, claiming. “Had to see if you were paying attention.”
“Trust me, I am now . You never talk like that.”
“I don’t. But with you, it feels right.”
“Can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.”
His hand drifts higher, fingertips teasing along the lace, brushing the last barrier between us, his voice a low rumble. “It’s good, because now I’m picturing spending the rest of the night between your thighs until you’re begging me to stop.”
Heat flares low in my belly, spiraling outward until my pulse is pounding in my ears. Every word, every graze of his fingers, has my body leaning toward him like he’s gravity itself.
But tangled up in that heat is the same old, stubborn knot in my chest—the one created from years of awkward encounters, forced smiles, and fake moans so men wouldn’t feel inadequate.
Quick, selfish fucks where foreplay was optional, meaning never.
Me flat on my back, running through my shopping list until it was over.
The coil of doubt winds tighter, choking off the rush of arousal. My thighs tense, my shoulders hitch, and before I can stop myself, I shift just enough to break his touch.
His hand freezes, his gaze narrows, all that lazy confidence sharpens into focus. “What’s wrong?”
Of course he notices. He’s Griffin Topete—the man women write sonnets about. And me? I’m the girl who can’t come without batteries.
Way to ruin the moment, Reese. As usual.
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
Griffin eases back, both hands lifted in mock surrender, though his gaze is sharp with concern. “Did I push it too far?”
I shake my head, my thumb tracing idle circles against my palm. If I look busy enough, maybe I don’t have to answer. Maybe we can move on to innocuous subjects like disease or plagues or something. “No, I just…”
“Talk to me, belleza. Did I do something?”
A humorless laugh slips out unbidden. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I toy with the rim of my glass, unable to meet his eyes. “I just don’t think I’d live up to the hype.”
Understatement of the year.
“You think I’d be anything less than obsessed?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve had enough bad experiences that I don’t bother anymore.
” Years of settling for the bare minimum, of men who took their pleasure and left me pretending I had mine.
After a while, you stop asking. You stop expecting.
My tone is light, but inside, it feels like pulling the pin on a grenade.
Toss it out there, Reese. Blow up the moment before he can see what’s broken in you.
Good old preemptive strike. Or I can change the subject, which is much easier.
“Do you want to get some food?”
“No, I want to know the meaning behind your statement.”
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, keeping my attention on the amber liquid. “It’s nothing. Just hasn’t always been the best time, you know?”
“Hasn’t always been the best time,” he echoes, leaning in, his voice dropping to a dark, velvety purr.
“Well, that changes now . Because I want you coming apart because of me. I want every sound you make to have my name behind it. I want you trembling so hard you can’t think straight, knowing I’m the only one who can get you there. ”
God, he sounds so certain. So sure. And all I can think is—don’t let him see the panic, don’t let him know you’re the woman who can’t get the basics right.
“If only it were that easy.” I mumble the words as years of mediocre moments flood my brain.
“What was that?”
Heat rushes up my neck, pooling in my cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I know this is what you do, Griffin—making women feel good, making them feel special.”
“ Did ,” he corrects, his voice low and sure. “That’s what I did. Now, the only woman I care about making feel special is you.”
“Right.” I force a small smile. “But I don’t need to be your pet project. Some things just aren’t meant to be. And hey, my vibrator gets me off just fine. It’s okay.”
At least it never cheats, never makes me feel like I’m not enough. Not like Vander.
And let’s be honest. I caught Vander, but I’m sure some of my other boyfriends stepped out, too.
For some people, that’s just the way it is. Maybe it’s my curse.
I tip my head toward the bar. “Enough of this discussion. Let’s go get a cheeseburger.”
Before I can move, his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His voice is rough in my ear. “That’s not good enough for me.”
“I don’t want to rehash two decades of sucky sex, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up at all. Let’s just forget it.”
But Griffin isn’t like the men in my past. And I don’t think this is some quest to rack up a string of satisfied women. He’s going to demand I tell him every detail.
“Not happening. Now”—he dips his head until his cheek brushes the side of mine—“what the hell happened?”
“Are we really going to talk about this?”
“Looks that way.”
Another swallow of whiskey burns down my throat, and I break from his grasp, fixing him with a dark stare. “Men are pigs, right? I know this fact. You know this fact.”
He snorts. “An insult to pigs everywhere.”
“Well, sometimes locker room talk doesn’t stay in the locker room. I was dating this guy when I worked at the hospital, and one night I went to his place. He was out back with a friend, didn’t know I could hear him. Called me frigid. Said I was a lousy lay.”
Griffin’s jaw tightens.
“I confronted him later, and he just shrugged it off. Said it had to be me, because he’d pleasured every other woman he’d ever been with.” A bitter laugh claws my throat. “And the worst part is, he wasn’t wrong.”
“Yes, he was.”