Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Reese
I ’m already feeling the buzz. Here’s hoping it’s the start of a great night.
Piper and I down the shots, banging the glasses on the bar. Okay, so it’s a buttery nipple instead of tequila, but it still has a good burn going down.
“Now,” I wag a finger at her, “no dancing on bars tonight. I refuse to sit in the ED until dawn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says with a mock salute, already grinning as she grabs Jimmy for another round. “By the way, you look gorgeous.”
“You think?”
Actually, I’m thrilled Piper notices, since I opted to zhuzh it up a little tonight—extra mascara, a touch of shimmer, even curled the ends of my hair so they brushed my jawline. A nod to that old Hollywood glamour I’ve always admired but never dared to channel.
The dark blue sundress doesn’t hurt, hugging just enough curve to hint at what’s underneath. Mainly, the lingerie Griffin bought me. My secret weapon.
Or it will be, if he ever decides to claim me.
Piper nudges me and waves to Griffin. “Looks like our boy got his mojo back.”
“Get real. He never lost it,” I mutter, though the words taste sour.
“Damn, he looks fucking fine like that.”
Tell me about it.
My gaze cuts across the bar and freezes when it latches onto Griffin’s lanky form.
As usual, he’s a fan favorite.
A trio of local girls are crowding him, fingers skimming over the short bristles of his head, nails trailing down his arm, giggles spilling like they’ve just discovered calorie-free ice cream. And he’s letting them.
Worse, he’s smiling. Not the fake, tight-lipped kind he gives when he’s uncomfortable—no, this one looks real. Like he’s enjoying every second.
My stomach dips. Maybe he needs the attention. Maybe he needs the reminder that every woman in town wants him. And why wouldn’t they? He’s hotter now than ever, even more untouchable.
Right on cue, the ugly voice in my head kicks in. Vander had scads of adoring women, too. And for a while I believed I was different. That I was enough all on my own.
Don’t make a fool of yourself again, Reese.
I ignored the signs with Vander—brushed off the excuses, never questioned why our sex life suddenly fell off a cliff. Believed his lies while he screwed half of Long Island behind my back.
What if this is more of the same? Griffin spends every spare second with me, but he hasn’t made a move, except for this afternoon. His mouth on my skin, his hands gripping me like he’d never let go—until he stopped. Again .
My brain is not a fun place to be right now.
“Quit it,” Piper snaps, circling a finger in front of my face to make her point. “That look. Don’t.” She slides the glass across the wet wood. “I’m going to force-feed you shots until you’re smiling.”
My sister is right. Time for me to have a little fun, too.
“Deal.”
It doesn’t take long. Two drinks in, I’m warm and loose when one of our favorite dance tunes spills from the speakers.
“Stupid boot,” Piper grumbles, glaring at her foot before motioning to me with a knowing wink. “I’m going to the table, and you are going to show these locals how we dance back home.”
So I do.
My hands tangle in my hair as I roll my hips to the beat, eyes drifting closed. For once, I don’t care how I look—I just let the music take me. The bass thrums through my chest, down to my toes, and I surrender to it, hips undulating, shoulders shimmying, laughter spilling free and unguarded.
Then I feel him.
Large hands clamp around my hips from behind, dragging me back against a wall of hard muscle. A hiss escapes me as his grip tightens, one palm sliding lower, lower, until his fingers brush the inside of my thigh. My lungs seize, heat surging through me.
“Jesus, Reese,” Griffin rasps, his mouth at my ear, his voice filth and reverence all at once. “You dance like you want me to worship every inch of you first and then fuck you so deep you’ll never doubt you’re mine.”
My knees nearly buckle. Every nerve in my body screams yes.
He pulls me tighter against him, his arousal hard and insistent against my backside, his breath hot as he growls, “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t, I swear to God, I’m done holding back.”
“Griffin…” It’s barely a whisper, my lips trembling around his name.
His hands flex on my hips, steadying me, and before I can second-guess myself, I spin in his hold until I’m facing him. The move knocks the air out of me, because those eyes, molten and merciless, lock straight on mine.
“I had no idea you could move like that,” he says, voice rough, wrecked. “Baby, you’re killing me.”
Heat radiates between us, the music fading, the room disappearing—until she appears.
A woman slides onto the empty stool beside us, someone I’ve seen around town before.
Always dressed to showcase every curve, always certain men notice when she walks in.
Her manicured fingers trail brazenly down Griffin’s bicep like I don’t exist. “Damn, handsome. Loving the new look. Who would’ve thought you could get even better looking? ”
The words land like a slap. First the giggling girls across the bar, now her. I could be center stage under a spotlight, and they’d still pretend I wasn’t here.
And just like that, the reel of every time I’ve felt like a fool flashes in my head.
The day I left New York, standing there while some woman flirted with my fiancé like I was invisible.
Finding out the salesgirl had slept with him too.
The sick twist in my stomach when I realized none of them cared.
That the ring on my finger meant nothing. That I meant nothing.
The worst part? I never loved Vander.
But Griffin? God help me, I think I love him.
Panic flares. Standing here, I realize I’m no different from any other woman in this bar. Another one in a long line waiting for my chance.
Griffin doesn’t even glance at her. His gaze stays locked on me, his jaw tensing, shoulders squaring like he’s two seconds from driving his fist through the bar.
“I’m busy,” he grunts, anger edging his words. “Do you mind?”
She mutters something under her breath and sashays off like she’s the one rejecting him.
Griffin doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift a muscle.
But I do. My chest squeezes tight as I turn and throw my hand up, flagging Jimmy at the other end of the bar.
“Another drink, please.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, like I’ve been practicing detachment all my life.
“Reese.” Griffin’s voice is a command. His hand closes around my wrist, spinning me before I can retreat. My back collides with the bar, and suddenly I’m caged in by six feet of raw fire and male hunger.
His eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
I roll my eyes, desperate for levity. “Don’t you ever tire of women pawing at you?”
Griffin exhales, a wry smile crossing his mouth. “A little flirting I can handle. But when some chick interrupts me when I’m with my woman? That’s a problem.”
The words land like a sucker punch. My woman . The way he says it isn’t casual—it’s a claim. Solid. Certain.
And just like that, I realize I have nothing to fear.
He leans in, voice low, steady. “Truth is, there’s only one woman I want to touch. And I’m hanging by my last shred of sanity because I can’t. Not yet.”
A brittle laugh tumbles out of me. “What’s the holdup?”
He grabs the beer Jimmy sets down, condensation dripping over his hand as he tips it back like he needs the pause, then fixes me with a stare that could melt steel. “Because I want to do it right. Trust me, my dick and I aren’t on speaking terms right now. But you’re worth it.”
My mouth goes dry. I search for something— anything —to say, but the weight in his eyes steals every word from my tongue. I’ve seen flashes of this side of Griffin before, but never like this. Never this raw.
His hand comes up, knuckles grazing my collarbone, a slow test that makes my pulse skip.
Then he dips lower, broad and warm, sparks searing through the thin fabric of my dress as his palm closes over my chest. My pulse skips.
He trails down, fingers tracing the neckline, skimming over the swell of my breasts like he’s memorizing my curves.
“Did you wear this dress to torture me, belleza?” His voice is hoarse, threaded with hunger. A tug, just enough to slide the strap off my shoulder, and his gaze sharpens. “Blue lace.”
Warmth floods through me. He remembers. And if the desire on his face is anything to go by, he approves of my lingerie choice.
He rumbles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin as he bends closer. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
The strap slides down my shoulder, goosebumps shivering across my skin. He’s everywhere—whiskey and cedar, clean masculine heat—blending with the faint tease of my perfume. His lips graze my jaw, beard scraping in a way that sets every nerve ablaze.
“Griffin—” My voice is a broken whisper.
“Shhh.” His mouth finds my throat, hot and unrelenting, teeth scraping lightly over the frantic beat of my pulse. My head tips back, the sound of my breath filling the space between us.
“I want to talk about fantasies.” His words are pressed into my skin, rough and intimate, making me shudder.
“What fantasies?”
He drags his teeth lower, the edge of a bite softened by his tongue. His hand cups the side of my breast now, thumb brushing the fabric like he’s deliberately testing how close he can get without baring me completely. “The ones that involve you and me.”
“I’m sorry to break it to you,” I murmur, trying for light, though my voice wavers. “I don’t have any fantasies.”
Griffin’s eyes darken into molten lava that makes my breath hitch. His mouth edges into a mischievous smile, like he knows something I don’t.
Something he plans to bring out of me.
“I doubt that.” His voice is low, reverent, certain.
“All right then, my handsome sensei. Tell me what you think you know about me.”
The intensity of his gaze is unbearable. Heat floods my cheeks, and I spin toward the bar, desperate for the cool glass in my hand, desperate for any escape.
But Griffin follows, pressing flush against my back, his heat wrapping around me. One broad hand curves around my throat, tilting my chin until I’m forced to meet his gaze in the mirror. His breath scorches my skin as his mouth grazes the curve of my neck.
“Besides how amazing you taste?” His lips brush my pulse, sending a shiver racing down my spine.
“Behave,” I whisper, though it comes out more like a plea.
“I’ve been behaving since day one,” he growls, the rumble vibrating through me. “Truth? I’d far rather drop to my knees and see if you taste this sweet everywhere.”
My laugh is shaky, giving me away as completely as my body does. “Hopeless flirt. What would you do if I actually took you up on that?”
In a blink, his hand is under my dress, sliding up my thigh until his fingers toy with the edge of my g-string. His other hand tightens at my throat, forcing me to keep his gaze in the mirror.
His eyes are wildfire, his voice pure sin. “Exactly what I said. I’d drop right here in the middle of this bar and lick you until you screamed my name. I don’t give a damn who’s watching, Reese. You give me the word, and I’ll worship you until you can’t fucking stand.”
My breath falters, every nerve sparking. His fingers press just close enough to make me dizzy, to remind me he could break every wall I’ve built with a single push.
No man has ever wanted me like this. Not Vander with his cold detachment, not any of the others who treated me like I was asking too much.
But Griffin? He’s primal hunger wrapped in devotion.
And God help me, I’ve never felt so alive.
The crash of amps slamming against the stage jolts me, followed by a sharp jab to Griffin’s back. “Yo, man. We’re up.”
One of his bandmates hustles past us, clearly oblivious to the fact that Griffin has me pinned against the bar like his next breath depends on it.
Griffin doesn’t move right away, his nose brushing mine, his breath ragged against my lips as if he’s deciding whether to finish what he started or walk onstage.
“You better go. They’re waiting.” A nervous laugh slips out as I run my finger along his lower lip. “But first, let me clean you up. You’re wearing some of my lip gloss.”
His mouth curves wickedly. “I want to be wearing all of you.”
Trust me, Griffin. I want that even more than you.
I trail my fingers along his jaw, and he leans into my touch like he’s starved for it, and for one reckless second, I want to drag him back down to me.
“I never asked. Do you hate the beard?” He grins, but a hint of uncertainty lines his question.
I shake my head, pulse hammering. “No. I’m kind of interested to see how it’s going to feel in other places.”
Griffin lets out a strangled growl and smacks the bar with the flat of his hand. “Screw it. They can find another lead singer tonight.”
I laugh, the tension splintering just enough for air to return to my lungs. “Well, you said you maybe had another song for me.”
“Yeah,” he admits, eyes locking on mine. “But you’ve got to promise me something first.”
“What?”
His hand grips my chin, gentle but unyielding. “You don’t dance with anyone but me. I want all those moments from here on in, okay?”
Emotion catches in my throat, but I rise on tiptoe and brush my mouth over his. “Since you’re my man,” I echo softly, “I think I can make that work.”
The sound that rumbles out of him is pure satisfaction, but then he dips down and presses the sweetest kiss to my forehead, sealing the promise like it’s sacred.
By the time he climbs onto the stage, the guys are ribbing him, grinning at his disheveled state. Griffin grabs the mic, tugging it down with one hand.
“Sorry, folks,” he drawls, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on me. “I’ve got a very beautiful woman making me forget my damn set list.”
The crowd whistles and laughs, but I don’t hear any of it. Because when Griffin Topete looks at me like that, it feels like I’m the only woman alive—and he’s the only man who’s ever mattered.