Chapter 11 #2
Everything I’d ordered was delayed, so all I had was the couch and an end table.
The books that had been in boxes were stacked against a wall.
The television was on the floor, waiting for its stand.
The knickknacks and artwork I’d collected over the years had been unwrapped and set aside, ready to be placed on the bookshelf that had been shipped yesterday.
Besides my bed, the only piece of furniture that had arrived was my desk. I’d put it together last night after I’d woken up at two. Then I’d spent the early morning hours setting up my home office.
Griffin inspected it all, then he went to the couch and sat down.
“Want a glass of wine?”
“Sure.”
I handed him mine, watching as he put the rim to his lips. Then I went to the kitchen and poured myself another glass.
He’d taken off his baseball hat when I returned to the living room and was dragging his fingers through the dark strands of his hair. “Emily saw my truck parked outside.”
“What does that mean?” I took a seat beside him on the couch, curling my legs beneath me. After work, I’d put on a pair of leggings and a tee, having every intention of going for a run. Instead, I’d opted for this bottle of wine.
“We hooked up about a year ago,” he said. “She wanted it to be more. I didn’t. It was my mistake, but it happened. She knew the score. It was a one-time thing. Said she was good with it. Turns out . . .”
“She wasn’t.”
“Emily’s got a big mouth. Her family doesn’t like your grandpa much.”
“He told me.” Because of some small-town drama years ago. “It was fairly obvious from her article about me.”
“If she’s talking about us, other people will.”
“Ah. And you don’t want people to know.” Awesome. As if my ego hadn’t taken enough hits since I’d moved here. First from the station. Now from Griffin.
“It’s not that, Winn.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Not even a little bit. I took a long, necessary gulp of wine, wishing I’d gone for that run after all and missed this entire conversation.
“Hey.” Griff reached over and pulled the glass away from my mouth.
“I don’t give a fuck if people talk about me.
Hell, they already do. But I don’t want them talking about you.
I don’t want them saying that you’re screwing around with me and not concentrating on your job.
Or that our relationship was the reason my dad pushed to hire you.
I want people to see you as the chief of police.
As a capable cop. Not as the woman warming my bed. ”
“Oh.” My heart swelled so much it hurt. I had no idea he cared about my reputation. Me, the outsider. “I’ve never slept in your bed.”
“No, you haven’t. But that doesn’t matter. People will talk. They’ll make up their own version of the truth.”
This was the small-town life that Dad had always cussed. It was the reason he’d moved away from Quincy after high school.
People would make up their own minds based on fact or fiction. They’d believe the Emily Nelsens of the world simply because Emily Nelsen’s gossip was the most entertaining. There was nothing I could do to stop it, and living in fear of the rumor mill wasn’t in my five-year plan.
“I don’t care.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m guessing she’s already running her mouth.”
“Pretty much.”
“Then it’s done.” I raised my glass to take another drink, but before it reached my lips, Griffin took it once more, this time out of my hand entirely.
He set my glass with his on the floor, then he wrapped a hand around my wrist and hauled me off the couch.
“What are you doing?”
His arms banded around my back, pulling me flush against his chest. “If people are going to talk about us having sex, we might as well have sex.”
I smiled, and when he dropped his lips to mine, I welcomed him into my mouth, moaning at his taste. Oh, how I’d missed him. More than I wanted to admit.
Clinging to his broad shoulders, I wrapped my legs around his hips when he lifted me off the floor.
With tongues tangled, he walked us to my bedroom, pausing when he stepped through the threshold to tear away. “This is not the same room.”
I unwound my legs, my toes easing to the floor. Gone were the suitcases shoved against the walls. They were neatly stowed in my closet along with the clothes they’d carried, either hung on a hanger, folded on a shelf or tossed in a hamper. “I unpacked.”
“The whole house?”
“Yes.”
He studied me, like he knew there was more to my answer. It took effort not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze. But tonight was not the time to discuss the reasons I hadn’t been sleeping.
I lifted a hand to his hard chest, letting it run up his smooth cotton shirt.
Griff trapped it beneath his wide palm. “Miss me?”
“Did you miss me?”
“Yeah.” His free hand came to my breast, skimming the swell before moving to my neck. He had such large hands and long fingers that his touch started at my throat and wrapped around my nape.
One tug and I was crushed against him again, his mouth closing over mine, wet and hot.
I reached for his jeans, slipping my hand from beneath his so I could undo the button and zipper. Then I dove for his cock, finding it hard and thick beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs.
The moment I wrapped my hand around his velvety shaft and gave him a stroke, Griffin surged, picking me up from beneath my thighs to toss me on the bed.
He came down on top of me, giving me his weight as his mouth left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across my jaw. Then he tugged and pulled at my leggings, stripping me bare.
“Take your top off,” he ordered as he stood, reaching behind his head to grab a handful of his shirt and yank it free.
Griffin’s body was a masterpiece of rugged lines and masculine strength. The dusting of hair on his wide chest. The sinewed forearms, tanner than his washboard abs. This was a man who worked to keep his body strong. Who didn’t believe in waxing or spray tans.
“Winn. Top off. Now.”
“Bossy.” I loved his bossy side. I pulled off my top as he undressed.
His boots dropped with two distinct thuds on the carpet, followed by the plop of his jeans as he shoved them down his bulky legs. He stared at me as I stared at him, drinking in every single inch.
“You asked me if I’ve been with anyone,” he said. “I haven’t. Got checked up a few months ago.”
My mouth watered as he fisted his cock, giving it a hard pull. “I’m on the pill.”
“I want to fuck you bare, Winslow. But only if you’re good with it.”
Winslow. The name I’d always loved. It was a masculine name, but in his deep voice, it sounded so smooth and soft. If he kept calling me Winslow, it would be hard to let him go. “I’m good.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when he came at me, dragging me deeper into the bed. His mouth latched on to a nipple and my eyes drifted closed, my fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair.
He tormented me with that tongue, sucking at my breasts, licking across my skin, until my core was throbbing.
“More,” I whimpered.
He slipped his hand between us, trailing those calloused fingers down my belly. The heel of his palm pressed against my clit as two of those long fingers stroked through my wet folds, toying with me until I trembled.
“Griff.”
He nipped at my earlobe. “Do you want to come on my fingers or my cock?”
“Cock.”
His hand between us disappeared, then he was there, thrusting inside with one fast, skilled drive of his hips.
I cried out as I stretched around him, my nails clawing at the taut skin of his shoulder blades. “Oh, God.”
“Damn, you feel good.”
“Move, Griff. I need more.”
He obeyed, pulling out to slam back inside. Without the condom between us, I felt every. Single. Inch. Over and over, he brought us together until my limbs trembled and my back arched, my body giving in to the most intense orgasm of my life.
Stars burst behind my eyes. My nails tore into his shoulders. Tremors racked my body as I clenched around Griffin, unable to breathe. Unable to think. Unable to do anything but feel.
“Fuck, Winn,” he growled against my skin, his movements never slowing. He drew out my orgasm, pulse after pulse, until I finally came down. And then he let go to pour his own inside of me, coming on a roar that echoed through my house.
He collapsed on top of me, giving me his weight. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him for a moment before he spun us, keeping us connected as we shifted positions so I was draped over his chest. His arms never let me go.
Our hearts thundered together, each at different rhythms.
“It’s so good,” he said through panted breaths. “Every damn time. That should scare me.”
“Me too.”
But if it did, it wasn’t enough to make him leave. By the time darkness settled beyond the windows, he’d exhausted me thoroughly.
And for the first time in days, I slept through the night.