Chapter 17 Stays in Vegas
STAYS IN VEGAS
GRYFF
“Okay.”
The word hung between us in the ridiculous Vegas honeymoon suite, and I felt the weight of it settle into my bones. She was trusting me with this. Trusting me with her vulnerability, her insecurities, her body.
This was the only time I'd ever get to show her how she should be loved.
I took a breath, trying to center myself. This wasn't about me. This couldn't be about me or the fact that I was so in love with her it felt like drowning. This was about Artie learning she deserved to be cherished.
“We go at your pace,” I said, shifting to face her fully on the heart-shaped bed. “You're in control here.”
“But I don't know what I'm doing,” she said, that little crease appearing between her eyebrows.
“That's the point. You don't have to know. You just have to feel. I've got you, sweet strawberry girl.” I reached out slowly, telegraphing my movement. “Can I touch your face?”
She nodded, and I cupped her cheek gently, thumb stroking over her cheekbone.
“You tell me if anything doesn't feel good. Even if you think you should like it, even if you think I want you to like it,” I said, keeping my voice soft and steady even though my heart was trying to break out of my chest. “You tell me.”
My number one rule had and would always be about having enthusiastic consent from my partner. Anything else and I didn't want it.
She bit her bottom lip for just a minute, like she was thinking about whether she was going to agree to my rules. No, that wasn't quite it. She was trying to talk herself into being strong enough to actually express what she wanted tonight. “Okay.”
“That's my good girl. We can stop anytime. Just say the word. No questions, no disappointment, we just stop.”
“What if I can't... what if I freeze up again?”
God, I wanted to bury every other person she'd ever been with under a whole-ass field of columbines for not realizing they hadn't taken care of her when she so clearly needed someone to.
“Then we stop. We talk. We figure out what you need.” I moved my thumb to trace her bottom lip.
“This isn't about performing or doing anything right, Artie.
This is about you feeling safe and good. That's all I want.”
Liar. You want so much more than that.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked.
“We've been kissing for weeks,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Not like this,” I said. “This is different. This is... can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
I leaned in slowly, giving her time to change her mind, and pressed my lips to hers. Soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate practice sessions we'd been having. This was reverent. This was worship.
She sighed into the kiss, her hand coming up to rest against my chest, and I had to fight not to deepen it, not to take more than she was offering.
“Still good?” I asked against her lips.
“Still good.”
I swept her hair back and gently wove my fingers into her waves and deepened the kiss.
I teased her with my tongue, savoring every moment that she responded with her own.
We lay back together, still fully clothed, just kissing.
I kept one hand on her face, the other resting carefully on her waist, not moving, not pushing. Just being present with her.
When I felt her start to tense up, overthinking, I pulled back.
“Where'd you go?” I asked. “You left me for a second there.”
She blinked a few times and looked down, hiding from me. But then I felt her muscles relax and she took a fortifying breath, like she remembered she'd said she would tell me when things got uncomfortable. “I'm trying to figure out what I should be doing.”
“Nothing. You should be doing absolutely nothing except feeling.” I traced my fingers along her jaw. “Tell me what you're feeling right now. Not what you think you should feel. What you actually feel.”
“Nervous. But also safe. Warm.” She paused. “Tingly.”
Was it the same electricity that was coursing through my…every cell in my body? “Good tingly or bad tingly?”
“Good. Very good.”
“Then we're on the right track.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
She was doing such a good job of being honest with me, I was going to do the same. “You're so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes.”
She laughed, but it was self-deprecating. “You don't have to—“
“No.” I cut her off firmly. “You're perfect. You're strong. You're powerful.” I ran my hand down her arm, feeling the muscle there. “These arms that can tackle anyone on the rugby pitch. Do you know what it does to me watching you play?”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“Drives me fucking crazy. The way you move, all that controlled power.” I shifted, hovering over her slightly so I could look directly into her eyes. “These beautiful, strong shoulders.” I traced my fingers across her collarbones. “This body that does so many incredible things.”
“Gryff...”
“Can I see you? All of you?” I asked. “Will you let me?” Of course I knew what she looked like, but I'd had to leave it up to my very, very fucking vivid imagination to fantasize the color of her nipples, or the way her ass would fit into my hands.
She tensed immediately. “I—“
“We don't have to. We can stay just like this.”
“No, I want to, I just...” She bit her lip. “I'm sure I'm not going to look like the other women you've been with. There's never been anything delicate about me. Or—“
“Thank fucking god,” I said with such vehemence that she laughed. “Artie, you could crush a man between these thighs and he'd die happy.”
She smiled for the first time. “That's a weird compliment.”
“But accurate.” I ran my hand down to her hip, squeezing gently. “Can I?”
She nodded, and I slowly, carefully, helped her out of her shirt. The bra underneath was simple, black, and I had to take a breath because she was so fucking perfect it hurt.
“Jesus Christ, Artie. Look at you.” I was so awestruck by getting to see even this much of her, I could barely get the words out.
“Stop.” A soft pink rose up her throat and cheeks. “I don't need to be flattered.”
“I'm not being nice. I'm being honest.” I traced my finger along the edge of her bra. “You're like a fucking goddess. All powerful curves and soft skin.”
Don't say you want her thighs wrapped around your head. That's too much. Don't scare her.
“Can it be your turn, now?” she asked quietly. “I... want to see you too.”
I pulled my shirt off without hesitation, and her hands immediately came up to touch my chest, exploring. When her fingers traced over my abs, I had to bite back a groan.
She was a hundred percent with me, then her eyes went to the side and I could practically see the fear gears trying to tell her to stop. “Touch me like you were, if you want to.”
I wasn't beneath begging, but we were on a precarious edge here and one push too far, and I might lose this one chance with her.
“I do want to.” Her hand hovered inches from my chest.
“Hey.” I caught her hand, brought it to my lips. “Stay with me, baby. Tell me what you're thinking.”
“That I should be better at this. That I should know what to do.”
“There's no should here. There's just us.” I kissed each of her fingertips. “Remember freshman year when we went to that terrible party at the baseball house?”
She laughed. “The one where someone tried to make jungle juice in a kiddie pool?”
“That's the one. You wore that blue dress and spent the whole night teaching me rugby rules using beer cans as players.”
She smirked at me in such a cute way. The way she did when we truly were just friends, being friends. “Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because that's when I first noticed your thighs,” I admitted. “You were demonstrating a scrum and your dress rode up and I completely forgot how to speak for like five minutes.”
“You did not.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at me.
“I absolutely did.” I think I'd been in love with her even back then. “Flynn had to elbow me because I was staring.”
She was full out laughing now, relaxed, present. Perfect.
“There's my girl. Can I touch you?” I asked. “Really touch you?”
“Yes.” Her eyes, already dark with arousal, sparkled for me. Just for me, as she whispered the word.
I started slow, hands skimming over her sides, her soft stomach, the silvery stretch marks I wanted to come all over.
I mapped every inch of exposed skin, committing it all to memory for the inevitable lonely nights I had ahead of me.
When I unclasped her bra, asking permission with my eyes, she nodded.
“Fuck,” I breathed, taking her in. Her nipples were the softest pink, hard, and calling to me to lick and suck them. “You're perfect. Every inch of you is perfect.”
“I'm not—“
“You are. These curves, this strength.” I ran my hands over her breasts, watching her face for any sign of where she liked to be touched. “Do you know how many times I've thought about this?”
Shit. Too honest.
But she just arched into my touch, making a soft sound that went straight through me.
“Still good?”
“Don't stop.”
I took my time, worshipping every inch of her with my hands and mouth. Her breasts filled my hands perfectly and I swear to god above her nipples tasted sweet. The curve of her rib cage and into the dip of her hips would haunt me the rest of my life. When I got to her jeans, I paused.
“We can stop here,” I offered.
“No.” She didn't hide her smile from me this time. “I trust you.”
I love you. I love you so fucking much.
I helped her out of her jeans, taking my time, pressing kisses to each newly exposed bit of skin. Her thighs were thick and strong and perfect, and I couldn't help myself.
“These thighs,” I groaned. “Artie, these fucking thighs.”
“You're obsessed with my thighs.”
“Completely. Utterly. Obsessed.” I ran my hands up them. “They're perfect. You're perfect.”
When she was down to just her underwear, I could see her starting to overthink again.
“Hey, where'd you go? Look at me.”
She met my eyes.