Chapter 31 #3
He lines himself up, one strong hand gripping my hip, the other sliding up until his fingers thread into my hair.
I wrap my legs around his waist, welcoming the delicious stretch as he presses the tip of his dick inside me. There’s a second where his whole body goes tense, muscles locked up and eyes squeezed shut.
Then, with a groan, he pushes in further, his forehead dropping to my chest. “Christ, you’re tight.”
My back arches off the hot concrete, pleasure slicing through me so sharp and immediate I have to bite his shoulder to keep from wailing.
He’s so deep.
“Fuck, Griffin. You’re so big—”
He shoves in deeper, faster, not stopping until I’m full to the edge of breaking. I’m shaking, a weird mix of pleasure and pain and something holy.
Griffin buries his face in my neck. “Easy, sugar. Breathe for me. If it’s too much, just say the word.”
I clutch at his shoulders and let my legs tangle around him, dragging him closer, because if there’s a way to crawl inside him, I’ll find it.
“That’s it. You’re doing good, baby girl.”
He pulls out slowly, the drag making my toes flex against his back, then slams back in and the world explodes behind my eyelids. He sets a pace that forces me to feel every perfect stretch, every relentless press of his hips.
Water beads cool my overheated skin, and for a second I wonder if the neighbors can hear us. The idea is both mortifying and exhilarating.
Griffin fucks me until I’m scrambling at his back and the concrete nearly gouges my shoulders.
He kisses the side of my jaw and neck, then growls, “You can take it. You can take all of me.”
The fact that Griffin thought he forgot how to do this is comical and a disservice to women everywhere.
Because this man doesn’t fuck me like someone who has forgotten. He touches me like someone who has spent five years holding himself back, and now that restraint is unraveling one careful thread at a time.
His hands are everywhere, gripping, smoothing, learning. Every time I gasp, he pauses just long enough to read me, to make sure it’s pleasure and not pain. Every time my nails dig into his shoulders, his breath shudders against my throat like the sound went straight through him.
“Like this?” he asks, voice rough against my skin.
I can barely think, let alone answer like a functioning adult. “Yes.”
His mouth drags along my jaw. “Tell me if I get it wrong.”
“You’re not,” I pant.
A low sound leaves him, then his hand slides beneath me, angling me closer until my head tips back and my entire body arches into his.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
Griffin stills immediately. “Too much?”
I open my eyes and glare at him, or at least I try to. It probably comes out looking more desperate than threatening. “If you stop right now, I will never forgive you.”
His eyes darken.
He dips his thumb to my clit, rubbing in quick circles with every thrust. “Your wish is my command, sugar. Now let go for me. Come all over my cock,” he orders, voice of pure sin.
I do.
I let go so hard it feels as if my heart is going to combust.
Griffin’s name rips from my throat as my body clamps down hard, every muscle drawn up.
I can feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, in the little echoing gasp that leaves his lips as he fucks me through it. He holds on until the last tremor wrings itself from my body, then he groans, teeth scraping my shoulder, and comes with a blissed-out violence that leaves my soul rearranged.
We’re both shaking, and I’m not sure who’s holding who up as the world slowly comes back into focus.
Griffin breathes me in, fingers still tangled tight in my hair. I can feel his heart thudding widely against my ribs.
We’re exposed, out in the open, but with his huge body covering mine I feel weirdly safe.
I expect him to collapse next to me, or at least make one of those dry remarks that would give us both an exit route.
Instead, Griffin suddenly pulls away. He plants both palms on the concrete and leverages himself up and off me.
I’m left exposed and blinking in the harsh, noon-white sun, with only the sound of my own ragged breaths. I don’t move, don’t say anything. I just watch him.
Griffin grabs his shorts and yanks them on, not even drying off. His hands are shaking. Usually, I can read his moods like a storm system. This is different. It’s something closer to panic, and it makes my skin crawl with the urge to fix what I’ve broken.
“Griffin?”
He freezes, back flexing as I say his name. It’s like he’s deciding whether to turn around or just keep walking. I wrap my wet shirt across my chest, feeling my own pulse skip as I wait for him to look at me, but he doesn’t.
“Hey,” I push, softer this time.
He’s so tense it looks like the bones in his spine could snap. When he finally turns, his jaw is locked, eyes rimmed red.
I’m half-naked, ruined, but I muster a smile anyway. “You okay?” I ask, though I know he’s not.
He gestures at nothing, fingers trembling, as if he’s reaching for words that keep burning to ash. “I shouldn’t have—” His voice cracks. “Fuck. Tiana, I can’t—I’m sorry—”
He balls his hands into fists at his sides until I think he might actually punch a hole in the sky.
I want to tell him I’ve seen every broken part of myself reflected in him since the day we met. That I know what a disaster of grief and guilt looks like up close, and none of it scares me. But the words wedge in my throat, because for once, I have no idea what will make things better.
“Griffin,” I say, stepping toward him. “It’s not a big deal.”
He snaps around. “Tiana, this is the biggest fucking deal…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if the words physically repel him. “This was a mistake.”
My anger rises up, hot and messy and so much easier to handle than heartbreak. “A mistake?” I toss the word back at him, teeth bared. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you fucked me senseless in broad daylight, Griffin.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words scraping out. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“Don’t apologize. Just don’t say it was a mistake.” The words come out small and broken.
Griffin drags a hand down his face.
I watch his fingers shake as they move from his jaw to his mouth. He doesn’t answer, just stands there, breathing hard, and I fucking hate how vulnerable he looks.
I want to reach for him, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to.
“I should go,” Griffin says, then turns and walks toward the back gate, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the whole sky.
And he doesn’t look back.