Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Griffin
The hotel room is quiet, apart from the hum of the air conditioning. We’ve already taken a shower, washed off the last of the festival dust, and collapsed onto the bed for twenty minutes because we’re exhausted.
But I’m wide awake now.
Piper has been in the bathroom for twenty-two minutes. I’m not counting, but I’ve been staring at the ceiling for fifteen of them, listening to the town wind down outside. Tomorrow, we drive west. We’ve been heading toward home all week, the invisible line getting shorter each day.
I’ve been trying not to think about it. I haven’t been succeeding.
What I do know is that tonight exists, she’s behind that door, and my patience is running out. I want my hands on her more than I want sleep or oxygen.
“Piper,” I call out. “You dead in there?”
Her voice, a little breathless, says, “No.”
“You sure?”
I hear a soft, nervous laugh just as the door clicks and swings open.
She peeks her head around, bare-faced, with dark hair loose and damp at the ends.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs.
“Why?”
“Because I have your present and I want to do it properly.”
I do as I’m told and hear her cross the room, the small sound of her feet on the floor, and the shift of fabric.
“Okay,” I hear her say. “Open.”
I open my eyes, and my brain stops. Everything in me goes still.
She’s standing in front of me in red lace.
The lace set. The one she mentioned in a car park in a coastal town while I was trying to close the trunk. She has her arms slightly out from her sides, her chin up, watching my face with an expression that lives somewhere between confident and entirely uncertain.
She looks… breathtaking. Not just because of the lingerie, though that would be enough to knock a man out. She looks like herself. Confident and nervous at the same time. Alive in a way that hits me directly in the chest.
“Well?” she whispers.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. The red against her skin, the dark hair, the face I’ve been studying for two weeks—it’s all too much.
She’s beautiful in the way things are when they are exactly what they are and nothing else.
Barefoot on a hotel floor at midnight with stage adrenaline still in her blood.
“You got that for me?”
“I told you I did.”
“I didn’t know about the fucking red, Pipes.”
She tilts her head, her fingers fiddling with the strap on her hip. “Do you like it?”
I push off the bed and stand in front of her, so I’m close enough to see the faint freckles on her nose and the rise and fall of her chest. I put one hand on her jaw, tipping her face up, and look at her without managing my expression for the first time all week.
“Yeah,” I say. “I like it.”
She exhales like she’s been holding that breath for an hour. Her hands come to my chest, bunching the fabric of my shirt.
“Griffin,” she says.
“I know.”
“Tomorrow—”
“Not tonight,” I say, cutting her off. I’m not letting tomorrow into this room.
“Not tonight,” she agrees.
I pull her close, my hands tangling in her hair. She rises on her toes, reaching for me as she makes that small sound she makes when I touch her, and I stop thinking about the road or the home we’re heading toward.
We have tonight. I intend to use every minute of it.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I turn her in my arms, guiding her until we’re both facing the full-length mirror bolted to the closet door.
Piper tries to drop her gaze, the heat in her cheeks clashing with the red of the lace, but I’m faster. I reach around, my thumb hooking under her chin to tilt her face back up.
“Look,” I say, my voice a low command against the shell of her ear.
She meets my eyes in the mirror. I see the contrast of my hands against the pale skin of her waist. I see the way the red lace cuts across her curves. Most of all, I see the way she’s looking at me in the reflection—eyes wide and dark.
Searching.
“You’re beautiful, Piper. See it.”
I start with the small silk ribbons at her hips. I untie the first one, letting the fabric fall away. Then the second. I do it slowly, making her watch the transition. My fingers brush against the curve of her stomach, and I see her breath hitch, her chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm.
I reach for the clasp of the bra. With a single flick of my fingers, the tension snaps. I peel the lace back, my eyes locked on hers in the mirror as her breasts swell, freed from the fabric. The cool air hits her skin, making her nipples harden instantly.
She’s completely bare now, standing in the circle of my arms. I run my fingers over her shoulders, the touch light. I track the line of her collarbone before sliding my palms down, cupping her breasts. I drag my thumbs over the peaks, and a small, broken gasp escapes her.
My hands continue their descent, smoothing over her stomach, tracing the dip of her navel. She’s shaking, her legs looking like they might give out, and then I slide my fingers lower. I find her, wet and ready, and my touch settles directly on her.
“Watch,” I whisper.
She tries to close her eyes, but I keep my gaze on her in the reflection, my thumb moving in a slow, heavy circle.
She grips my forearms, her knuckles white, her head falling back against my shoulder.
I watch the way her face comes apart in the mirror.
I circle, press, and drag until the air in the room feels too thin to breathe.
The pressure builds, coiling so tight I can feel the tension in her muscles. I don’t let up. I drive her right to the edge and push. She comes hard, her body jerking against mine, a moan leaving her throat as the reflection blurs into nothing but heat and skin.
When the tremors finally slow, I don’t let her feet hit the floor. I scoop her up, carry her to the bed, and lay her back against the pillows.
The energy has changed. The frantic adrenaline from the festival is gone, replaced by something heavier. Something bittersweet. We both know what tomorrow brings—the long stretch of highway, the return to a world where we aren’t just two people in a car.
I settle between her legs, my hands framing her face. When I kiss her, it tastes like a goodbye we aren’t ready to say yet.
It’s slow when I slide inside her. I fill her completely, pausing to let her body adjust, my eyes fixed on hers. There’s no rushing this. I want to memorize how she feels, how her breath hitches when I move, and how her hands slide up my back to pull me closer.
I move with a steady pace. Each thrust is deep and grounding, a reminder of exactly where we are and who we are to each other in this moment. Piper arches her back, her fingers fisting in the sheets, her voice a series of small, breathless whimpers that I catch with my mouth.
It’s quiet in the room, just the sound of our skin meeting and our jagged breathing. The weight of tomorrow is in the air, making every touch feel more urgent, more permanent. I want to leave a mark. I want her to feel this all the way back to the city.
I pick up the pace, my movements becoming more forceful as the finish nears. Piper wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down until there’s no space left between us. She’s whispering my name, and it shatters the last of both of our control.
I drive into her one last time, our bodies locking tight as we both fall over the edge. She’s shaking underneath me, her own climax rippling through her.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled together in the dark.
The road is waiting, and real life is coming, but for now, the only thing that matters is the heat of her skin and the fact that she’s still here.
I’m not going anywhere yet.
∞∞∞
Later, she’s lying across my chest. Her hair is spread out, her breathing has gone slow, and the red lace is abandoned somewhere on the floor. Neither of us has any interest in locating it. The town outside has gone quiet, and I’m staring at the ceiling.
Her hand moves in slow, absent strokes against my skin.
“Griffin?”
“What up, Pipes?”
“I played tonight.”
“You did.”
She tilts her head to look up at me. “I actually played. It came back.”
“It was always there.”
She puts her cheek back down. “I thought maybe I’d broken something by not doing it. By letting it go dark. But it was just waiting.”
I put my hand on the back of her head. “It was waiting.”
She’s quiet for a moment. I can feel the steady thrum of her heart against my ribs.
I look at the ceiling while she draws something with her finger on my chest.
“Griff?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get back,” she says. “What does this look like?”
I’m quiet for a moment. I think about the miles we’ve covered and the miles left to go.
“I don’t know exactly,” I answer. “But I know what I want it to look like.”
She lifts her head again, chin resting on my chest. Her eyes are dark in the low light, steady and looking for something honest.
“I want you,” I tell her. “I’m not interested in being subtle about that anymore.
I’m not waiting for the right time, because I’ve been waiting since before I even knew I was.
” I hold her gaze. “What I want is for you to go home and deal with what needs dealing with. Take whatever time you need. Know that I’m not going anywhere, and then I want you to come find me. ”
She looks at me for a long minute. “Okay. I’ll come find you.”
I put my hand back in her hair.
We lie there in the quiet, on the last night before the road changes direction. I think about a keychain that’s been hanging on my keys since she gave it to me. I think about a bridge in the city and how the word home finally starts to mean something again.
It’s time to be honest with myself.
Home means Piper. I’ve never felt more at home than I have in the last two weeks, and that means something.
She’s asleep before I am.
I stay awake a while longer, just listening to her breathe.