Chapter 20
CLEMENTINE
If Griffith doesn’t put his hands on me soon, I think I might scream. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, how much I needed it, until he crouched beside the tub and offered his hands.
With a wound eating away at me for weeks, my body hasn’t felt like my own. Someone else took something from me. They marked me. They decided my body would fail without my consent.
I need to take control of myself.
I’m so tired of pain. I want pleasure.
And I want this werewolf who I can’t get out of my head to give it to me.
And, yeah, maybe getting sexual with a werewolf is not the best idea. They can be territorial and possessive.
But I’ve never been intimidated by Griffith.
Now all he does to me is make me ache and burn.
Which is why I give him the only answer I can.
“Yes.”
His eyes suddenly go dark, and I swear I can see the wolf in them. He braces one arm on the lip of the tub, and with the other, he reaches forward and traces along my collarbone. His finger is rough, his skin somehow warmer than the hottest water setting.
His caress maps me, losing guidance once it disappears under the murky water. But he doesn’t need to see in order to find all my pleasure points. His thumb brushes over a nipple, then stops and swirls around it, tightening the bud until he can pinch and tug.
I gasp, then groan as my body clenches in a delicious way.
“So responsive, little mermaid.” His words are rough, and I swear I can feel them inside my skin.
His fingers drag downward, pausing where my wound once was. I sigh in relief that there’s still no pain. But I want more than to simply not hurt.
I want to feel good. So good.
“Touch me.”
“Where?”
And I know Griffith is just teasing me because, obviously, we both know where I want him. Or maybe he’s trying to establish some dominance in the situation. And yet I still feel like I am the one in control.
“Where you make me wet.”
He hisses out a breath, and his hand tracks deeper. Through my curls until he can part my folds with his fingers.
“Fucking gods, Clem. This isn’t the bath, is it? You’re fucking soaked for me.”
I shiver at him using my nickname. The casual familiarity of it. Like before, he was trying to keep his distance, but now, he’s all in.
“Make me wetter,” I plead, words slightly slurred from my fangs. “Touch me inside.”
Griffith mutters more curses, even as his fingers follow my directions.
To slip inside my channel while his thumb seeks out my clit, circling it just like he did my nipple.
I hold on to his forearm, riding against his strokes.
He curls the fingers inside me, which makes my spine bend in response.
The intimate contact is better than I hoped for, and his ragged breaths are the playlist I didn’t know I needed.
Griffith overwhelms all of my senses, blotting out the agony that I’ve suffered until all I know is him and his touch and his warmth and his scent.
He leans further over the tub in order to press his mouth against mine. The taste of him is the last bit I needed to come. He swallows my moan as if that was his intention all along.
To consume me.
Wrung out from pleasure, I sink deeper into the warm water, luxuriating in how all my muscles are now loose. Utter relaxation.
Griffith retrieves his hand, and while he holds my gaze, he slips his fingers past his lips and sucks, leaving me gaping.
“That one was because I had to know at least once what you truly tasted like,” he tells me, voice low and unrelenting. “But this can’t happen again unless it’s going to happen a hundred more times. A thousand.”
I don’t flinch away from his words, even though they do steal a touch of my ease. Make me think when I just want to melt.
“I always knew you were an all-or-nothing kind of guy,” I whisper, sure my smile is rueful.
He gives me one of his own while tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“There’s no deadline, Clem. Just tell me when you’re ready to be my everything.”