16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
A knock at my door wakes me in the middle of the night. I search for my phone in the dark, squinting at the bright light that blinds me before I see it’s after one in the morning. Who the hell is at my door? Whoever it is knocks again, so I crawl out of bed and turn on a light so I don’t break my ankle stepping through my scattered shoes and suitcases.
I still haven’t unpacked.
I rub my eyes and yawn as I make my way to the door. I was finally able to hit a deep sleep, and now this. Another knock sounds, that impatient asshole. Unlocking the door, I pull it open a small amount and look out at the softly lit corridor.
I close the door immediately.
Griffin is leaning against my doorframe, and he’s fucking drunk as hell. I can smell the alcohol on him even from a foot away.
“Shelby, open the door,” he says, his voice managing to stay low and quiet, like he understands that this is unusual behavior, no matter how drunk he is.
“Go home, Griffin. You’re drunk,” I say with bored inflection. I’m completely awake now as my heart hammers in my chest. Why? Why now, why me, why is he doing this?
“I’m not. Well, I probably am, but I’m not as drunk as you think. Open your fucking door.”
What the hell? “Are you seriously...” I yank the door open and smack Griffin in the forehead with my palm when he tries to come in.
“Ouch, what was that for?” He rubs his head like I slugged him, rather than open palmed him.
“For ordering me around in my own apartment and trying to get in even though I told you to go home.” This exaggerated whispering is ridiculous.
I cross my arms over my chest when I notice that Griffin is not in any way looking at my face, but staring at my bra-less chest. His eyes move down my body, taking me all in. Fuck, I should have put pants on, too. Standing here in boyshorts and a little tank top is so not appropriate. But neither is waking up a girl in the middle of the night. I start to close the door again, but Griffin stops the door and slips in before I can get it shut all the way.
“You need to leave, now.” I reach around him for the door handle.
He grabs my wrist and stops me. His hand is cool and dry, but causes my body to burn like dry tinder in an instant. My lips part as he slides his fingers up to cradle my head. I let him, like this is our usual. Why, Shelby? Because I can’t freaking stop myself when he touches me.
“No. I need to kiss you.” His hands tangle in my hair, his lips crashing against mine and pulling me into his hard body. I am sucked into his needy kisses, the hungry way he pulls at my lips and swirls my tongue. I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. I guess I don’t really want to at all, with the clenching in my core and how I rise to meet his mouth harder.
This. Oh my God, this. His hot mouth leaves mine, traveling along my jaw and biting my earlobe. How he can know what would turn me on so fully is beyond me, but I am on. So on. My hands tangle around his shoulders as he kisses my neck, biting gently and licking the pain away. I moan and it seems to be all the encouragement he needs to haul me up around his hips and back me into the wall.
Oh no. That’s the wall I share with Wyatt, and if this is going down, I don’t want him to hear, of all people.
“Not here. Bedroom,” I manage as he rocks his hips into mine and sucks on my neck.
I hold on to him as he walks us to my room and lays me on the bed I just crawled out of. The bedside lamp casts light on his profile as he studies me, nearly naked beneath him.
“Griffin, I don’t—“
He cuts me off with his mouth returning to mine, his hands on my boobs, pinching my nipples through my thin tank top until I forget what I wanted to say and just gasp my pleasure into his mouth. He works the tank up and over my head, finally releasing my mouth. He sinks on top of me, barely holding his weight off me with his elbows, and takes my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. I cry out as the pleasure mixes with the pain of a sharp bite, but pull him closer so he’ll do it again.
“Oh, Shelby. You’re so sweet. So goddamn sweet. I want to taste all of you. Touch your skin and make you writhe. Fill you with my cock and hear you cry my name. I want you to beg for me, baby. Do you want that?”
“Don’t push your luck. I don’t beg,” I manage as his hand finds me through my damp panties. His fingers take up a leisurely pace tracing over the material, lightly skimming over my piercing and back down. I might just beg, if he keeps touching me like that.
“You like that, baby? You like when I touch you?” This cocky asshole sure likes to hear when he does something right.
“Yes, now touch me like you mean it.”
He chuckles, pulling my panties over my hips and down my legs. He glides his hand back up my leg, along my inner thigh and so close to the target I’m shaking with anticipation and need. He brushes my piercing and groans along with me.
This is weeks of build up. A kind of foreplay that, for us, was slinging insults that mean “I want you” instead of “you’re a dick.” It’s the looks we stole. The dances we made do with when we wanted so much more. It’s that one burning hot kiss in a crowded room that made us realize we needed so much more. It’s the forbidden that feels so right.
“I love this. I love that you have metal in your body, and it’s there for me to make you feel good. You like that?” he says, twisting the tiny metal barbell in his fingers as my hips buck.
He doesn’t wait for my reply, but slides his fingers down and pushes two into me as his thumb works the barbell pressed tightly to my clit. He works me with precision and power, like his cars. He strokes me hard while my nipples pebble under his deft tongue. He easily turns me into the writhing mess he wants me to be, and as I press toward that breathless, tightly coiled moment right before my release, I’m glad.
My hands grip his shoulders as he takes me into a freefall, my pleasure spiraling out from his fingers and washing over me in release and ecstasy.
“Oh my God,” I pant, my chest heaving with the frenzied pace he just pushed my body through.
“Not God, just me. I want you to say my name the next time I make you come. I’ll give you another chance in a second.” He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall behind him as he stands and looks down at me. “You ready for me, baby?”
My body is begging to be filled by him, my core aching for him already. But two can play this game. I roll onto my side and blink my lashes at him. “Show me what you got, superstar.”
He’s a stunning specimen of masculine beauty. His ripped body is proof that even though I haven’t tried it, CrossFit works. And man, those tattoos on his arm that draw my attention anytime I see them continue up his arm and onto his shoulder. Both color and intricately shaded black ink decorate him, making him the tastiest man-cake I’ve ever wanted to lick up and down.
He smiles, all cocky bravado and assuredness. He takes his sweet time as he pushes his pants down his legs and stands before me in his tight boxer briefs a moment before they’re gone, too. I lick my lips as my breathing speeds up. Damn. He’s hung and pointing right at me.
“Like what you see?” I nod and sit up to get a—fuck. I never intended to be having sex while here in SoCal, so my nightstand is sadly empty of rubbers.
“I hope you brought a condom. As beautiful as you are, you’re not touching me without protection.”
Griffin hunts through the pocket of his jeans on the floor and pulls out a foil square. Once it’s on, he returns his molten blue gaze to me.
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the day we met. When you were ass-up on my car and looking like the sweetest sin. I wanted your sassy mouth around my cock as soon as you talked back to me. I’ve come thinking of you riding me more times than I can count. Now I want to bury myself inside you until you scream my name, and then I’ll do it all over again.”
Words fail me, but it doesn’t matter. He lifts my leg over his arm, positions himself at my entrance, and rocks into me in one quick, hard thrust that takes my breath away as my body fights to fit around him. I gasp at the intrusion, the fullness that feels like I’ll split open. Until he slides out, and I instantly miss it. The next thrust is easier as my body lubricates his path, and soon he’s pulling back and slamming into me like it’s a race he’s intent to win.
Oh my God. I’m having sex—hot, fast, rough sex—with Griffin. I’m caught up in the moment and can’t believe this is finally happening, and it’s just as amazing as I imagined it would be. There’s still a part of me that is hesitant, seeing all of the flaws of this new twist, and wanting to point out just how it could go wrong.
My brain shuts up when his hand finds my hood piercing, rolling the little metal barbell and making me moan. He presses and circles his fingers right over it. It’s like having a silver easy button for a guy to find your clit—right there, buddy, right there. And he works it just right, his fingers keeping up with his hard thrusts until I’m moaning, my hands gathering a hold of the bed so he doesn’t fuck me right off the other side.
“I’m close, come with me,” he groans thickly.
And I do. Wild and hot and coiled so tight. I hold my breath and then expel everything in me with my release. His name bursts from my lips as it tingles and spirals out through my body, arching my back off the bed, and shooting me into a dark place with brilliant flashes of color and sensation. He thrusts erratically through my clenching walls, gasping as he comes, and falls to his forearms with his head resting in the curve of my neck. We’re sweaty and spent, gasping for air, and still very much connected.
“Jesus Christ, Shelby,” he says into my neck. I hold him to me, my legs hugging his hips while my hands smooth down his spine. He pulls out of my arms, throwing the condom away, and returns to my side. “I’m going to do that again.”