Chapter 29
SASHA
It’s the middle of the night when I hear the rumble of Griffin’s motorcycle. I check the clock—I only went to bed an hour ago. My head is still foggy, my muscles sore from hauling giant boxes of clothes around the store yesterday.
My heart lifts.
He came back early.
The soft sound of the lock turning into place echoes through to the open bedroom door as Griffin comes into the cabin. I smile to myself, suddenly wide awake and practically giddy.
I want to run out there to greet him. I’m fully naked—I’ve been sleeping that way since he’s been gone, loving the thrill of being naked in his bed. Would my lack of clothes combined with my excitement be a little over the top?
I don’t care about playing it cool, but I don’t want to be a manic banshee flying out of the room and scaring the shit out of him, either.
The bathroom door sounds a moment later, followed by the rush and splatter of the shower. I lie back, forcing myself to stay put. The anticipation of waiting for him to slip into bed will be better anyway.
His shower feels like it takes forever, and by the time he comes in a few minutes later, I’m zinging with anticipation.
I rise up on my elbows, the sheet draped over me.
Griffin’s wearing nothing but a towel.
Heat rushes between my legs at the sight of his narrow hips, the towel hanging low.
“Hey,” I say as he heads for the dresser.
Griffin pauses but doesn’t turn around. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
He gives this weird curt nod, then turns back to the dresser.
The tiniest prick of confusion twinges in me, but I banish it instantly. He probably thinks I want to go right back to sleep.
He pulls pajama bottoms out of the drawer and closes it softly.
I tsk. “You don’t need those.” Unable to wait any longer, I flip back the blanket and crawl over the bed to him.
He must have heard the creak of the springs, but he still hasn’t turned around.
I press myself against his back, slipping my arms up over his ribs.
The cool dampness of his back against my bare breasts and toweled ass firm against my stomach feel so good I let out a whimpery little breath.
“I had to work hard not to touch myself while you were gone,” I whisper. “I wanted to save it for you.” I slide my hand down his front and grin. Either I’ve made him very close to ready or my words have.
I move to slip my hand under the fold of his towel, but Griffin takes my wrist and presses my palm against his stomach. “Sasha, it’s late.” His voice sounds slightly tight.
I go still, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
Griffin lets go of my wrist and turns around, taking me in. There’s a clear rush of desire on his face as his eyes rake over my naked body.
He curses softly to himself. I hear a fuck. But then he runs a hand over his face and says, “I was going to sleep out on the couch tonight so I didn’t wake you.”
My stomach was already tightening, but now it clenches into a knot. What the hell is he doing?
“Well, I’m awake now.” I know I sound defensive, but I can’t stop myself.
“You should go back to sleep.”
“You’re too tired?”
A beat passes just a moment too long, so I know he’s not being truthful when he says, “Yes.”
I pull back. “If you don’t want to fuck me, Griffin, just say so.” I get back onto the bed, feeling wounded. I don’t care about how petulant I sound. This about-face is bullshit.
I pull the sheet up tight around my breasts.
“Jesus, Sasha. It’s not that.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I’m being obtuse now, I know it. But I don’t care.
“The problem is I need to keep my fucking wits about me. It’s like I’ve told you from the beginning. I’m letting…feelings get involved, and it’s not good for either of us.”
I sit up. “Who said anything about feelings? I’m just throwing myself at you for pure physical pleasure.
” I wonder if he knows I’m the one lying now.
I’ve missed him so fucking much, and it hasn’t been only physical.
I missed his brooding presence. His calm and thoughtful responses to my questions.
His eye on everything I’m doing like he’s pretending he’s not watching.
That little curl of his lips when I’ve made him laugh that he tries to frown away.
“You’re just a source of pleasure to me, Griffin. ”
“Bullshit.”
“Exactly. And you’re full of it, too. It’s not a crime to have feelings, Griffin. You could let yourself like me.”
“I do like you.” He sounds like he’s getting pissed now.
“See, I don’t understand the problem then.”
“The problem is I need to keep you fucking safe.”
“Ugh!” I exclaim. My mother would have a hernia if she heard how unladylike that sound was.
“When are you going to let yourself realize caring about me isn’t going to keep me any less safe?
And don’t even start with that ‘cloudy head’ bullshit.
What about…like…” I grasp for an example.
“Parents? Parents care about their children more than any other humans care about anyone and they love the shit out of their kids. It doesn’t make any sense to me that you would want to pull back, thinking that’ll keep harm from coming to me. ”
“Sasha—” Griffin sounds slightly bewildered on top of angry now.
“No. You know what? You’re right. You sleep out there—it’ll give you time to get what I said through your thick fucking head.”
Griffin’s tense, his hands tight at his sides, and I don’t miss the way his eyes drop down to my naked body again. Good. Let him look. Let him see what he’s missing.
He grits his teeth when he realizes I’ve caught him looking and makes his own angry grunt. “Fine. Exactly what I planned.”
He yanks his drawer open, pulling out what must be a T-shirt before jerking it closed again. Then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.
I let out a sound of barely contained fury.
Then I flop back on the bed, taking no small bit of petty satisfaction in that he didn’t get the satisfaction of the door slamming properly. It bounced off the frame so he didn’t get his final slam in.
Outside, I hear Griffin snap open a sheet and throw a pillow down on the couch. The whine of the springs comes next as he slams himself down on the cushions.
For a moment, there’s no sound except my own angry breathing.
That obtuse fucking asshole.
“You’re so stupid,” I whisper, even as I feel the prick of tears. I wipe them away angrily. I’m right. I know I’m right, and he knows I’m right.
I pull the sheet under my chin, tossing and turning.
I’m still naked. I’m pissed about that now, too. How I’ve been lying here every night thinking about him and resisting touching myself, wanting to replicate that delicious tease he gave me—not allowing me to come so when I did it was explosive.
I know he loved it as much as I did. Maybe more.
I stop suddenly, a devious thought occurring to me as my anger still simmers.
Because of his failed slam, the door’s slightly open. I can just see the edge of the couch.
A ripple of heat goes through me. He’s right there. Fine. If he doesn’t want this, I’ll take it myself. Except, I’ll do better than taking myself away from him—I’ll make him suffer.
I slip the sheet off my body so I’m fully naked on the bed. Then I prop the pillows up behind me so I can see outside, making a little throne for myself.
Satisfied and sure there’s no movement out there—this won’t work if he’s gone to the kitchen or his shop—I run my hands over my bare body.
I focus on going slow, enhancing my own pleasure.
And making noise.
It’s easy—I’m already turned on to a thousand knowing he’s out there and hopefully wide awake, stewing his stupid head off.
I breathe hard and audibly as I slide my hands over my stomach and breasts. As my palms glide over my nipples and they pucker under my touch, I let out a whimper. I remember the way he came to me on our wedding night, the raw need in his eyes when he walked in on me.
I think about the way he went straight for my pussy, knowing exactly what he wanted and taking it.
I gasp as my hand slips between my legs, to the slick heat of my center. I didn’t know I was into voyeurism. Or is it being voyeured? Whatever it is, I’m so wet already my own touch makes me moan. I graze my clit with my fingers, gasping as pleasure shoots through me at only the softest touch.
There’s a sound outside. Was it the creak of the couch springs?
I widen my legs to allow more access. My pussy is bared right now. I’m fully exposed, and he’s only a few feet away. I pinch my nipple with my other hand as I dip my fingers inside my entrance. I moan again, a little louder than necessary. This time, I definitely hear the couch.
I pinch my nipple hard enough for pain to pluck through me, and I gasp, rolling my hips on the bed as I run my fingers over my clit.
“Yes,” I breathe to myself as I move my hand faster, tugging at my nipple as I stroke my clit with increasing speed. “Fuck.”
I forget myself then, arching my back as I run circles round my clit with my fingers, grasping my breast fully, kneading the nipple between my fingers. “Oh God,” I moan. Some part of me is aware I’m making enough noise that if the sound of the couch moving before was a coincidence, it isn’t now.
Neither is the sound of Griffin’s feet padding across the floor or the soft creak of the door as it swings open.
Griffin’s standing in the doorway, his chest heaving. He’s still in his towel, but I can see it’s hanging on for dear life with the size of his erection. He grips the sides of the doorframe with both hands.
“Sasha,” he says, his voice a low rasp. His eyes are on my pussy, watching as I flick my clit. His eyes on me amps my arousal up by a factor of approximately a million.
“What?” I ask, sliding my other hand down. I arch my back once more. Only this time, it’s for him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasps.
I plunge my fingers inside myself, groaning at the sensation and at the thrill of him watching.