11. Ember
EMBER
Instead of questioning Griffin, I should be looking inward, because what in the world is wrong with me?
I’m about to dissolve into a gooey puddle from just the slightest touch of the man’s fingertip.
Granted, he is sinfully handsome, and I’ve always known there was danger lurking beneath his playful exterior, but get a grip, Ember!
My unruly imagination promptly supplies a vivid image of me gripping a particular part of Griffin’s anatomy. Not like that , I scold myself.
Even though it served as a convenient excuse for not going out with Perry, it’s true that I’ve been busy with work and school, and I’ve hardly gone out at all lately. And I haven’t been with a guy—for, you know, more than a lunch date—in far, far too long.
My unintentional celibacy must be getting to me, because I should not be reacting this way to a man’s finger—especially not when that finger is only touching my forehead!
“Cut it out, Griffin.” I step away, even though everything inside me wants him to keep touching me. I want to touch him.
“Playtime’s over, Griffin,” Zeb mutters as he passes. “Time to go home.”
“Are you driving home together?” I’m curious, because Griffin usually carpools with Frank. Thankfully, my voice comes out sounding more steady than I feel.
“I’m riding my bike home,” Zeb announces as he retrieves his backpack.
“I drove my car in,” Griffin adds.
I close my laptop, tidy my desk, and send up a silent prayer that my roommate will be out this evening, because I could really use a warm bath and a self-love session. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Zeb disappears down the hall and out the back, one hand lifted in a silent farewell. A moment later, the rumble of his engine signals his departure.
Griffin’s still here.
As I tighten the lid on my water bottle and stow it in my bag, I’m incredibly distracted by his presence. I’m not even looking at him, but I’m so aware of him, it’s as if he fills all the space in the shop.
I have to break this spell.
I spin around and find him a couple of steps away. “You need to stop teasing me.”
His brows lift as he takes one step closer. “Why is that?”
A shiver runs down my spine, but I try to ignore it. “It’s not right. And … and you’re scaring my dates away.” I square my shoulders to him while I also ignore the tingling sensations in my nipples.
He takes another step closer. “You don’t really want to date any of those guys.”
“I don’t?” My voice wavers. My skin feels like it’s been electrified.
“They’re not your type.” His voice has gone all low and husky. It’s as palpable as a caress.
“What is my type?” His green eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, but my gaze is repeatedly drawn to the thick coppery hair on his face, and to his lips, which are slightly parted.
Another step. There are mere inches separating us, and in fact, his boots are touching my shoes. He has big feet, and big hands, and in between, the worn denim of his jeans is snug around big, powerful-looking thighs.
I swallow a gulp of air as his hand slides over my upper arm. It’s a test, to see if I’ll brush him away, but he knows I won’t.
“You want a man who knows his way around a woman’s body better than he knows how to read a spreadsheet.” The tips of his fingers run down the side of my arm, all the way to my hand, which he takes in his.
His skin is warm, slightly calloused, and when his fingers tangle with mine in a demonstration of his understanding of how to make me feel good, my legs wobble. His thumb rubs across the pad of my palm, triggering a corresponding ache between my legs.
I could argue. I could tell him I want a man who has the same drive and vision for the future that I do. One who understands where I come from and where I’m going, one who’ll form a power couple with me.
But I don’t want any of that right now, as Griffin’s long fingers stroke the back of my hand and fill my body with need. I only want him.
He brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the center of my palm. His breath tickles my skin as his eyes dance with a familiar, yet utterly new kind of temptation. He’s teased me so many times, but this is no tease—he intends to deliver on the pleasure he’s promising.
When he wraps his lips around my middle finger, my insides melt. I’m a thin shell filled with molten lust as the wet heat of his tongue slicks over my fingertip, then sucks.
Some of that molten lust drips out into my underwear.
“Someone will see us.” Our brains are fascinating things, because I have no idea how mine is still functioning enough to realize that the windows are open and the lights are on.
His hand still wrapped around mine, Griffin takes care of the lights, flicking off the switches as he leads me down the hall.