Griffin Colson
IT’S BEEN FOUR DAYS. Four fucking days since I tasted heaven and then ran from it like a coward.
She offered herself up on a silver platter, no strings attached.
It’s an arrangement guys like me would kill for, and it pissed me off.
I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t know why.
I do know. She’s dug her way so far under my skin that I’ll never get her out.
I’m not sure I want to anymore. She’s right.
I am the one that kept saying we shouldn’t take this further.
I’m the one that kept calling this thing building between us a mistake.
Then I took it out on her when she agreed with me.
Her reasons were different and if I’m honest, valid.
It twisted something inside me to hear her say she didn’t want more from me.
I want her to demand things. I want her to tell me to let her know when I’m on my way home or when I’ll be back late.
I want her to ask about my day and know she has a right to it.
I want all those little domestic things you do with someone you care about because that’s how you know they’re yours.
I don’t want sex without substance. And that scares the shit out of me.
It doesn’t help that Sokolov is in the wind.
Every lead Bishop and I dig up takes us to a dead end.
I wanted to have this over before her store was ready for her to go back to it, but it’s not likely.
It could be months before I get close to him again.
At least we put a big enough dent in his operation that he doesn’t have the time or the resources to go after her.
I’ve never failed a contract and I don’t intend to start now.
And I sure as hell don’t plan on leaving a loose end out there that could get her hurt or worse.
No matter what goes down between us, I refuse to let my life take from her too.
I’m in a foul mood when I walk into the cabin. The door creaks open and she’s setting a plate of garlic bread on the table. The smell hits me and my mouth waters. My eyes move from her to the food and back again.
“You cooked,” I say flatly.
“You’re hurt.” She sets the plate down with a clatter and rushes over to me. Her fingertips brush my chin where I was careless running down a lead earlier today. It’s barely a cut.
“It’s nothin’,” I tense under her touch but I don’t pull away. “Just grazed me.” I notice she pinned her hair up and put on makeup. “You look good.”
“Thank you, I made spaghetti. It’s nothing special but I make my own sauce. There’s no meatballs but I added ground Italian sausage. I thought since we haven’t eaten together for awhile...” she trails off and blushes faintly. She drops her hand and goes back to serving the food.
Her dress is stunning, open back and exposing almost all of her wing tattoo.
I love that fucking tattoo. She is still healing but it’s been long enough that she doesn’t need me to bandage it anymore.
The dress is bodycon and short and pure white, with ruching at the waist and across her ass.
I breathe through my nose and think about baseball.
I wash my hands before sitting down at the table. “Smells good,” I offer. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. You’re risking your life for me trying to fix my problems and I’ve...” she bites into her bottom lip, her teeth pulling at her lip ring.
My mouth goes dry. Baseball, Griffin. I force myself to focus on her eyes. “You’ve... what?” I repeat, leaning in a bit. One elbow resting on the table, a hand on my fork.
She takes a bite. “I’ve been using you?” She scrunches her nose and she blushes.
“Like hell.” I flatten my hand on the table and fight to control my tone. “You think you owe me somethin’? You think I need a reason to keep you safe?”
“No, I mean, not just that. The other night—” she starts.
“The other night,” I cut in with a growl. “I told you exactly what I want. It wasn’t for you to feel like you need to repay me. If all of this...” I gesture at the food and her dress. “...is just guilt? Then save it.”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her. God, I have to find a way to stop doing that.
She takes a deep breath, getting angry. After the day I’ve had, I’m having trouble finding fucks to give.
She’s implying that she used me when I went down on her and I don’t want her to think she owes me for a fucking orgasm.
“That’s not... damn it, Griffin. I want to fix this!” she exclaims, a hint of desperation in her tone.
“Fix what?” I snap, my voice rising to match hers.
I push back my chair, it scrapes across the floor, bracing my hands on the table.
My food, all but forgotten. “We’ve been over this.
You want physical, I want more. I’m not about to change my mind because you decided to put on a dress and throw me a goddamn pity party! ”
She stands up, yanks her dress over her head, throws it at me, and then plops back down.
I’m frozen in shock. I tug the dress off my face, tossing it over the back of a chair.
My body goes rock solid. She’s sitting across from me wearing nothing but flesh tone nipple pasties and a white lace thong.
Her chest is heaving and I can’t tear my eyes away.
She’s pissed. She reaches up and undoes her hair, the knot falling loose around her shoulders.
It takes everything I have not to stand up, jerk her out of her chair, and bend her over the table.
She squares her shoulders defiantly and aggressively eats her food.
Her fork clicks on the ceramic plate. This may be the biggest test of willpower I’ve ever had.
“It wasn’t a pity party, Griffin. It was me trying to ask if we could take things fucking slow.” She glares at me while taking another exaggerated bite of her food.
My stomach drops. She’s ready for something more? I’m skeptical. “Take it slow?” I say hoarsely, my voice dripping with disbelief. “You call strippin’ down to pasties takin’ it slow?” My hands twitch, I can’t tell if I want to shake sense into her or drag her into my lap. Probably both.
“Emotionally. I want to take it slow emotionally. Physically? Not so much.” She uses her fork to gesture at my plate. “If you don’t eat, it will hurt my feelings.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “Of course, because that makes all the sense in the world.” I shake my head and start eating.
It’s good but I can’t concentrate on the food when she’s sitting practically naked across from me, telling me she’s ready to give me what I asked for.
I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She’s all fire and fury, and looks like a goddamn offering.
There are other things I’d rather be eating right now.
She takes a breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she appears hopeful. “What I mean is, if you still want to try, then I do too. Just don’t expect me to tell you I love you or label it. But I’m not completely closed off to the chance of a relationship at some point.”
I stop mid-bite and set my fork back on my plate.
I try to discern if she’s serious or not.
This feels like a breadcrumb. But I’m a man starved and with the way she looks right now, I’d take poison if she tried to feed it to me.
“You’re serious?” I ask carefully. “You’d really try?
Not just meaningless sex but admittin’ this can’t be that? ”
“Yes,” she answers shyly, licking sauce off her finger.
I can’t hold back the groan that rumbles from my chest, my knuckles going white against the table.
“I am saying I’m ready to make mistakes with you,” she clarifies.
I exhale long and slow. It sets in that she wants to try. The shit day I had melts away. The tension in my chest eases.
“Best damn mistake I’ll ever make,” I mumble, giving her a half smile. I reach across the table and wrap my hand around hers, brushing over her knuckles. It was hard for her to give me this. And I didn’t make it easy on her. “We’ll take it as slow as you need.”
Thank God she doesn’t want to take the physical part slow because if I have to keep looking at her in pasties and a slip of lace, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.
She blows out a breath and awkwardly eats her food. Now that she’s not angry, she realizes she stripped at the dinner table. There’s a faint tint to her cheeks and I have to hold back a laugh.
“Okay, thank you.”
I lean back in my chair. “You’re welcome.” My voice is full of amusement. “Though I gotta say, this is one helluva way to negotiate.” My eyes rake over her. “Might have to piss you off more often,” I tease.
She glares at me and I chuckle. Shoving a bite of food in her mouth, she rolls her eyes. “You know why I didn’t want to take a risk on this. But the only reason you gave me was your job. Is there anything else I should know about?”
My grip tightens on her hand a fraction before I let it go.
I run my fingers over the stubble on my chin.
“Yeah, there is.” I’m about to scare her off.
“I don’t do things halfway. If this is happenin’, you need to know I’m all in.
And that means when my instincts kick in, it won’t be some cute, charmin’ shit.
” My eyes bore into hers. “I will literally kill for you, Seriphina. That’s not a metaphor.
” And have. I need to know she understands the depth of what I’m saying.
That she can handle the unshakable truth of it.
“Oh, okay. And here I thought you’d say long work hours.
” She laughs nervously. But then she frowns and her tone changes.
“You mind elaborating on that? You don’t mean you’ll kill someone for grabbing my ass?
It’s more of a self-defense thing, right?
Like with what happened...” The wheels are working in her head.