Chapter 9 - Hannah
I can't believe I just said that.
*Take yours off first.*
Like I'm some kind of confident seductress instead of a twenty-eight-year-old virgin who's never done anything more intimate than kiss a guy at a college party before chickening out.
But Griffin doesn't laugh at me. Doesn't make me feel stupid for the challenge in my voice. He just holds my gaze for a long moment, and then he reaches down and pulls his wet thermal shirt over his head.
And oh my God.
I saw him shirtless earlier when he was chopping wood. I saw him in the waterfall. But this is different. This is him half-naked and sitting on my bed, water still dripping down his chest and shoulders, every muscle defined in the firelight.
The scars are more visible now, the burn marks across his shoulder and ribs, the shrapnel scars scattered like stars across his skin, that long jagged line down his side that makes me wonder how the hell he survived whatever put it there.
He's massive. Broad shoulders that seem to take up half the cabin, arms corded with muscle, a chest that's all hard planes and old damage. There's a dusting of dark hair across his pecs, trailing down his stomach to disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.
And he's watching me watch him, completely unbothered by my staring.
"Your turn," he says, and his voice is rougher than before.
My hands shake slightly as I reach for the hem of my own thermal shirt. It's soaked through, clinging to my skin, and I have to peel it off slowly. The wet fabric catches on my breasts, and I feel my nipples tighten even more as the cold air hits them.
I drop the shirt on the floor beside the bed and immediately want to cover myself.
Want to cross my arms over my chest and hide from his gaze.
Because I'm not small. I'm not one of those delicate girls with a flat stomach and perky little breasts.
I'm curvy. Soft. My stomach has a slight roll to it.
My breasts are big enough that they've always made me self-conscious, heavy and full and definitely not the kind you see in magazines.
"Hannah," Griffin says, and there's something in his voice that makes me look at him instead of down at myself.
He's staring at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You're fucking gorgeous," he says, and he sounds almost angry about it.
"I'm—" I start to argue, to list all the reasons why I'm not, but he cuts me off.
"Gorgeous," he repeats firmly. "Every inch of you."
He reaches out and cups my breast, his palm rough and warm against my skin, and I suck in a breath. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and pleasure spikes through me so sharp I actually gasp.
"You like that?" he asks, doing it again.
"Yes," I breathe, because there's no point in lying when my body is already arching into his touch.
He leans in and kisses me again, his hand still on my breast, and this time there's no hesitation.
No holding back. His tongue slides against mine, demanding and possessive, and I meet him with everything I have.
My hands come up to his bare chest, fingers splaying across warm skin and hard muscle, feeling his heart pounding as hard as mine.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Lower. His mouth finds my other breast, and when his lips close around my nipple, I make a sound I've never made before—half moan, half whimper, completely beyond my control.
"Fuck," he mutters against my skin. "You sound so good."
He sucks gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, and my fingers dig into his shoulders. It feels incredible. Better than I imagined. Better than anything I've ever felt touching myself alone in the dark.
His hand slides down my stomach to the button of my jeans, and he pauses, lifting his head to look at me.
"Still okay?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Words, Hannah. I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," I manage. "I'm okay. Keep going."
He pops the button and lowers the zipper slowly, his knuckles brushing against my lower stomach in a way that makes me shiver. Then he's peeling the wet denim down my hips, and I have to lift slightly to help him. The jeans hit the floor with a wet thud, leaving me in just my underwear.
Plain underwear that's probably the least sexy thing I own, but Griffin looks at me like I'm wearing something out of a lingerie catalog.
"These too?" he asks, fingers hooking into the waistband.
I hesitate. This is it. If I say yes, I'm going to be completely naked in front of a man for the first time. Completely exposed. Completely vulnerable.
But I trust him. I don't know why. I've known him less than forty-eight hours, but I do.
"Yes," I whisper.
He slides my underwear down and off, and then I'm bare before him. Completely, utterly naked. And he's still wearing his jeans, which suddenly seems incredibly unfair.
"You're overdressed," I point out, trying to keep my voice steady.
His mouth curves into something that's almost a smile. "You want to see it?"
Heat floods my face. "I—yes. If that's okay."
"Of course it's okay." He stands up, and I watch as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down along with his briefs.
And then he's naked too, and oh my God, his cock.
It's big. Thick and hard and jutting out from his body, and I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that that's supposed to fit inside me. The head is flushed dark, and there's a bead of moisture at the tip that makes my mouth go dry.
"Can I—" I start, then stop, unsure how to ask.
"Can you what?"
"Can I touch it?"
His cock actually twitches at my words, jerking slightly upward, and I watch in fascination.
"Yeah," he says, his voice strained. "You can touch it."
I reach out, my fingers wrapping around the shaft. It's hot, hard, throbs under my palm, and Griffin makes a low sound in his throat that goes straight between my legs.
"Like this?" I ask, stroking slowly the way I've read about but never actually done.
"Just like that," he grits out. "Fuck, Hannah, your hand feels so good."
I stroke him again, marveling at the way his skin moves over the hard length, the way he's watching me with eyes gone dark with pure desire. I can feel him throbbing in my hand, pulsing with his heartbeat, and it's the most intimate thing I've ever experienced.
"Am I doing it okay?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"You're doing fucking perfect," he says. "But if you keep that up, this is going to be over way too fast."
He gently removes my hand and eases me back onto the bed, following me down. His body covers mine, all that heat and muscle and weight pressing me into the mattress, and it should be overwhelming but it's not. It's perfect.
He kisses me again, and his hand slides between my legs.
I tense immediately.
"Relax," he murmurs against my lips. "I'm just going to touch you. Get you ready."
"Ready for what—oh."
His fingers find my clit, circling gently, and pleasure sparks through me so intense I arch off the bed. He does it again, and again, building a rhythm that has me panting within seconds.
"So wet," he says, almost to himself. "Fuck, Hannah, you're soaked."
I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm too busy chasing the sensation of his fingers on me, the pressure building low in my belly, the heat spreading through my whole body.
Then he slides one finger inside me, and I gasp.
"You okay?" he asks immediately, going still.
"Yes," I breathe. "It feels strange. But good."
He moves his finger slowly, in and out, and adds a second. There's a stretch now, a slight burn, but it's not painful. Just... new.
"This might be uncomfortable at first," he says, his fingers still moving. "But I'm going to make sure you're ready. Make sure it feels good."
He pulls his fingers out, and before I can protest the loss, he's sliding down my body, kissing a trail from my breasts to my stomach to—
"Griffin, what are you… Oh my God."
His mouth is on me. Actually on me, tongue sliding through my folds, and every thought in my head evaporates in a wave of sensation so intense that I can't breathe.
I've touched myself before. Of course I have. But this… This is nothing like that. This is heat and pressure in all the right places, his tongue circling my clit while his fingers slide back inside me, and I'm making sounds I didn't know I was capable of making.
"Griffin," I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets. "Oh fuck, oh fuck—"
"That's it," he murmurs between licks. "Let me hear you."
I'm not quiet. I can't be quiet. Every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers, pulls another moan from my throat. I'm panting, writhing, my hips moving against his mouth without any conscious thought, chasing the building pressure that's coiling tighter in my belly.
His free hand comes up to hold my thigh, spreading me wider, and his tongue works faster, more insistent. His fingers pump in and out, stretching me, filling me, preparing me, and I feel like I'm going to come apart.
"You taste incredible," he says, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Fucking incredible."
Bear makes a noise from somewhere near the door, a whine that cuts through the haze of pleasure, and then I hear the sound of the door opening and paws on the porch.
I tense immediately. "Griffin, Bear—"
"Don't worry about him," Griffin says against my skin, not stopping. "He doesn’t get scared easily. Just sensitive to loud noises. He'll go back to our house."
The door clicks shut, and then it's just us again, and Griffin's mouth is back on my clit, sucking gently, and I forget all about the dog.
His hand slides up my inner thigh, holding me open, fingers digging into soft flesh as his tongue works magic between my legs.
I can feel myself getting wetter, can hear the dirty sounds his fingers make as they move inside me, and it should embarrass me but it doesn't. It just makes everything hotter.
"You're close," he says, and it's not a question.
"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, please don't stop—"