Chapter 43 #2
Then, he slides all the way out and slams back in, his cock stretching me open. Griffin fucks me like he’s trying to build a new memory over every rotten one he gave me, as if I’m the last thing left that can save him, and he’s going to take as much of me as I will give.
The car rocks with the force of it, the whole world narrowing to the hard rhythm of his body slamming into mine and his voice in my ear, part whisper, part growl, part apology.
He’s everywhere I want him—mouth on my throat, one hand bruising my hip, the other on my clit, cock so deep I feel it in my lungs.
“That’s it,” he breathes, “take it, Sugar. Take every inch. You want to punish me? Make me yours. Mark me.”
I dig my nails into his back, dragging them down hard, and he hisses, shuddering with a pleasure more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. I want to leave marks he’ll see for days.
Griffin fucks me harder, his forehead pressed to mine; one hand grabs my wrists and brings them up and over my head while the other is at my throat, squeezing until my vision flashes white at the edges.
The feeling is foreign, but wild, hot. The pressure is just right, a little dangerous, but his gaze never leaves mine, even when my eyes start to roll back.
“Stay with me, baby girl. Look at me. Don’t drift off on me, not when I’m inside you.”
I obey and look at him, really look, and the pain and adoration there is devastating. I want to make him feel everything—remind him what it means to lose control, to give in and let someone else hold the power for once.
I tighten around him, tilt my hips up, and Griffin makes a sound I’ve never heard before.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he rasps, and his mouth is on mine again, kissing me.
“You belong to me.” And it should make me mad, but tonight I want it.
I want him to stake his claim and then pay for the privilege.
I clench again, pulse and grind, and Griffin’s hand leaves my throat and flies to my breast, squeezing until my head tilts back.
I shudder, my climax surging up from nowhere, a tidal wave that crashes through me so hard I almost scream.
Griffin swallows the sound, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands pinning me in place so I can’t escape the force of it.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”
I shudder, and he kisses me through it all. His thrusts begin to stutter.
“You don’t come until I say so,” I remind him with a gasp.
Every muscle of his quivers with restraint as he fights back his own release. “You’re killing me,” Griffin chokes out, sweat shining on his brow, and the sight of him undone, desperate, lights a victorious spark in my chest.
“Have some self-control,” I murmur, managing a ragged imitation of my usual sass, and then clench around him on purpose, just to hear him lose it.
Griffin grits his teeth, body going rigid. “Tiana. I’m begging you.”
I slow the movement. “What do you say?” My nails dig into his hips.
“Fuck—I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.” The words claw their way up from somewhere deeper than his lungs. “I’ll never stop being sorry.”
That’s all I want to hear. That, and the sound he makes when I trap him inside me and take every last inch, never looking away.
He comes apart with my name on his tongue, every muscle in his body locking as he pulses hot inside me.
The force of it is enough to make my breath catch, and for a moment, the world is nothing but the frantic, messy heartbeat of two people trying to bruise the memory of each other into their blood.
Griffin’s forehead stays pressed to mine, sweat slicking our skin where we touch, and I can feel his chest rising and falling so hard he’s almost shaking.
We ride out the shudders together, not moving.
Our breaths mix in the tiny, humid pocket of air between our mouths, and I let my eyes flutter shut, selfish enough to want this moment to last. My hands, still tangled in his hair, relax just enough to let him move if he wants; he doesn’t.
He stays, his lips brushing my cheekbone in a half-kiss, and then again, as if he’s not ready to let even a single inch of distance open up between us.
“I love you, Tiana. I need you to believe me.”
Griffin holds my face, both hands cradling it, thumb tracing my jaw like he’s content to spend the rest of his life memorizing me touch by touch. He waits for me to give him back the ugly, beautiful truth I’ve been hoarding since this mess began.
I feel all the words living inside me, pressing against my chest and my tongue, scalding for release. But I’m not ready to hand them over, not yet.
So I let the silence be honest for now, and Griffin accepts it.
He eases out of me, reaches back to the glove compartment.
His hand comes back with a fistful of napkins, but he doesn’t use them immediately.
My thighs are still parted when he nudges them wider, watching his cum slide out of me.
Then he takes two fingers and works it back in, over my clit and around my entrance; I yelp, my hips jerking away from him.
“What are you—” The question dissolves when he presses his fingers deeper.
Griffin’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Making sure you don’t waste a drop.”
I want to push him away, but I can’t make myself do it. Instead I spread my knees wider, letting him in, and when he slides his fingers deeper, I am so raw and oversensitive, tears sting my eyes.
“Griffin—” I say, more plea than protest, but he just leans in and sucks my nipple back into his mouth, tongue flicking the peak.
After a few more strokes and circles on my clit, Griffin removes his hand and I almost protest. I want to call him a bastard for knowing exactly how to undo me.
I watch, transfixed, as he swipes his tongue over his knuckles then draws the fingers fully into his mouth and sucks, savoring every drop of us.
He grins wolfishly around them, savoring the taste, before releasing them with a pop. “I’m not worthy of your essence, Sugar,” he says, voice low, his smile too cocky for someone who just begged for forgiveness with his whole soul.
I just stare at him, a little shell-shocked, undecided whether to slap him or kiss him again.
“I should probably hate you.” My voice comes out soft, not nearly as mean as I want it.
He leans in, nuzzles my nose with his, and murmurs, “Maybe you do. But that’s what makes this so damn good.”
I don’t disagree. I just let him hold my face, his big hands gentle now, and I close my eyes and let myself float in the feeling. For a minute, I don’t have to be angry. I just get to be wanted.
The war inside me—the one that’s been playing out for months—goes quiet. Not resolved but paused.
Griffin senses that, or maybe he’s just as tired as I am. His lips brush the shell of my ear, and he whispers, “You don’t have to love me back. I just want you to know you’ll always be worth it. You’re worth everything.”
I want to say something brave that will save us both from what comes next, but all I can manage is, “Take me home, Hayes.”