Chapter 12
SELENA
When I signed the marriage contract with Landon, we were excited about sharing our future together. We had just bought furniture. I had my dress, the favors, the flowers. The forecast predicted perfect weather. We only had to wait one week, and I was going to be his wife.
Now, standing with Griffin at the City Clerk’s office, I have just completed a second marriage application. We're getting married tomorrow—New York requires a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period.
I feel numb. I wish I had bigger, more complicated feelings, but I've dug down deep, and honestly, nothing has come up but nausea. I’ve felt sick for days now. Nerves, stress, and all the emotions I'm suppressing have settled comfortably in my stomach.
“Do you want to go out to eat? We should do something to celebrate,” Griffin suggests as we walk out into the bright sunshine. “I also want to pick out something special for you to wear tomorrow. I know it’s not the real thing, but you should feel pretty.”
“I have something,” I tell him. “I didn’t bring my wedding dress, obviously, but I have a white reception outfit I never wore. It’s in my suitcase.”
I truly do not care what I wear to a fake wedding.
“If it’s something you feel pretty in, then wear it. We have the rest of the day off... you don’t want to do something fun?”
I pause. I never really considered how he might be feeling about all of this.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“No,” he says instantly. Too instantly. He goes stony and distant.
“You are nervous,” I counter softly. “You’ve been nice all morning. That’s not like you. I appreciate it—it’s made me feel better—but I’m sure you’re not enjoying this either. You’re about to shackle yourself to a stranger for a year. You’re wondering if the partnership is worth the sacrifice.”
He stops walking and looks at me. “I will say I’m feeling overwhelmed. A distraction might take the edge off.”
Good. He’s being honest.
“We can get high and go see an old movie,” I offer. “I used to do that in college when I was stressed. I have edibles in my bag.”
He gives me a look like he wants to scold me, but then a smile breaks through.
“We don’t have to go anywhere. I have a screening room at the penthouse.
I can order any new release you want. Or we can watch a classic.
Breakfast at Tiffany's? My mother loved that movie. One of the only times we did anything together was seeing it when I was home from boarding school.”
I’m excited for the first time since coming to New York. “I’ve never seen it! I’d love that. We can make popcorn.”
“That sounds delightful. We can have the chef make us cocktails and snacks... and of course, the cannabis.”
He is such an old man sometimes.
“Edibles, or weed. No one but crusty old hippies calls it cannabis.”
“Well, I’m certainly not a hippie.” He grabs my shoulder enthusiastically, squeezing it, and it makes me laugh. We’re having fun. Something I didn’t anticipate.
The movie was cute and quirky, and being high definitely took the pressure off.
Last night, we slept in the same bed, but I was so exhausted after the restaurant and the hot tub that we both just passed out. Tonight is different. We're buzzing, giggling, and relaxed. Legitimately having fun.
Getting into bed with him is infinitely more difficult because the tension has shifted from awkwardness to arousal. We are both painfully horny.
I stand on the side of the bed he has designated as mine. I'm wearing a silk camisole and matching tap shorts—my regular sleepwear. I don't like wearing underwear or anything constricting to bed, so I feel loose and airy.
Considering this is what I always wear, I don't feel particularly sexy, but I can't ignore the way Griffin is devouring me with his eyes.
“Is that what you’re wearing to bed?” he asks, his voice rough. He gulps down air, trying to keep his cool. He's only wearing boxer briefs, and his cock is literally standing at attention between us.
“Do you want me to wear something else?” I tease. “If it's going to be like this every night, I guess I’ll use my clothing allowance to buy flannel granny gowns.”
“No. It’s just that you look extraordinarily sexy. I’m dying over here.” He nods down at his erection.
“You can masturbate, I guess. Landon used to do it if I fell asleep early.”
“No. I'm not comfortable with that while lying next to you. This is going to be a problem.” He gives me a look as if it's my problem to solve.
“I can't wear body armor to bed just because you can't handle yourself.” I make a flirty little move, adjusting the strap of my camisole just to torture him. Why not? He put me in this position.
“Perhaps you and I can satisfy our urges with one another on occasion. Would you be interested in having sex with me tonight?”
Ugh. He makes it sound like a deposition. Such a lawyer.
“Here's the thing, Griffin. I've already had sex with you and I enjoyed it. I loved it, in fact. But we don’t know each other. Normally, we would be two people dating and exploring that, but we are in a fake marriage neither of us really wanted. We don’t even know if we’re compatible as friends.
Are we roommates? Enemies with benefits? How do you see this working out?”
We've had contracts and conversations about tiny minutiae, yet this huge elephant in the room remains unaddressed.
“Selena,” Griffin says, his voice calm but intense.
“You are the sexiest woman I've ever met.
I want to sleep with you every second of the day.
There are very few hours when the thought of fucking you doesn't cross my mind.
We've had a great day. You look fucking gorgeous.
My cock is out of control. I don't have answers for the long term. This is what I have right now.” He gestures between us. “What do you want?”
I look at him. He seems vulnerable. Raw.
“Well, get in bed, husband. Let's play.” I pause.
“Just remember: you're only the second man I've been with.
I don't intend on being with anyone else during this marriage.
So don't call me a slut or a whore, even if it's kinky for you.
It makes me feel like shit. I want to be called wife, or.
.. anything beautiful. Make me feel like I've made the right decision here.”
I speak my truth, terrified he’ll reject it.
“Fair,” he offers, a loving smile touching his lips as he climbs into bed. “And to be clear, you're not a whore. You're an absolutely gorgeous woman, and I cannot believe you were single. I’m grateful. I may not always act like it, but I'll compensate you the best way I'm able.”
“You should probably stop talking now,” I tell him. “You're killing the mood.”
He laughs as he slips off his boxer briefs, revealing what he hasn't been able to hide.
“That’s impressive.” I suck in a breath, remembering the feeling of him inside me.
“It’s one of my favorite features,” he teases, moving over to me.
I get into bed. His kiss is warm, and he feels big and safe. Landon was tall but lanky; he always reminded me of how young we were. Griffin looks and feels like a man. He has his shit together. When he wraps his arms around me, I feel secure. It's something I didn’t realize I craved.
He kisses my cheek, then my neck, and my body flushes with heat.
I spread my legs, letting him settle between them.
I feel the hardness of his cock rub against the silk of my shorts.
He slips them off easily. His mouth finds mine again, and as his tongue takes control, his finger slides along my center, igniting an already blazing fire.
Those nimble fingers eventually slip underneath my camisole and lift it over my head. I am bare.
“I love this.” I'm not sure what this is exactly—the sex, the intimacy, the safety—but I like the way our skin feels together.
I shiver for a moment because everything is so new. Most of what I know of Griffin Calloway I don't like, yet when we are together in bed, nothing feels more right.
“I do too,” he confesses against my skin.
His fingers find me wet and ready. He spreads my slickness, dipping inside and sending bolts of lightning through my nervous system.
“Why does this feel so good?” I whisper. I should be freaking out. I should be running. But he makes me feel... wanted. That’s the intoxicating part. From the moment we met, he has pursued me relentlessly.
“I’ve got you,” he says. I feel the sincerity. We're not in love, but the attraction is undeniable.
His fingers go deeper. I kiss his neck, his chest. He smells like clean skin and ocean breeze. His mouth finds mine as he slowly presses his way inside me. I shiver as electricity arcs through every nerve. He presses deeper, and my legs band around his waist.
I can feel his desire vibrating through him. His heart is thundering against my chest. Is he as nervous as I am? He’s a mature, powerful man, yet with me, there’s a kernel of vulnerability. It’s a tiny, tenuous moment in time.
“Good,” I breathe.
Soon, we're lost to it. We move desperately, trying to get closer than skin allows.
Griffin flips me over so I'm on top, guiding my hips until I'm straddling him. It’s a position I’ve never tried before.
I feel exposed, but his hands guide my rhythm as I roll back and forth, grinding down on him until he hits a nerve I didn't know existed.
I suck in a sharp breath. He smiles, knowing he discovered the treasure.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his hands tightening on my hips.
I ride him harder. We are bucking and moaning, a frenzy of friction and heat. Chaotic thoughts swirl, but they vanish when the orgasm hits—sharp and jagged, like razor blades through my soul. I hold onto his shoulders and shiver out my release.
He flips me onto my back again, pulling out at the last second to pump his release onto my belly.
“Fuck,” he moans, collapsing next to me. “You are so fucking hot.”
It’s a great compliment, I suppose. But part of me was hoping for something more... romantic? You’re amazing. Our connection is thrilling.
But that’s not us. He’s a sexy, dominant man, like a guy in a cologne ad—all power and instinct. And I’m Barbie... with brains.
“And you’re good at fucking,” I say, playing the game.
He kisses my sweaty cheek. “Let’s hit the shower before we fall asleep.”
“A shower sounds nice. Just keep your dick away. I’m still throbbing.” I cannot take that monster again tonight. The sex is good, but my heart is a little beaten up.
“I’ll stay clear. We have a wedding to get to.”
Fuck... yes, we do.
Ours.
We have an uneventful shower, though I catch him eyeing me, appreciating the goods. I do the same with him. I can’t help but wrap my arms around his waist when he turns off the water.
“Are we going to be okay?” I ask, my head resting on his wet chest.
“One day at a time,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “One day at a time.”