17. Andi
Chapter 17
Andi
I can’t believe it.
I had an orgasm by someone else’s hand.
Better, by the hand of the man I’ve come to care for very deeply. He was patient and sweet, never once making me feel uncomfortable or like something was wrong with me. It was more than I could have asked for.
In the afterglow, I breathe heavily, my skin hot and damp. Griffin gently eases his fingers out of me, brushing them up and down the length of my opening like he’s testing to see how I feel. So I place my hand over his heart and tell him, “That was amazing.”
He rumbles an agreement that I feel more than hear. “You want more?”
“Yes, please.” I boldly skate my hand down his abdomen and slip under the waistband of his underwear to curl my fingers around his considerable length. He’s hot and hard, and when I drag my thumb over the tip, finding a drop of moisture there, he hisses and buries his face in my neck.
“I won’t last long,” he says quietly, maybe a little embarrassed.
“That’s okay.”
“But I want to show you how good it can be.”
I move my shoulder so he’ll meet my gaze. I smile, one that comes from deep inside. “You already did show me. Even if that was the last orgasm I’ll ever have, I can die happy.”
He scowls at me. “Not the last. Not even close.”
With renewed energy, he pushes off the bed to pull down his boxer briefs, releasing his cock. It stands away from him, curling up slightly, and I can’t keep my eyes off it as he rips open the box of condoms, quickly dispatching the wrapper of one and rolling it down his shaft. When it’s on, he fists the base as he kneels on the mattress once again.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, and I finally force my attention up to his face.
“A little,” I admit. It’s been years, and I sort of feel like a virgin all over again. I’m somehow both hot and cold, goose bumps racing over my arms, and I instantly draw my legs together, but he stops me with his hands on my thighs.
He kneels between them, rubbing his palms in circles. They’re a little rough, callused in places, but I don’t mind. Soft and hard, that’s innately Griffin. I wouldn’t want him any other way.
He slides a pillow under my lower back, propping my hips up, essentially putting all of me on display. It’s…unnerving. But he licks his lips and murmurs, “I can’t wait to taste you.”
That idea makes me squirm, and I pull him down to me, hoping he doesn’t notice my cringe. “Please, I need you.”
He’s careful not to put his full weight on me, his arms taut, abs clenching, and I don’t waste the opportunity to explore his body, running my hands over his shoulders, down his back, and around to his stomach. As I explore, he watches me with tender eyes, an ever so slight uptick to his lips.
“I like this,” he grates out as I drag my fingertips over his chest, scratching at his nipples. “You not being afraid.”
“Because you make me feel safe.” I lift my head to kiss him, sliding my tongue along his, and that’s when he adjusts his position, widening my thighs with his so I pull my knees up. Then I feel the first push into me. He’s broad, and I stiffen reflexively.
I hate that I do, yet I can’t help it. But he simply waits for me, kisses me, tells me how I’m doing so well, that I’m perfect for him, in between licks on my throat and nibbles on my jaw. After a while, he dips his chin, staring between us, at where we’re barely connected. “You ready?”
I bite my lip and nod, giving him permission to keep going. Little by little, he works himself inside me, taking his time, his breathing becoming audibly louder, his control slipping. I start to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t. I’m unable to talk when he thrusts again, deeper and so much fuller than I ever remember it being like. He grunts, retreats, and then drives into me again so fast and hard that air wrenches from my lungs. It takes me a moment to breathe again, and when Griffin notices, he lowers himself to his forearms, bringing us even closer, my nipples brushing against his chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I just… It’s never felt like this. So full and…deep.”
He drops his head, the scruff on his chin scratching my temple. “You feel so goddamn good.” He turns his hands to hold my head, forcing my eyes to his. “Jesus, sweetheart, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.”
“You and me both,” I say on a breathy laugh, and he kisses me once again, this one more teeth than tongue as he drives forward, hitting the spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. I gasp, my nails digging into his back, urging him on. “Ooh, please, please, please.”
His pace quickens, his breath coming in ragged pants. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, echoing my own. He’s close, I can tell, but so am I. So damn close.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants. “Andi, fuck, I’m coming.”
He groans, a deep, guttural sound, and stills over me, his body trembling with release. I’m right there, on the edge but not quite over, and when he realizes, he dips his head to place a quick, soft kiss on the hollow of my throat. “I’ll make it up to you. Give me a second.”
He pulls out of me and turns away to deal with the condom, giving me his back, sleek and muscular with two little divots above his ass cheeks and red tracks on either side of his spine. He returns to the bed seconds later and throws himself between my legs. This time, I’m not quick enough to stop him, his mouth open and wet against me.
I hiss and shove at him with my hands and feet. “No, you don’t need to do that.”
When he tips his head up, his features are pulled down in a frown. “But you didn’t come. I’m not going to be the only one who finishes.”
“I already did,” I say, trying to scoot away from him, but he clamps his hands around my hips.
“I want to make you feel good, Andi. I want you to come,” he says, almost like he’s mad about it.
“It’s fine.” I scramble back, pulling the sheet up to cover myself, and he scowls as he sits up.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
He wipes his hand over his face, gazing at me for a long time, assessing me. Whatever he sees has him nodding once before picking up the pillow from the floor and righting the covers. He joins me under them and tucks me against his side with his arm around me, my head on his chest.
We cuddle like that for a while, him toying with my hair and me tracing the tiger tattoo on his chest. I suspect he’s waiting for me to explain, so I close my eyes and tell him a story. One only very few people know. Three, to be exact.
“I had a boyfriend in high school. Robbie Davis.”
“Please don’t tell me this is going where I think it’s going and he…hurt you.”
“No.” I move so I’m reclining against the pillows. Even though I can look at Griffin like this, I don’t really want to. What happened has already shaped me so much as a person, I don’t necessarily want to see how it might change how he thinks of me. Like I’m being overly emotional.
Because that’s what I’d been told. That I’d been dramatic over the episode. That if I wanted to be an adult, I had to act like it.
Griffin places his hand on top of mine to stop me from picking at my nails and links his fingers with mine. With the tip of my index finger of my other hand, I follow the veins of his forearm and his knuckles, rubbing the few scars and tapping on his short, square nails that seem too nice for his work-rough hands.
“What did happen?” he asks, and I lift a careless shoulder, still avoiding his gaze.
“I loved him. Or, at least, as much as I could back then. He made me laugh a lot and was really sweet. We were together for a long time.”
When I stop, Griffin prods me along. “How long is a long time?”
“He asked me to be his girlfriend at the homecoming dance of sophomore year. He was my first real kiss. And as we got older, we started…fooling around.”
“Having sex?” Griffin guesses, and I nod.
“It was toward the end of senior year, and the first time lasted, like, three seconds. It was bumbling and awkward, and Robbie felt so bad. He promised it would get better.” I laugh at the memory, out of fondness for the boy who was only ever sweet to me. A great first boyfriend. If it had turned out differently, Robbie and I might be happily married now.
But I live in this timeline and grew up with my parents.
“My dad is not great. He has this old-school mentality when it comes to men and women and work and home, and… I don’t know what my mom saw in him when they got together. I suspect it was stability since she was raised by a single mom. That’s probably why she didn’t like that Mimi and I were so close. She thought I was too much like her mother, who she didn’t like. Didn’t respect, to a certain degree.”
When I pause for a breath, Griffin lifts our linked hands to kiss the back of mine, and I finally slant my gaze his way. I’ve written songs about love, but now I know what it actually feels like. It’s not pretty words on paper. It’s safety and comfort, silent promises to always be there, and not-so-silent ones about taking care of each other.
I continue with my eyes on his, that unblinking stare holding me steady. “We were kids, barely eighteen. We loved each other the best way we knew how, and I didn’t think we were doing anything wrong. I mean, I knew it was wrong. My pastor said so. My youth group leader was this granola crunchy dude who said it was cool to wait until marriage, even though he was probably having a lot of sex when he went home at night.”
Griffin agrees with a grunt.
“It was the third time we had sex. We were up in my room because we were let out of school early, and I assumed my parents were out working, but they walked in on us. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life,” I say, my skin heating at the memory, like it did that day when my father screamed at us to get up, but both of us were naked. Robbie tumbled out of bed, covering himself with his hands, and ran out of my room, snatching up his clothes on the way out. I wrapped my blanket around me as my father yelled in my face, called me names I never expected to hear from him.
“My dad lost it.” I swallow thickly, the harsh words echoing in my mind. “He called me a whore. Told me he didn’t raise me to be a slut, and that no man would want a used-up piece of trash like me.”
“ What ?” I feel Griffin’s muscles coil beneath me, and his jaw works so hard, I fear for his teeth. “Your father… No one should ever say that, let alone a father to a daughter.” He tugs me to him, wrapping his arms around me, cupping one hand at the back of my head, the other smoothing up and down my back. “That’s really fucked up, and I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
My eyes burn with tears. I know what my father said about me wasn’t true, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. From making me afraid to be with anyone else.
Still.
It still hurts. It still makes me afraid. Whoever said sticks and stones can break bones but words can never hurt was wrong. Words can do more than hurt. They can build up religions, tear down governments, speak truth to power, and break a young girl’s heart.
“The worst part was my mom just stood there. She didn’t try to stop him or say anything to defend me. After he left my room, I was crying on the floor, and my mom came over. She hugged me, and I asked why he would say those things to me, and she said…” I sniffle, chin wobbling, and I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stop it. “She said, in her sweet Southern accent, that he might have used the wrong words, but he was right.”
I wipe a tear but another falls in its place, and Griffin kisses my head, telling me it’s okay to cry. So I do, my words broken on a sob. “He called me a whore and a slut, and she said he was right.”
“No. No, he wasn’t right. She wasn’t right either. You are none of those things. But even if you were fucking the whole football team, no one has any right to demean you.”
I rest my cheek against his bare chest as I catch my breath, and he continues to soothe me with his warm hands stroking me. “I’m not sure what I would do if I ever walked in on Logan or Grace having sex, but I know it wouldn’t be that. You didn’t deserve that.”
After a few moments, I wipe my face and raise my chin, tired of being so ashamed about something that happened ten years ago. I needed to hear from someone else that it wasn’t right. That it wasn’t true. And, no, my parents should not have treated me that way. My father shouldn’t have called me those names. My mother shouldn’t have defended him and later told me to stop being so dramatic about it.
“If you want to be an adult, you have to live with the consequences,” she’d said over breakfast a few days later when I still didn’t feel like talking to either one of them. As if my being hurt over my parents calling me trash was the problem.
“It was difficult growing up in that house,” I tell Griffin, and he holds my cheeks in his hands, frowning at my words. “But that day felt like something ripped away. Like I lost something I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back.”
“You still talk to them?”
“Occasionally. I left as soon as I graduated. Mimi gave me some money she’d saved, and I packed up my car to drive to LA. So, on top of being a slut, I was also a disappointment because I didn’t stay to work on the ranch. I wasn’t doing anything to keep the family business going.”
“But you were doing what made you happy,” Griffin says, as if all men are as logical and even-keeled as he is.
“My parents never cared about my happiness.”
“Apparently not.” He places a soft kiss on my lips, barely backing away when he says, “That’s why you’re uncomfortable with sex.”
I nod. “It’s been difficult for me to be open. I’ve always made excuses with boyfriends to avoid it, and they’ve always broken up with me because of it. The one who I actually felt good enough to go to bed with told me it was my fault I couldn’t come. I was the one bad at sex. So I basically gave up on it altogether, which was easy to do when I worked for Ryder.”
Griffin moves his fingers to my hair, gripping it to keep me in place as he leans back, putting a few inches between us. I can feel the tension in his body, the controlled anger. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, steady, his words firm, unyielding. “You are a strong, intelligent woman who deserves to be treated with respect and kindness.”
“I know.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I know that now.”
“Good.” He pulls me to him. “Give me these lips.”
I speak my reply against his mouth. “Yes, Captain.”