He grins and nods.
We go through five more photos. I know the location of all of them.
“I have to go,” I say as he reaches for another one. “It’s late. Griffin’s at my apartment waiting for me, and I have laundry to do before my trip.”
He nods. I see the you-just-popped-my-balloon disappointment on his face.
“Yeah, sorry, you’re right. I thought you might like seeing things that could validate what’s in your mind.”
I do like looking at these photos. Tomorrow I plan on doing nothing but looking at them when Morgan takes a nap. “If it weren’t so late—”
“I get it.” He puts the lid on the box and returns it to the top shelf in the closet. “Another time.”
“Yeah, another time.”
“Thank you.” He runs a hand through his wayward hair. “I’ll act my age next time and not send you a SOS before calling John.”
I chuckle. “It’s fine. Really. Hopefully the new formula works. I’ll see you in the morning.”
It’s eleven by the time I get home.
NASCAR’s on TV.
Lights turned off.
Griffin’s asleep on the sofa. No shirt. Bare feet. Taut inked skin begging to be licked.
Several piles of neatly-folded clothes cover my coffee table. I don’t deserve my grocery store guy. After removing my clothes—all of them—I grab his hand. Sable eyes blink open and make a slow inspection of my naked body.
“Come to bed.” I tug on his hand.
He grips my hand but doesn’t budge. Shadows from the TV dance across his face, making his expression indiscernible. If I could choose a mind to read, it would be his. I want to know what makes him tick. I want to know what he thinks when he looks at me for long minutes. Even when I’m not looking at him, I feel his eyes on me. I don’t know how … I just do.
Easing to sitting, still holding my hand, he ghosts his other hand up the inside of my leg, stopping an inch from the top. My pulse jumps up a notch.
“I know every curve of your body.” His gaze works its way up to mine.
My lips part, letting my breath fall out in a heavy pant.
“I know what each curve feels like under my hands.” He bypasses the apex of my legs, skating his hand along my skin—over my hip, dipping down to my ass, up my back, and around to my breast. It’s agonizing—striking a match in slow motion.
My eyes close, teeth digging into my lower lip as he squeezes my breast. I love the controlled strength in his touch and the calloused pad of his thumb brushing over my nipple.
“I know how you taste.” He teases his lips and tongue across my belly. “I know what you want before you say the words.”
“Griff …” I release his hand, moving both of mine to his head.
“Shh … I know.”
He does know. Griffin knows me more intimately than I know myself. With the slide of two fingers and the flick of his tongue, I let go of the thoughts in my head and give myself to him.
“Griff …” I claw at his head, holding my breath, praying this need and the pleasure it promises will last forever. This is my favorite part.
Teasing the edge.
Wanting it to last.
Needing it to end.
The anticipation breeds addiction.
“Don’t come yet.” He bites the inside of my leg and slides his fingers out of me.
A nervous chuckle squeezes past the thick pulse in my throat. “Then you better walk out that door. If you put your mouth on me one more time or touch me again … I’m gone.”
He stands, towering over me like Nate did, but Nate confuses me. Griffin commands me without saying a word.
Cradling my face in his hands, he kisses me. It’s the slow start of a love song. I’m certain every time he kisses me like this I fall in love all over again. This is the kiss I dreamed of from the moment I turned over the receipt and read his phone number under Grocery Store Guy.
My hands slide up his chest, wrapping around his neck as his hands feather down my sides, wrapping around my waist. Lifting me a few inches off the ground, he continues to feast on my mouth, carrying me to the bedroom.
As he releases me to the floor, I keep my hands wrapped around his neck, whispering over his lips, “You did my laundry.”
He smiles and it’s incredibly sexy. “I did your laundry.”
Inching my head side to side, I match his grin. “I’m in deep. So. Very. Deep.”
I nod and my fingers find the button to his jeans.
“How does that make you feel?” he murmurs, both of our chins tipped down, watching my hands ease down the zipper.
“Scared … intoxicated …” I squat, pulling down his jeans and briefs. My mouth voyages up his body, eliciting each muscle they touch to contract.
“Swayz …” He closes his eyes as I kiss his neck while sliding my hand along his erection.
“But mostly…” I whisper, brushing my lips across his ear “…it makes me feel … enraptured.”
My back meets the bed as he pins my hands above my head and crashes his mouth to mine. Our love song picks up its tempo—each emotion building toward the climax. Two entangled bodies move with more need … more urgency.
Since we ended our fight in the shower, sex has felt more desperate—more meaningful. It’s not just a physical need, it’s an emotional connection that demands nurturing.
After the bed’s a tangled mess of sheets and blankets and the only sounds in the room are my name on his lips and his on mine as we fall … fall … fall … playing out our love song until the final note, we find serenity.
“Don’t move. Five more minutes.”
I giggle. “Did you skip your workout for me this morning?”
“Mmm…” his chest vibrates against my cheek “…yes I did.” He rolls onto me, wedging himself between my legs.
My skin wakes up under the touch of his tongue trailing from my neck to my nipple. “Mr. Calloway, I don’t want to be responsible for you falling off the exercise wagon.” I arch my back.
His hand snakes under my backside, adjusting me so the head of his cock nudges my entrance. On a soft moan, he slides inside of me. “Are you sure?”
My breath hitches. “I … I might be okay with you slipping off the wagon this morning.”
Griffin moves inside of me, slowly waking up my body. “I want you to move in with me.”
My hands grip his ass, letting him know that I’m awake and needing more. But Griffin sets the pace, and right now his pace is conversational. He’s a damn tease.
“My thoughts too. I don’t see any reason for you to wait to move in with me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” My nails dig into him a little more. “We’ll…” I try to move against him faster and harder, but it’s wasted effort. “…talk when we’re done.”
He sucks and bites the skin along my shoulder; muscular arms hold his upper body a few inches above mine. “Now.” He rocks into me a little harder, making sure I feel his point. “Just say yes and we’ll be done talking.”
I release something between a laugh and a frustrated groan. “Griff …”
“Griff what?” He circles his hips.
“You like this?” He speeds up.
“Yes …” I stretch my neck up to kiss him. He indulges me then pulls away, pumping into me faster.
“Does this feel good?”
“Do you love me?”
My eyes close as my muscles tighten. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to make you come?”
“Are you sure?”
There it is … it’s close … right … there …
“Move in with me.”
“Yes … yes … oh my god yes!” Morning sex is the best.
Griffin’s tongue invades my mouth and two seconds later his head strains back and my name falls from his lips after two “fucks” followed by three more.
He must like morning sex too.
After another long kiss, he rolls out of bed, grabs his overnight bag, and looks over his shoulder. “We’ll move your stuff when we get back in town.”
“We should talk—”
“Swayz, we just did. I said, ‘move in with me’ and you said, ‘yes, yes, oh my god yes.’”
I throw a pillow at him. “You’re such a caveman. I would have said yes without you pounding it out of me.”
“Maybe. But what fun would that have been?” He struts off to the bathroom.
I’m moving in with Griffin after one fight that nearly broke us up. I’m moving in with the guy I want to marry, but he hasn’t proposed. I’m moving in with Griffin, and I still don’t understand the visions of Nate in my head.
The average life I settled into after my dad died has tumbled into something unexpected, amazing, and scary as hell. I’m so afraid of losing him in the process of finding myself. And then there’s Nate who stands too close, pulls at my heartstrings with his adorable daughter and single-dad role. But he thinks I’m the reincarnation of Daisy—I’m not.
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