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Those words clearly test his restraint, which already looks to be on the thinnest tether. “You can’t talk to me like that, Angel.”

“Why not? I need to be fucked.” I push back, nipping at his bottom lip. “By you.”

“Jesus,” he practically growls. “I think you want me to destroy this pussy, don’t you?”

I grin wickedly. “Make me walk funny for a week.”

He grunts as he presses my thighs up against my ribs, spreading me wide for him. “This is what you wanted, baby. Remember that.”

I nod enthusiastically. I’ve never been more ready. “Now, Griffin.”

He slams into me with a force just shy of violence.

I cry out, and his face is so stricken I almost laugh. I’d sound crazy if I did.

“No.” Desire runs through me even hotter than a moment ago, which I didn’t think was possible. “Don’t apologize. Do it again.”

He pops his jaw. “I can’t…control myself right now.”

“Then don’t,” I say, tugging him down to me. I dig my nails into his back, hard enough for him to suck in a breath. “Don’t stop again.”

The last of that control vanishes, burned up like a piece of paper dropped on a roaring fire.

“Baby,” he says as he slams into me, his face to the side of mine. He grips the headboard, and I marvel at the beauty of his body—the muscles flexed along his side, his arms, his front.

“Sweet baby girl…” He pulls out and thrusts again, sliding me across the bed, over and over again. He fucks me so hard this seemingly solid bed thuds against the wall.

I cry out as he ravages me. I cling to him like I’m drowning and he’s the only thing keeping me afloat. Like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. That my whole life depends on him.

It’s too much, I know. Too much and too fast. But I finally understand what he means by trying to keep his head clear. It’s hard to think rationally when all I want to do is stay wrapped up in this man.

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.

I say it in my head as I come, but the words lose all meaning, because this—this—is the realest I’ve ever felt.

CHAPTER30

Griffin

“The trick is going to be the element of surprise,” Sasha says as she pops a piece of toast and honey into her mouth. She runs her finger down her little clipboard, reading through her list for the hundredth time. I sit across from her, sipping my coffee, wondering how feasible it would be to appoint a full security team to my place.

“It’s the only way he won’t turn us away,” she says.

She’s talking about Chester.

Sasha told me yesterday when she got home from work that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Chester and his porch since she walked him home the other day. “Maybe that’s why he’s always over here. Not that I mind. I just think we should be able to go visit him on his porch sometimes.”

I nod. I’m listening to her, but my mind is still ticking over something else, too.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” I say. I get up to pour more coffee while Sasha wonders out loud whether brown or beige stain would be better for Chester’s porch. She’s not talking to me, so I allow my mind to linger on the call I got from Ford last night.

It was midnight when my phone buzzed on the bedside table. Sasha was already asleep, wrapped up in my arms. I hated slipping away from her, but Ford wouldn’t have called at that hour if he didn’t have something important to say.

I slipped into my workshop to answer it.

“He was at her place,” Ford said. No preamble, which I normally appreciated. But right then, it felt like a fucking gut punch.