Page 18 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Gwendolyn

Still limp from that mind-blowing orgasm Jackson had just given me, I was more than happy to let him pick me up and carry me up the stairs.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been carried around before coming to this town, but Jackson sure seemed to like it.

He made it seem effortless, like I was light as a feather, and that was fucking catnip, if I were honest.

If not exactly overweight, I also wasn’t model-sleek the way my ex-friend Kelly was, or particularly tall, so the bit of extra padding went unnoticed.

I had extra on my hips, and my boobs were anything but small.

All the work on the B I wasn’t out of shape.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious about my figure sometimes.

The bedroom I’d been sleeping in had probably belonged to the previous owner; it was in the best condition.

Facing the backyard, its floors creaked the least, and the walls were stucco, so they didn’t have moldy strips of peeling wallpaper.

That was about all it had going for it, though, it was still cold and drafty, and the bed moaned with every move.

I’d tossed the old mattress and brought my own, so it was clean, but it hadn’t been restful in here.

All that felt different when it was Jackson who unerringly picked the right room and carried me over the threshold as if I were his bride. I tried not to make that connection, but it felt so reverent, so precious—the way he carried me—I couldn’t help it.

The bed was cold as he put me down on it, but it didn’t stay cold for long.

Not when he claimed my mouth again with a kiss full of passion, and maybe a hint of possession.

Not when his hands slid along my body and divested me of my clothes with gentle fingers.

I clung to his shoulders, dragged my nails along the back of his neck into his short hair, tugged on his bottom lip with my teeth, and was rewarded with a rumbling growl that echoed through the darkened room, hushed beneath the rafters.

It was dark in here, but for the starlight that brushed in through the curtainless window.

I could see the gleam of Jackson’s eyes, shadows along the planes of his bare chest as he shrugged out of his shirt.

My ears picked up a sound that reminded me of the rustling of feathers, and then he was back on top of me.

Our bodies were bare, his all heat and strength, mine soft and slick already.

I was so lost in the moment, to the magic he wove between us, that I forgot the things that had been weighing on me.

How badly I wanted to see with my own eyes that what he told me was real, how worried I was that this burglar could come back and destroy more of my home.

The worry that the dreams were more than just dreams, that their darkness would taint this new life I was building here.

None of that crossed my mind now, it was insignificant when Jackson stoked the flames between us, when he wrapped me in his arms, rolled us, and curved protectively above me in the middle of the groaning bed.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered, a request as much as a demand.

I nodded, lost for words, and clung to his neck, offering myself up to him.

His hand curved around my hip, his thumb feathered over the crease of my thigh, then dipped lower.

Lightning bolted through me, as sharp and magnificent as the pleasure he’d already given me downstairs in front of the fire.

Then he slipped his hand lower, cupping me fully between my legs.

He found my soaked folds, and pressed a finger inside.

I heard the wet sound that made, felt the roughness of his palm, a delicious contrast to the tender way he touched me.

“Jackson,” I pleaded, spreading my legs and digging my fingers into his shoulders to pull him closer.

I needed him on top of me, needed to feel that this was real, that he wanted me the way I wanted him.

My silly heart was already half-lost, and it wanted to know he’d be there to catch me when I fell.

“I got you,” he said, almost as if he’d heard the desperate direction of my thoughts.

That was impossible, or was it? He hadn’t said anything about reading minds.

Just… no, I couldn’t even think about it.

His mouth closed around a nipple, and all coherent thoughts fled my brain.

He moved his finger inside of me, the cold whisper of air brushing against me when he withdrew, then pushed back in.

“I will make you fly, honey,” he promised.

His legs pushed between mine, and as his finger withdrew, his cock replaced it.

The warm, blunt head pressing against my opening.

I canted my hips for him, pressing against that blunt head, then moaned when it sank inside.

It felt so good. Now I wished I had more light to see by; I was certain a naked Jackson would be absolutely magnificent to behold.

Vaguely, my brain wondered if he needed to strip before shifting, then that thought fled my mind.

He pushed with a groan, his thick length sliding inside me with delicious friction.

There was nothing I wanted to think about then, except his cock deep inside of me.

He began the thrust—first slowly—but when I moaned and urged him on, my nails digging into his back, he picked up the pace.

Harder, deeper, each stroke going deeper, pressing against my clit with his pelvis.

It wasn’t long before I was back on the edge of an orgasm; this one was going to be huge, I knew it.

It felt like what he wove between us with each move was bigger than both of us.

The pleasure crested, and I shouted his name as it crashed through me like a raging wildfire.

Like the force of a gale. Stars danced behind my eyes, and it took me a moment to realize I’d stopped breathing, so caught up in the pleasure.

I didn’t breathe again until Jackson stroked his hand over my throat and said, “Breathe, honey. I got you.” Then he shifted his hips, and his cock kicked deep inside me.

I gasped, drawing much-needed air deep into my lungs.

“Damn it,” I moaned, and that made him laugh, a deep husky chuckle that did wonderful things to his erection deep inside of me.

His hand gripped my hip then, and his thrusts slowed, drawing in and out of me slowly, but oh-so-deep.

Now he was teasing me, but I could tell it cost him.

There was a tightness to what little I could see of his face, and his eyes seemed like burning flames.

Far too bright to be human in a room this dark.

I focused on that, those eyes of gold, shimmering at me like they were cat eyes, reflecting what light there was.

This was Jackson, and Jackson was a griffin, and his eyes were the proof.

Those slow strokes teased and burned, making me ache for more with an impatience that shocked me.

I was greedy, wanting another orgasm after having already come twice.

Jackson had spoiled me; he’d prepared me with every thoughtful gesture to expect the most. He didn’t disappoint.

With a growl that was definitely inhuman, his hips began to pick up the pace again.

Pumping into me with a snap, like he could no longer hold back.

I reveled in it, in that unraveling of his iron discipline.

Even so, he still remembered to tell me to breathe when I arched my spine, every muscle in my body growing taut.

“Breathe, Gwen, breathe for me,” he murmured roughly, his hand splayed over my hip, fingers digging into my skin to pin me in place.

I drew in one deep, eager breath, and on the next, I drifted away on the looming wave of pleasure, the orgasm ripping into me with force.

I shouted, definitely jerked up, and bit his shoulder, shocking myself with the wildness answering his.

It set him off, and if I thought he’d growled before, I was sorely mistaken.

No, this noise rattled through the room, shook the window, then morphed into more as his thrusts pounded into me. A roar, like that of a lion.

I felt him come, and my body spiraled tighter for it, clenching, pulsing, then growing limp.

His hips stuttered, then stilled, but his cock still twitched, hot, warm, so very perfect as he filled me to the hilt.

Then he curled himself around me, rolling us, cuddling me tight.

It dislodged us, and wetness from our lovemaking soaked my thighs.

I did not mind, even as it cooled on my skin, because Jackson held me to his sweat-slick but somehow delicious-smelling chest like I was precious.

We lay like that for a while, our racing hearts slowly calming.

I could hear his settle first, a slow, deep thud inside his marvelous chest, right beneath my ear.

He kept his head bent close, mouth against the crown of my hair, and occasionally he’d whisper how amazing I was, how beautiful.

I believed every word of it. I believed it when he whispered things like that with such heartfelt sincerity, in the dark of night, after mind-blowing sex I struggled to describe.

I’d believe it even more if he said it again to me in the morning, but I did not take Jackson for the kind of guy who vanished after sex.

He did get up eventually, urging me to the rickety bathroom to wash up, but afterward, he crawled right back into bed with me.

And it was almost better than the sex when he whispered to me that he needed me, right there, in his arms. I fell asleep almost immediately.

The nightmare from earlier that day, I didn’t even remember it until that final moment before I sank into slumber.