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fourteen

MIRA

By the time Griffin and I make it home, I can’t take the silence any longer.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” I ask the minute we walk through the door. “You’ve been quiet and weird all night.”

He’s silent as he puts his duffel bag in the front closet. He still doesn’t say anything as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch. And he won’t meet my eyes when his shoulders curl inward in a posture of defeat I’ve never seen before on Griffin Wright.

I don’t like it. Rubbing my sternum, I wait.

Ten seconds tick by, then twenty, then thirty. I’m starting to wonder if he’ll say anything at all when he sighs deeply and runs a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

“I’m tired of being the punchline of everyone’s jokes.” He pauses. “I get that it’s my fault because I’m the one who acts like nothing ever bothers me and I’m always happy, but fuck, Mir. I’m an actual person, not some two-dimensional caricature of one.”

My heart lurches and I unconsciously take two steps toward him. My words are soft but firm. “You’re not a joke.”

A humorless laugh tears its way out of Griffin’s throat.

“Sure, I am. I was a joke to my highschool girlfriend, I was a joke to my college girlfriend, who I stupidly almost proposed to, and I’m a joke to my friends.

I’m the guy you call for a good time. Not the one you reach out to when shit hits the fan.

I’m the guy you fuck, but not the guy you settle down with. ”

That statement has my stomach dropping all the way down to my toes.

Griffin sighs. “I’m the idiot people tell stories about because they think I never take anything seriously, and I play right into the stereotype.

Again and again and again.” He tilts his head toward the ceiling for a beat before blowing out a stuttered breath.

“You know what? Ignore me. I’m just tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

God, I feel like shit. Because how many times have I thought that Griffin doesn’t take much seriously? How many times have I brushed off things he’s said or done as him being ridiculous?

I’m no better than everyone else, and I hate it.

“Griffin, wait,” I say, crossing the space between us and grabbing his hand before he can head down the hall. He doesn’t turn to look at me, so I move to stand in front of him. And what I see makes me suck in a sharp breath.

Griffin’s usually sparkling hazel eyes are dull and dark, his lips boast no hint of a smile, and his brow is creased and heavy. He looks so fucking lost .

Reaching up, I gently smooth the furrow between his eyebrows with the pad of my thumb before running my knuckles across his forehead. It takes a moment, but eventually, Griffin leans into my touch. His eyes flutter but don’t close. They never leave my face.

“You’re not a joke,” I whisper as my heart thuds. My fingers trail down the side of Griffin’s face and drag along the stubble lining his jaw. “You’re not a punchline.”

He still doesn’t speak. Just watches me so intently. Like I possess the secrets of the universe, and he’s waiting for them to tumble off my lips. It’s heavy, the way he’s looking at me. Waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“You’re one of the most supportive, selfless men I know,” I tell him, taking a step closer so our chests almost touch as I look up at him.

My fingers still scratch at the stubble of his jaw.

“You lift up the people around you effortlessly. You see the best in people, Griffin. Sometimes, I think you see them more clearly than they see themselves.”

Griffin’s Adam’s apple bobs and his breathing speeds up. One of his hands finds my hip and squeezes, which has my breath catching in my throat.

“I mean, you offered to let me move in without a second’s hesitation and never asked anything in return.

You figured out what really happened with Isla and Maddox and made sure they worked their shit out.

The guys on your team depend on you, and not just on the ice.

” My left hand splays over Griffin’s heart while my right cups his jaw.

His heart is beating so fast. “I’m sorry Isla’s friends made you feel like a joke, Griffin, but I promise you, that’s not how they actually see you.

No one who really knows you could ever think that. ”

“My college girlfriend thought that,” he whispers.

I don’t know this story, but I’ll get it out of him one day. And then I’ll look this chick up, find her, and punch her in the tit. “Yeah, well, she sounds like a stupid bitch.”

Griffin’s eyes widen before he barks out a shocked laugh. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nod, my gaze captured by this giant, sweet man’s hazel eyes, which have regained some of their sparkle.

His strong chin dips and his head tilts ever so slightly to the side. “You don’t think I’m a joke, sunshine?” His gravelly voice scrapes along my spine and pebbles my nipples.

I shake my head. “I think you’re amazing, Griffin. And if anyone is sunshine around here, it’s you. I wish you could see yourself more clearly.”

Smoldering hazel eyes hold me captive for a single beat, then Griffin’s lips crash against mine, hungry and desperate.

My own lips part with a gasp, and he wastes no time sweeping his tongue inside and absolutely owning me.

His hand still grips my hip while the other wraps around my back and drags me firmly against his very broad, very firm chest. And when he lets out a rumbly sound that is reminiscent of a growl, I swear my knees almost buckle.

Griffin walks me backward to the wall and pushes my spine against it, bracketing me with his body.

His lips never leave mine, and the hand that was wrapped around my back skims up my side beneath my jersey.

When his calloused fingers tug on the cup of my bra and push inside to play with my peaked nipple, I almost buckle.

“Easy there, sunshine,” Griffin murmurs against my swollen lips as his grip on my hip tightens and his knee wedges between my thighs to hold me up. I moan when his muscular thigh presses against my heated core. “I won’t let you fall.”

Without giving it a conscious thought, I reach for the buttons of Griffin’s dress shirt and fumble to undo them as quickly as possible. When the cotton gapes wide enough, I run my palms along his smooth, golden skin.

“Fuck, babe,” Griffin moans against my lips. His fingers leave my breast, and I whine at the loss of them until they tangle in my dark hair so Griffin can tug my head back, angling me to better plunder my mouth.

I hate that he’s been questioning himself.

Hate that I ever thought any of those things about him.

I want to make Griffin forget his self-doubt and the stupid stories Isla’s friends told at dinner.

I want to show Griffin Wright that I don’t see him as a joke or a caricature.

I want to make him feel good about himself.

I want to make him feel good.

With a little shove, I flip our positions so Griffin is the one with his back to the wall. My belly swoops when he looks down at me with lust-clouded eyes. “What are you doing?”

Smirking, I palm his very hard dick through his dress pants and drop to my knees. “Showing you how seriously I take you.” The sounds of his zipper and our heavy breathing fill the apartment.

“Mira, you don’t have to do tha— fuuuck .

” Griffin’s head falls back against the wall as I free his cock and suck it down without preamble.

I moan as the salty taste of him floods my mouth and take him as deep as I can.

I don’t have much of a gag reflex, so I can take him all the way to the back of my throat before my body starts to protest. Still, I ignore my discomfort and hold him there for a few beats before pulling off and sucking in a few deep breaths.

When my lungs are once again full of air, I lick along the side of his shaft before taking the thick tip back into my mouth and swirling my tongue around the ridge.

“Goddamn it, sunshine.” Griffin’s hips buck as I suck hard on his cock, my head bobbing up and down his length enthusiastically. And when his fingers tangle in my hair and he presses me to take him deeper, my panties flood.

Making him unravel is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever done. And when his eyes stare at me, so full of awe and affection, my arousal spikes even higher. I may not know how to deal with our marriage, but this? This feels right. Right now, this is exactly what we both need. Connection. Release.

“You’re so beautiful, Mira. God, look at you, taking me so deep.” His hips press forward, making me gag. “Choke on my cock, wifey. I want to see tears streaming down those pretty cheeks of yours.”

God. Damn. I squeeze my thighs together, and I do.

I take Griffin so deep my nose bumps against his pelvis.

Tears stream down my face as I fight against my gag reflex, and my fingers snake down my belly beneath the waistband of my jeans.

I moan around his dick when I swipe two fingers through my dripping folds before playing with my clit.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Griffin murmurs, his hips bucking more erratically as he gets closer to his release. “Wanna see more of you. That damn jersey is blocking my view.”

I let out a whine of protest when Griffin takes his hard dick away, but the whine turns into a squeak when he rips my jersey off, followed by my thermal, then my bra.

“Take off your pants and underwear,” he rasps, stroking his hard shaft.

It’s not graceful, but I hurry to comply, and soon I’m kneeling, completely naked, at Griffin’s feet while he stands above me, fully clothed, save for his pants and boxer briefs which pool at his ankles. He strokes his cock faster.

“Spread your knees and touch your pussy, wife.”

I’m so turned on, I’m aching for release, so he doesn’t need to tell me twice. I widen my knees so he can see my fingers as they circle my clit. This won’t take long. My body is already tightening in anticipation of my orgasm.

“Damn, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” Griffin groans, stroking himself harder, faster. His head falls back with a moan and his hips buck. The sight of him spurs me on, and I move my fingers faster. Little gasps and mewls spill from my lips. “Yes, Mira. Just like that.”

“Griffin,” I whine, looking up at him, desperate to come but unsure what I’m asking for.

“I know, babe. You want this cock.”

I nod. I do. I really want his cock.

His hand moves faster now, his hips thrusting. “Are you close?”

All I can do is nod.

“Good.” He grunts. “Fucking come, Mira. Come while I paint those perfect tits.”

I’m already teetering on the edge, and Griffin’s words push me over, my orgasm screaming through my body. I cry out his name, gasping for air as he grips his dick hard, and, murmuring curses and praise, does exactly as he said he would. He paints my breasts with ropes of hot cum.

We’re both breathing hard as we come down from our orgasms, Griffin staring at the way he’s marked me. His eyes flare when I run a finger through his release, pop it into my mouth, and suck it clean.

“Perfect,” he says, almost reverently. “Absolutely perfect.”

He swipes some of his cum off my nipple with his thumb before pressing it into my mouth. I suck hard, reveling in how different his demeanor is now compared to when we got home.

I did that. I had that effect on him.

“Come on, Mrs. Wright. Let’s get you cleaned up. It’s been a long day, and I just want to hold you.” Before I can rise to my feet, Griffin bends down and scoops me up, pressing me to his chest. He kisses the side of my head and whispers, “Thank you.”

The thing is? I’d do just about anything for this man, but if I tell him that, he’ll run with it and demand we announce our marriage to the world or something.

And while I’d do almost anything for Griffin Wright, I’m not ready to do that.

So I keep quiet, snuggle closer to him, and press a kiss to the scruff of his chin.

I try not to think about how right it feels to be held in his arms.