Page 27

twenty-six

. . .

Avery

For a long moment, neither of us moves, the only sound in the room our ragged breaths. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve still humming with the aftermath of what just happened.

Griffin finally lifts his head, his green eyes blazing as he smirks down at me. “Sinclair, I mean, holy fucking hell. I knew it would be good. But that? That was…”

I push my hands against his chest, shoving him off me. He lands beside me, still grinning, and I shake my head, trying to catch my breath.

“Shut up, Knox,” I say, though the grin tugging at my lips betrays me.

“Make me,” he murmurs, his voice still rough as he pulls me back against him, his hand sliding possessively over my hip. His thumb brushes lazy circles against my skin, sending another ripple of heat through me.

“You’re just saying that because it was your first time,” I tease, my voice breathy. “And you know what? You weren’t bad, either.”

His grin widens, cocky and so Griffin. “Not bad? Baby, you were screaming my name five minutes ago. How many times did you cum? I lost count.”

“Can you just be humble for once.”

“Never.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m too blissed out to argue. His hand tightens slightly on my hip, and I feel him shift closer, his expression softening just a little.

“On a serious note,” he says, his voice dipping low, “that was incredible. But I have one request.”

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

His grin falters for a second, and he looks almost…nervous? “Yeah. I’d like to, you know. Work on my game. With you. If you’re okay with that, that is.”

I blink, my lips twitching with amusement. “Work on your game? What does that even mean?”

“Well, since you’re the first one I’ve been with—I’ve never gone down on anyone, and I’d like to get better at it. With you,” he says, his words a mix of confidence and vulnerability. “Do you mind if we…practice a lot while we’re down here?”

My eyes widen, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re saying…”

He nods, his grin returning, slow and teasing. “I’m saying, if you’re game, I’d like to spend the rest of this trip getting really, really good at making you scream.”

Griffin's laugh is rich and warm, vibrating through my bones as he pulls me into a kiss—deep, slow, like he’s savoring me, like he’s still not done with me.

I can still taste him, can still feel everywhere he’s been, and yet—somehow—I already want more.

“Come here,” he growls, his voice dropping to that wrecked, post-orgasm rasp that sends a shiver straight through me.

Before I can react, he tugs me by the hand, lifts me off the bed, and scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing.

"Griffin!" I yelp, but the laugh that bubbles out of me is breathless, giddy.

"Shower," he says simply, his eyes flashing as he kicks the bathroom door open.

Steam fills the air almost instantly as he reaches in and cranks the water on hot, the sound of it cascading against the tile drowning out the hammering of my pulse.

He sets me down gently, but before I can even think about stepping back, he’s on me again—crowding me against the counter, his hands on my hips, his mouth on my throat.

“Griffin,” I breathe, tilting my head as his teeth graze my pulse. “We literally just?—”

“And yet,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against my skin, “you’re still standing here, wet and needy, letting me touch you. Again.”

Fuck.

He’s right.

I should pull away. Tell him we need a break.

But when his hands slide up my stomach, his thumbs brushing my ribs, I shudder. When his mouth captures mine again, I melt.

The second we step under the water, it’s over.

He presses me against the cool tiles, the contrast of heat and cold making me arch against him, and kisses me like he’s trying to consume me whole.

“Griffin—” I moan, but he cuts me off, lifting my leg, hitching it around his waist, his hand gripping firm and demanding.

“I’m going to own you in every way there is, Sinclair,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice so low, so rough, it feels like it slides straight through me.

My jaw drops, and I have no idea whether to laugh or melt into a puddle of embarrassment and arousal. “Griffin, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, his grin turning wicked as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “You know you like the idea.”

My breath hitches, my fingers tightening against his shoulders.

I shove him weakly, shaking my head as I try to hide my smile. “You are completely shameless.”

“And you’re impossible to resist,” he counters, his hand sliding up to cup my face, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip.

I pretend to think about it, biting back a smile. “Fine. But only because I believe in helping rookies improve.”

His chest rumbles with laughter, his eyes dark with mischief, and then—he’s kissing me again, deep and all-consuming, pressing me harder against the tile as the water drenches us both.

I barely have a second to react before his hands are on me—everywhere at once.

His fingers trail up my thighs, kneading into my hips, gripping my ass like he needs to claim every inch of me all over again.

The hot water cascades over us, drenching my hair, streaming between us, but I barely notice it over the heat rolling off of him.

One of his hands travels upward, cupping my breast, his thumb rolling over my nipple, teasing, torturing, making me arch against him.

“I could spend all fucking night in here with you,” he growls, dragging his teeth along my jaw, down my neck, sucking just enough to make me shiver.

My head tips back, my nails scraping across his back, my thighs clenching around nothing.

I can barely breathe, can barely think, but his words—his voice, low and dark and full of possession—pull me under like a goddamn undertow.

My brain short-circuiting as he shifts, his hand slipping between my legs, parting me with slow, teasing strokes.

I whimper, my fingers tightening against his biceps, my body already betraying me.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my cheeks burning, my body thrumming with need.

His cock presses hard against my stomach, the heat of him pulsing against my skin, and before I can fully process what’s happening, he’s gripping the back of my thigh and hiking my leg around his waist.

I feel every inch of him, thick and ready, and my stomach flips, my skin sparking, my pulse hammering between my legs.

I shove him weakly, shaking my head even as I grind against him.

His mouth crashes against mine as he presses me harder against the tile.

The slickness of the water, the heat of him, the pressure of his body against mine—it’s all too much.

I pretend to think about it, biting back a smile. “Fine. But only because I believe in helping rookies improve.”

His laugh is pure sin, but it’s cut short as he lifts me against the tile, positions himself between my legs, and thrusts into me in one smooth, deep stroke.

I cry out, my fingers clawing into his shoulders, my body stretching around him, already pulsing with need.

His groan is low and broken, his forehead falling against mine, his breath shaky and ragged.

“Hold on, baby.”

Griffin’s words are low, guttural, roughened by need, and then—he moves.

His first thrust is slow but deep, stretching me all over again, making my back arch against the cool tile.

I suck in a sharp breath, my nails digging into his shoulders, my thighs tightening around his waist as my body adjusts to the size of him again.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. “You feel even better like this, baby.”

I whimper, my brain short-circuiting, my body already clenching around him.

He grits his teeth, pulling back slowly, almost torturously, before thrusting in harder this time, pinning me firmly against the wall.

I cry out, the sound swallowed by the rush of water and the deep, pleased groan that rumbles from his chest.

"You like that?" His voice is thick, drenched in satisfaction, his hands tightening at my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he picks up the pace.

"Yes," I breathe, my head falling back, my entire body throbbing with pleasure. "God, yes."

Griffin curses under his breath, his mouth finding the curve of my neck, his teeth scraping, biting, sucking—leaving marks just because he can.

“Gonna make you mine, Sinclair,” he growls against my throat, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, more desperate.

The words send a shockwave through me, a deep, bone-melting ache curling low in my stomach.

I can feel his muscles flexing, his body tense, his control slipping, and fuck, I love it.

I love knowing I’m the one unraveling him.

I love how reckless he is with me.

I love how every single thrust feels like a promise—like he’s not just taking me, he’s claiming me.

And I want to give in.

I reach for his face, pulling him in, kissing him hard, messy, desperate.

"Faster," I gasp against his lips. "Please, Griffin."

His growl vibrates against my mouth, and then—he gives me exactly what I beg for.

His pace turns brutal, relentless, his hips snapping into mine with enough force to make the shower tiles rattle.

The **sound of water, skin, breathy moans, deep groans—**it’s all a symphony of everything filthy, everything unhinged, everything I never knew I needed.

"Fuck, Avery—" his voice breaks, raw and wrecked, and I can tell—he’s close, so close.

And so am I.

The pleasure builds like wildfire, licking up my spine, pooling between my legs, curling so hot and tight and overwhelming that I can barely breathe, let alone think.

"Griffin—" I cry out, my fingers clawing into his back, my body trembling as the pressure finally shatters.

I clench around him, hard, pulsing, pulling him under with me.

His thrusts stutter, his breath shaky, his body tensing as he follows, spilling deep, groaning my name like it’s the only thing he knows.

We stay like that, panting, tangled, ruined, our bodies still pressed together, steam curling around us, water dripping down our skin.

His forehead rests against mine, his hand cradling the back of my neck, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.

Neither of us speaks.

Neither of us moves.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

And we both know it.

The only sound is the steady rush of water as it cascades down our bodies, running over every place he’s touched me, every place he’s claimed.

Griffin exhales, his breath warm and uneven against my lips, and when he finally speaks, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

"You okay?"

I almost laugh at the simplicity of it—like what just happened wasn’t life-altering, like I’m not already ruined for anyone else.

Instead, I nod. "Yeah."

He studies me, his eyes searching, like he’s waiting for me to say more. But I don’t, because I don’t know how .

I just know I don’t want to move.

I don’t want to lose this warmth, don’t want to step out of this space where everything feels softer, quieter, more real than it should.

Griffin seems to understand.

His fingers trail slowly down my spine, a light, absentminded touch, like he just wants to keep feeling me, keep grounding himself in me.

I press my forehead fully against his, my hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

And he lets me.

He lets me breathe him in, sink into the moment, hold onto something that neither of us is quite ready to name.

I feel his lips brush against my hairline, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Then another, this time on my temple.

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just...a kiss. A real one.

Something stirs in my chest, something dangerous and unguarded.