Page 29

twenty-eight

. . .

Avery

The second the door slams behind Gavin, a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying lifts off my chest.

It’s over. Completely, fully, finally over.

And the moment that realization settles in—Griffin is on me.

I barely have time to breathe before his hands are on my waist, lifting me off the bed and onto his lap, his mouth crashing into mine.

I whimper against his lips, my body already burning, already needing more, my hands gripping his damp hair as he kisses me deep, slow, deliberate.

Like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment to finally, fully take me apart.

His fingers trace my spine, skimming up under the sheet still clutched around me, his knuckles brushing bare skin, teasing, coaxing.

My breath hitches, my thighs tightening around his hips, and he smirks against my mouth.

“Relax, Sinclair.” His voice is low, rough, thick with amusement. “We’ve got all night.”

I let out a shaky exhale as he tilts my chin up with his thumb, forcing me to meet his gaze.

His eyes are molten heat, watching me like he’s memorizing every little reaction, every little tremor that gives me away.

“You don’t have to rush anymore,” he murmurs, his lips dragging down my throat, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to my skin. “You don’t have to think about anyone else. Just me.”

I shudder, clenching my thighs tighter, but he slides a hand between us, palming my hip, keeping me still.

“No,” he whispers, his mouth brushing my ear, teasing me with a light scrape of his teeth. “Tonight, I take my time with you.”

I let out a sharp gasp as he flips me onto my back in one smooth motion, the sheet slipping lower as he pins me to the mattress with his body, his weight pressing me down in the best way.

I should be embarrassed by how easily he handles me, but I’m too far gone, too desperate, too lost in the slow drag of his hands down my stomach.

"Griffin—”

He cuts me off with a kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that’s pure, calculated sin.

“You’re gonna let me wreck you, baby,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice silk and gravel and promise.

I shudder, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body arching into him.

His hands skim lower, fingers teasing, taunting, barely brushing over where I need him most.

I whimper, my hips shifting, desperate for more, but he grins against my skin, completely unfazed.

“Patience, Sinclair.” His lips ghost over my collarbone, tracing a path down my chest. “I told you—I’m going to take my time.”

I suck in a breath, my whole body on fire, aching, strung tight from anticipation.

He’s so controlled, so focused, drawing out every single reaction from me like he’s conducting a damn symphony.

I’m helpless against it, helpless against him.

And I don’t want him to stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

I know this isn’t forever.

But I’m going to damn well enjoy every second of it while it lasts.

I don’t know how long he keeps me like this—pinned beneath him, held open for him, his body moving in slow, deep, deliberate thrusts that make me ache everywhere at once.

I’m writhing, clenching around him, my nails digging into his back, my breath coming in ragged moans that I don’t even try to control anymore.

“Fuck, Griffin?—”

“Mmm, I know, baby.” His voice is low, smooth, completely in control, even as he grits his teeth, fighting to keep his pace steady. “I know exactly how good it feels.”

I let out a strangled sound, my hips rising to meet his, but just as the tension starts to tighten, coil, threaten to snap?—

He pulls out.

Completely.

I gasp, my eyes flying open, my entire body throbbing in protest. “What?—?”

Griffin grins against my throat, dragging his lips down my skin, completely unbothered by my frustration.

“Told you I was taking my time.”

“You can’t just—” I try to sit up, but he presses me back down with one strong hand, his weight holding me in place.

“Oh, I can.” His smirk is dangerous as he slides lower, his mouth tracing a path down my stomach, down, down?—

My breath stutters, my hands flying into his hair just as his tongue flicks over me.

His groan is low, deep, vibrating through me as he spreads me wider, latching onto me with slow, torturous precision.

I cry out, back arching, pleasure spiking so sharp and sudden I swear I can’t breathe.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I was so close before.

Now? Now I’m wrecked.

Griffin takes his time—lapping, teasing, exploring, his tongue relentless, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me exactly where he wants me.

His name slips from my lips like a prayer, over and over, my fingers tugging at his hair, my legs trembling around his shoulders.

“Please, please?—”

He hums against me, satisfied and smug, and just as I teeter right on the edge, he slides two fingers inside, curling them perfectly.

I break.

I shatter.

My body arches, locks up, my release crashing through me so hard I swear I black out for half a second.

I’m moaning, gasping, shaking, clenching around him, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much, almost unbearable.

Griffin rides it out, slow, steady, his mouth still teasing, coaxing, guiding me through every last aftershock until I’m completely, blissfully undone.

Only then does he pull back, pressing a slow, wet kiss to my inner thigh.

His voice is low, wrecked, and entirely too satisfied.

“Now that’s how I want to hear you say my name.”

I’m still trembling, my body boneless and spent, my breath coming in uneven gasps as Griffin presses one last, lazy kiss to my thigh.

I barely have time to catch up, to process anything, before he’s moving again.

Before he flips me over onto my stomach like I weigh nothing, pressing me down into the mattress, his big hands gripping my hips, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

A shaky moan slips past my lips, my cheek pressing against the sheets, my body still buzzing, aching, sensitive all over.

I let out a loud, guttural noise.

“I love when you moan like that.” His voice is low, rough, vibrating through me. "You already got yours. Now it’s my turn."

I shiver, the words lighting me up all over again.

His hands smooth over my back, slow, deliberate, then down—gripping my ass, spreading me open, squeezing just enough to make me gasp.

"Fuck," he mutters, dragging a palm over the curve of my ass, appreciating every inch.

Then—a sharp, sudden smack.

I gasp, my body jerking, heat flashing up my spine.

He hums, running his hand over the sting, soothing, teasing.

Then—another slap, harder this time.

I suck in a sharp breath, my thighs clenching, my whole body tensing with need.

"Knew you’d like that," he murmurs, squeezing, kneading, dragging his fingers over the heat blooming across my skin. "God, baby, look at you. This ass is fucking perfect."

I whimper, pressing back against him, but he tuts, gripping my hips, keeping me still.

"You’re not running the show anymore, Sinclair. You belong to me, now. And I’m gonna give you what you deserve, baby.”

His words send a shiver through me, anticipation curling deep in my belly.

Then, without warning, he thrusts into me.

I cry out, my fingers fisting the sheets, my body stretching around him again, already throbbing from everything he’s done to me.

"Fucking hell," Griffin groans, his hands tightening on my hips, holding me open, taking me deeper.

He starts slow—long, deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him, make me stretch and ache, make me desperate all over again.

I push back against him, needing more, needing everything.

And Griffin notices.

"Oh, you want it now?" he taunts, his hands tightening, possessive, keeping me exactly where he wants me. "You can beg for it, baby."

I whimper, panting, gasping, my mind too wrecked to care.

"Please," I whisper, "please, Griffin."

"That’s my good girl."

Then—he snaps his hips forward, hard.

I choke on a moan, my fingers clenching into the mattress as he fucks me exactly how he wants, no holding back.

His thrusts are relentless, deep, his grip bruising, his hands everywhere.

Spanking me between thrusts, growling how perfect I feel, how good I take him.

I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only moan, can only take it, can only fall apart all over again.

"That’s it, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked, raw, as he pounds into me. "Fucking mine now."

And the second he says it—I break.

My body locks up, pleasure slamming into me so hard I swear I black out for a second as my release burns me up.

“Deeper,” I moan. “Deeper, Griffin baby.”

I pulse around him, shaking, sobbing his name, and Griffin loses it completely.

“You want that cum baby?”

“I want it. So bad.”

He grunts, thrusting deep, burying himself inside me, his fingers digging into my hips as he follows me over the edge.

His groan is low, primal, wrecked, his body tense, shaking, claiming me in every possible way.

We stay like that, tangled, breathless, ruined.

Then—he presses a slow, lazy kiss to the curve of my shoulder.

"I told you I’d take my time with you, Sinclair," Griffin murmurs, his lips brushing over my temple as I try to catch my breath.

A weak, breathless laugh escapes me, though my whole body still trembles. Every nerve feels alive, buzzing with the aftermath of him.

And fuck—as he moves with an ease that’s almost infuriating, grabbing a warm towel from the bathroom to gently clean us up—I already want more.

Griffin Knox is an addiction like I’ve never experienced.

He kneels beside me, the towel brushing softly over my thighs, his touch so tender it makes my chest ache. He doesn’t rush, his focus entirely on me, and the vulnerability of the moment leaves me breathless.

“You okay, Princess?” he asks, his voice lower now, threaded with concern.

I nod, my lips curving into a small smile. “More than okay.”

“Good.” He leans in, his lips finding my forehead in a kiss so sweet it nearly undoes me all over again. “Because if it’s too much, you tell me. Always.”

I swallow, the sincerity in his voice turning my heart into a puddle. “I will. I promise. Mmm and I really liked that.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek as he pulls me into his lap, cradling me against his chest. The strength of his arms around me is grounding, like I could fall apart in them and still be safe. “You make me…want to go a little crazy, sometimes. I have to fight to stay in control.”

For a moment, we just sit there in silence, the hum of the city outside the only sound. My fingers find the edge of his collarbone, tracing idle patterns, and I let my head rest against his shoulder.

He grins, his green eyes bright as they search mine, like he can’t get enough of looking at me. “But seriously—anything you need? Water? A snack? A… massage?”

“A massage?” I echo, laughing softly. “What, are you trying to run a full-service spa here?”

He shrugs, smirking. “If it gets me a five-star review, why not?”

I throw back my head in laughter. The warmth in his gaze makes my chest feel light, and I tuck myself closer, letting the moment linger. Because with Griffin, even the quiet moments feel like everything.

“You know what I need?” I whisper, my voice soft against the curve of his neck.

“What’s that?” he asks, his hand sliding up and down my back in soothing strokes.

“Just this,” I admit. “Just you.”

“So you’re saying you want to go again already?”