Page 30

twenty-nine

. . .

Griffin

The morning air is cooler than I expected, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand as I make my way down the quiet beach.

I hadn’t planned on waking up early.

But after last night? After her?

After screwing until three a.m.?

There was no fucking way I was sleeping in. I was full of nerves, and of butterflies.

I’d woken up before sunrise, the sky still dark, the waves rolling onto the shore in steady, rhythmic crashes. Despite my lack of sleep I was full of energy. But I hadn’t moved right away.

Because Avery was still asleep beside me.

She was curled into the sheets, completely tangled up, her hair messy and wild, her lips parted in soft, even breaths.

And I just lay there. Watching her. My little obsession. How did we get here?

I felt—feel—like the luckiest man on the planet.

I shouldn’t have touched her—not after the way I’d already claimed her, ruined her, memorized every single fucking sound she made—but I couldn’t help myself.

I’d leaned in, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her bare shoulder.

And then I’d slipped out, needing air, space, time to think.

Because this ?

This was everything I ever wanted. Everything I thought it could be.

And that is a fucking problem when she’s made it very explicit that this stays in Mexico.

The sand is cool under my feet, the waves rolling up to the shore in soft, frothy lines.

I drag a hand through my hair, still damp from last night’s shower, from last night’s fucking everything, and exhale hard.

I knew this would be good.

But I didn’t know it would fucking wreck me.

I’ve wanted Avery Sinclair since the first moment I laid eyes on her.

Since she laughed at one of my shitty jokes when she thought no one was listening.

And now?

Now I have to pretend like it’s just casual.

Like I don’t want everything with her. Like I’m going to enjoy her gallivanting away to Spain, and shooting any chance at letting a future organically develop between us in the next year.

But what my girl wants—my girl gets. Especially when it comes to her life long dreams. I’m not so selfish to want to capture her and put her in a cage.

I mean, unless we had consensually mapped that fantasy out and added it to her list.

I let out a low, rough laugh, shaking my head as I glance out at the ocean.

I’m fucking insane.

And I’m also so fucking screwed . Avery’s got all the chips. I’m at her mercy, and she has no clue.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time I walk back into the room, the sun is higher, the air is warmer, and I’m no closer to figuring out how the fuck I’m going to keep my feelings in check.

I push open the door, and there she is—sitting up in bed, her hair a sexy, tangled mess, her bare shoulders peeking out from under the sheets.

Just nonchalantly naked in front of me now. Fuck. I will remember this trip forever.

She stretches, arms over her head, back arching just slightly, and I have to force myself not to crawl back into bed with her and fuck her all over again.

Instead, she smirks.

"Hey, friend…with benefits."

I swallow hard.

It’s a joke. A teasing, playful, completely casual joke.

But it cuts deep, so deep.

Because it reinforces that I’m nuts over here, on my own island. And that I have to play it cool.

I can’t tell her that I’ve been obsessed with her for years.

That I’ve thought about last night a thousand fucking times.

Can’t say that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before—don’t want to have to feel this way about anyone else, and I don’t even know what to do with it.

So I force a grin, leaning against the doorframe like I’m not completely, utterly undone over her.

“Morning, Sinclair.” My voice is steady. Casual. Like I don’t feel like I belong to her now. “Friend of many benefits.”

She yawns, shifting in bed, the sheets slipping just enough to make me lose my goddamn mind.

“Go on a little soul-searching walk?” she teases. “Was weird not to wake up next to you.”

"Something like that."

She hums, tilting her head, watching me.

And for a second, I wonder if she sees through me.

If she knows that, in my head, I’ve already given her everything.

That I don’t need a label, or a promise, or even a damn conversation about what this is.

That whatever she wants, however long she wants it—I'm in.

Because that’s what love is, isn’t it?

It’s unselfish.

And fuck, I love her.

I always have, in some way, and our chemistry has officially sealed the deal. My gut was right.

And even if she never feels the same way, even if I never get to call her mine in the way I want to, I can still be the one to help her chase her dreams. To want the best for her.

With or without me.

I guess this is life. Learning that love isn’t just some easy peaceful feeling.

Love fucking hurts . Especially when it’s real.

So when she reaches for me, pulling me back into the sheets, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to my lips, I let her.

I let her take from me whatever she wants, however she wants it.

And I don’t ask for anything in return.

Because I won’t mess this up by asking for more.

Even though I want to.

Fuck me, I want to.

She tugs me closer, her body still warm, soft, lazy with sleep, and for a second, I just let myself enjoy it. The way she fits against me, the way her fingers skim my jaw, trace down my chest, her touch easy, familiar, like she’s always meant to be here.

I kiss her back, slow, deliberate, even though this is dangerous.

Even though I already know I’m too far gone.

She sighs against my lips, shifting slightly, but then she winces—just barely—a small, breathy sound catching in her throat.

I freeze.

My hand tightens on her hip, my lips hovering just over hers.

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Nothing. Just…a little sore from yesterday. It’s your fault, actually. I mean, nothing you could do about it. But…I might need a rest this morning.”

Something hot and primal curls in my chest at that, but I shove it down.

I should stop. Be decent. Let her rest.

I shouldn’t trail my fingers down her side, shouldn’t press a slow, lazy kiss to the corner of her mouth, shouldn’t let my lips drift down the column of her throat, her collarbone, lower.

But I do.

“Even too sore for this?” I murmur against her skin, my lips trailing lower, brushing over the swell of her breast, down, down.

She sucks in a breath, her fingers threading into my hair, tightening just enough to make me groan.

"I—" She hesitates, then exhales, already giving in. “Griffin. You’re insatiable.”

I grin against her stomach, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin there.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Yes. Ohh, that’s good.”

I drag my lips lower, my hands smoothing over her thighs, coaxing them apart, kissing a slow path between them.

And when I finally settle between her legs, dragging my tongue over her in one long, teasing stroke, she moans, her hips arching, her hands tugging at my hair.

I smirk against her, pressing her back down, holding her still.

“Relax, Sinclair,” I murmur, my voice low, rough, full of promise. “Let me take care of you.”

I feel her tensing up, and I pop my head up one more time.

“Hey.” I run my hands over her thighs. “I’m serious. Do you ever just take a fucking break? Shut your mind off, and let me take care of you?”

“I…have a hard time shutting my mind off.”

“Well, shut it off. Let me take control, baby. Lay back. Relax.”

“Okay.”

She lets a deep breath out, and I physically feel tension leaving her body.

Then, I do what I told her I was going to do.

And I take my time, just like last night.

I lose myself in her. In the way she gasps, the way she moans, the way she trembles under my tongue.

And even though I know this is dangerous—that every time I touch her, I fall harder, deeper, beyond the point of no return—I don’t stop.

I don’t stop because I want her to need me like this.

I don’t stop because I need this, need her, need to prove to her in every possible way that she belongs to me, even if I can’t say it out loud. Even if it’s just for the moment.

I don’t stop because I know that when this week is over, she’ll be gone.

And if this is all I’ll ever have of her, I’m going to make it count.

Mostly though? I don’t stop because I love doing it for her, hearing her moans, tasting her.

“I just came again,” she groans, her hands gripping my mop of hair. “How are you so good at this?”

“You bring it out of me, baby,” I groan. “Now be a good girl one more time for me. You still seem stressed.”

I grin as I run my hands up her stomach, to her tits, watching her head tilt back as I work her with my mouth again.