Chapter Seven
I need to be inside you right now.
His words echoed through Beverly, voicing her own desire. Her own need. She no longer wanted slow. She wanted fast and hard. She wanted him.
“On your back,” she demanded, and when he complied, she peeled off her panties, then straddled him, his rough, scarred skin rubbing against the soft flesh of her inner thigh in a way that she found strangely erotic.
She reached down, circling his shaft with her palm, then stroking slowly. “Touch me,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the hard length of him in her hand, that sensation soon joined by the thrill of his fingers teasing her pussy as she straddled him.
She was so turned on, and her hips rocked as her body begged for more. He didn’t disappoint, and soon she was riding his left fingers, her body bucking as he teased her, stroking her clit and fucking her as she drew him in deeper and deeper.
“More,” she begged, her hand moving faster on his cock, her other cupping and teasing his balls.
She thought he would beg her to take him inside her, but he didn’t. Not yet. Apparently he was enjoying the slow build as much as she was.
What he did do was move his right hand to her breast, and the knowledge that he would touch her like that—that he would use the injured fingers of that hand to cup and tweak and tease and tug—sent such waves of pleasure through her that she thought she might come right then.
“Now,” she whispered, because she wanted to come with him inside her. “I want you inside me now.”
“God, yes,” he said, as she moved to straddle him, then lowered herself, taking him in even deeper until it felt as if they were one person. She rose up, then down, teasing herself along with him, the sensation all the more delicious when he used his fingers to play with her clit while she rode him.
“Baby,” he said, his voice as tight as his cock. “I’m so close.”
“I can tell,” she said, reaching between their bodies to stroke him as she continued to ride him.
But he’d obviously had enough of that, and with one quick, unexpected move, he flipped them over so that she was on her back and he had her knees up, exposing her to him. He held her tight, the fact that she was so wide open as arousing as the feel of him entering her, deeper and harder and faster until she couldn’t take it anymore.
She heard someone begging, then realized it was her. And as he urged her to come on, to come with him, to follow him over, she felt the pressure that had built inside her give way to the force an explosion, and she went over with him … all the way to the stars, and then safely back to earth in his arms.
* * *
Beverly staredat the coffee maker, trying to will it to brew faster. She and Griffin had stayed up way too late last night. Not that she regretted a single moment, but she needed a serious caffeine jolt to get going. Especially if, as she hoped, she’d get to enjoy a repeat performance before the day really got going.
That hope, however, was countered against the fear that Griffin would wake up with morning after regret. Not because they weren’t good together—as far as she was concerned, the judges given them a perfect ten—but because he might have lingering fears or insecurities or whatever it was that kept him focusing on his scars and prevented him from believing that any woman would really want him, much less her.
Frustrating as hell, but maybe last night set him straight, and he’d wake up more clued in to the reality. Especially considering reality had her falling fast and hard for the guy.
“Morning, beautiful,” Griffin said.
She turned to face him, her already broad smile widening when she saw that he’d come into the kitchen wearing only a pair of boxers and a short-sleeved UCLA T-shirt. No hoodie, no gloves. So maybe she’d truly passed the test.
Her mind drifted back to all the delicious things they did last night. He’d definitely scored an A-plus. And she really hoped he judged her just as highly.
“So how are you?” she asked, adding an extra dose of flirty goodness to her words. “Coffee?” She stood on her toes, reaching up to get one of the larger mugs from the cabinet’s top shelf.
“I’ll count this morning as one of my better ones,” he said, with a hint of a tease in his voice. “Although I really think you should—”
“Please don’t say I should go.” The words more or less fell from her lips. She should have held them back—the last thing she wanted was to sound needy—but she consoled herself with the fact that they were true. And as far as Griff was concerned, she’d decided to go the route of utmost veracity.
“Go?” He laughed, then slid his arms around her waist. “All I was going to say is that you should put on some underwear if you want to get any work done today.”
She swallowed, realizing that she’d tossed on nothing but his old T-shirt when she’d gotten out of bed. That grab for a mug had probably given him one hell of a view. The thought brought a wicked smile to her lips as she poured him a cup. “Is that all that’s on the agenda today? Work?”
He took the mug gratefully. “Got something else in mind?”
“Well, I happen to know you have a pretty comfortable bed.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He put the mug down and took a step toward her, his naturally arched brows enhancing his mischievous expression. “But here’s what I want to know,” he added, when he was only inches from her.