“And you? What do you want?”
Griff’s smile was tight. “I want whatever she does.” He slapped Jackson on the back. “Now go inside, drink a glass of water, and get some sleep.”
“G’night, man.”
They dropped Breck and Caitie off next, and as the car pulled out of the lot, the driver turned around to ask, “Where next?”
Griff gave the man his address and leaned back, stretching his arm across the leather seat. Autumn nestled into him, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his arm.
He could see his face faintly reflected in the passenger window. Who was that guy looking so contentedly back at him? His skin felt hot, his chest full of emotions he couldn’t quantify. Then Autumn caught his eye and smiled, and he realized what a lucky bastard he was.
She was beautiful and funny and everything a woman should be.
Even better, she wanted him.
“You okay?” she breathed, snuggling even closer to him. She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his palm, sending a shiver straight through him.
“Yeah.” His voice was thick. “I’m good.”
For so long he’d thought relationships were like cages. Bars that confined his parents until they snapped and spat at each other like wild animals, yet could never part. They just ignored everything – and everyone – around them.
Including him.
But being with Autumn didn’t feel like that at all. It wasn’t a cage, but a soft cocoon instead. Something he wanted to run to rather than avoid. He’d spent so long being afraid of intimacy that it was a shock to realize how pleasurable it could be.
She turned in his arms, her eyes bright as she smiled up at him. God, he wanted her. He wanted her kisses, her gazes, her soft words… everything. He craved them like a fix. He didn’t care what he had to do to get it.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me coming back to yours?” she asked him.
“Yep. I want to wake up with you in my bed.” He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s my birthday.”
“The day after, technically.”
He pressed his lips to her brow. “Whatever. You’re coming home with me.”
* * *
Autumn blew out a mouthful of air, her head falling back on the pillow, her skin covered in a sheen of perspiration. They’d barely made it through the doors of his apartment before they were tearing off each other’s clothes, the sexual tension from the club spilling into his living room.
Griff rolled onto his side and smiled down at her. “You want anything? A glass of water, some juice.” He traced the line of her upper lip with the tip of his finger. “A sandwich?”
“A sandwich?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“Sex is hungry work. Plus I haven’t eaten since seven. I could eat a sandwich.”
Her stomach gurgled as though it was listening. “A sandwich sounds pretty good,” she confessed. “Even if it’s going to kill my body clock.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Or today is. You can sleep in.”
“Okay. Give me your shirt.” She scrambled to her knees.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t bring pajamas and I’m not making a sandwich naked.”
Heat flashed in his eyes. “That’s a shame. And for what it’s worth, I’m making the sandwiches. You can watch.”
“You don’t think I can make a sandwich?” She cocked her head to the left.