Time to be the good guy. Frankly, it sucked. “I want you, Kinga, but you’re vulnerable and still upset. Maybe it’s not a good time.”
Kinga rested her palm on his cheek, her thumb swiping over the stubble on his cheek. “It’s a great time. I need you, Griff, I need to feel alive and connected and...”
Loved.
Kinga looked into his mesmerizing eyes, shocked that she’d nearly allowed the L word to escape. Love wasn’t something she’d ever imagined for herself, not in any shape or form. Love was a story society had been fed for far too long and it didn’t exist, not really. Friendship did, as did companionship. Attraction, obviously, and flat-out lust. Couples hooked up for a variety of reasons—in her parents’ case it was an amalgamation of wealth and power—but love? No, that was a myth.
“Are you sure, Kinga?” Griff asked, searching her face.
“Very,” Kinga told him, sitting up and grabbing the edges of her dress to pull it over her head, exposing her torso to Griff’s appreciative gaze. He lifted his big hand to her breast, his tan hand a lovely contrast to her pale skin and pale pink bra. Griff sat up and put his mouth to her nipple, tugging her into his mouth, his hand going down the back of her panties to explore her butt cheek. The thought that she shouldn’t be feeling like this, not with Jas dead, popped into her brain. But she also knew that Jas would be the first person to tell her carpe diem, to seize the day and all that.
Besides, Jas would not be the type of girl who’d kick a sexy, sweet man out of her bed.
Griff pulled away, his expression a little fierce. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Kinga.”
Yes, please.She could live with that.
Griff asked her to lie back down and when she did, he hovered over her, taking his time, looking at her. Unable to wait, Kinga cupped the back of his neck and pulled his head down, needing his kiss, his tongue in her mouth.
While he fed her kisses, Griff unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor. He moved his hands down her body to stop at her ankles, before sliding them back up her body. After removing her tights and caressing her calves, knees and thighs, his hand went back to her butt, his skilled fingers sliding under her bottom, probing to stroke lightly between her legs. Kinga allowed her thighs to fall open, and she wondered if Griff would notice her damp panties.
Still kissing her, alternating between take-her-to-heaven kisses and gentle nibbles, Griff’s hand skated back up and then down her chest and over her stomach to rest his palm on her mons. Kinga pulled in a harsh breath as he moved his mouth from hers to her bare breast, and his fingers slid underneath the band of her panties to access her warm, wet and secretive places.
“Let’s get rid of these, okay?”
Not able to speak, she heard his gentle command to lift her hips and felt the fabric slide down, and then it was gone. Griff’s fingers drifted through her small patch of hair and his fingers—urgent now—slid over and into her folds, unerringly finding her clit, causing her to release a turned-on moan. She pushed into his hands, needing more and needing it now.
“That’s it, baby.”
One finger probed and entered her, his thumb caressing that center of pleasure until she whimpered into his neck, begging for release. Kinga felt that wave of pleasure lifting her, fully in the grasp of lust’s primal power. Griff bent down to kiss her breast again, to suck her nipple to the roof of his mouth and Kinga knew that she was close to coming, that the wave was about to crash. Sensing her approaching climax, Griff pulled back and slowed down, murmuring compliments against her mouth and skin.
He could’ve been speaking Swahili or Spanish, she had no idea. All she cared about was his trailing mouth on her body, his tongue dipping into her belly button, his big body hovering over hers, his mouth on her mound, his hands holding her legs apart.
That wave swelled again, shooting her up, and she hovered on its crest as he sucked her bud into her mouth. She waited, sobbing and begging his name, and when his fingers slid into her channel, she screamed, dropped and flew.
She tumbled, caught up in a maelstrom of warm, wet pleasure.
When she found solid ground, came back to herself, Kinga pulled him up and cradled his head into her neck, half sobbing from the pleasure of the experience.
“Best orgasm ever,” Kinga whispered in his ear and felt his lips curve against her skin.
“That was just the warm-up act,” Griff told her, lifting his head to grin at her.
“I’m so glad I bought a ticket to this gig,” Kinga teased him. “But wonderful warm-up acts put pressure on the main performer. You’re gonna have to up your game, O’Hare.”
“Not a problem,” Griff assured her.
And it wasn’t. Griff O’Hare, yet again, gave her an incredible one-man show.