by Jewel E. Ann
“Hear that? He’s here.” Scott grins at me as I have a full-fledged meltdown in front of him and Sherri.
“He’s here?” I whisper, frozen in place as I listen.
The familiar rumble grows louder.
Scott holds the door open for me. Smart man. I will mow over anyone who stands in my way.
My heart explodes as Griff eases off his motorcycle and pulls off his helmet. Over six feet of leather covered muscles, a week’s worth of beard, the whitest smile, and sable eyes are about to get tackled by five feet six inches of crazy love.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He grins, tugging at the fingers to his gloves, but I’m not waiting another second to be in his arms. “Oof!” He catches me, wobbling a bit to keep from stumbling back into his bike.
“I can breathe again,” I whisper into his ear. My senses devour him. There’s a million things I want to say, but my mouth needs his. My appetite has returned.
He gives me everything right in front of his parents. It’s probably not the most polite thing to do, but I don’t have time for manners.
I. Need. This. Man.
His tongue dives into my mouth. One hand cups my ass and the other fists my hair. A low growl vibrates his chest as he deepens the kiss. I missed him asking about my days. I missed watching him work in his garage. I missed him cooking for me. But more than anything, I missed my lover.
“You should have been with me …” he says between labored breaths, resting his forehead against mine, hand still fisted in my hair like he needs to reclaim what’s his.
Just as breathless, I nod my head against his. “Yes. I should have.”
Sherri clears her throat. “Should we come back in an hour or so?”
Griffin and I both grin at each other.
“We’re not old like you guys,” he says. “Hours. We need hours … maybe all night.”
My skin heats to a blood-red shade of complete embarrassment.
Scott chuckles. “Chip off the old block.”
Kill me now.
“Since when?” Sherri laughs.
Griffin lowers me to my feet.
“I have cobbler and ice cream.” Sherri gives Griffin a hug when I step back.
I don’t need the cobbler, but ice cream sounds perfect. Things feel pretty hot between me and Mr. Sex in Leather. I want to peel every inch of it off him and lick him like a—”
“Hungry, Swayz?” Griffin nods toward the house, holding a bag in each hand.
I nod, watching his parents go inside. “More than you can imagine.”
He struts his sexiness in front of me. “Oh, I’m pretty fucking sure I can imagine.”
I want to pounce on his back, tackle him to the ground, and have him in a hundred different ways right here on the lawn. But, I don’t. Instead, we have cobbler and ice cream. Sherri and Scott gave me the impression they knew what Griffin and I needed, and it’s not ice cream and cobbler. Yet here we sit, across from each other in the living room, talking about the trip while eating ice cream and cobbler.
I don’t want ice cream and cobbler. I want to scream while riding Griffin’s face and his cock and—
“Swayze’s boss lives in the most exquisite house. Have you seen it yet?” Sherri asks Griffin.
When did we get on this topic? Probably between Griffin’s teeth teasing my nipples and his tongue circling my clit. Best daydream I’ve had in a long time. But the mention of Nate ruins my moment.
“I have not.” Griffin gives me a slight grin, tight lipped and uneasy.
“You will. I want you to meet the professor and Morgan. You’ll like them.” This is code for I don’t want to talk about “Nate” so let’s stick to “Professor” and his daughter so as soon as your parents leave we can fuck like rabbits on crack instead of playing twenty questions about my time at “Nate’s.”
What is my deal? I have never been this mad for sex. When did it become such a drug to me? Oh yeah … the day I met my grocery store guy.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Calloway, I love you to pieces. I want to be your daughter-in-law someday soon, but would you please please please leave so I can do really kinky stuff with your son?
“Do you like his house better than ours?” Griffin’s lips purse slightly as his eyes narrow.
If he knew where my mind is at the moment, he wouldn’t give a shit about what I think of Nate’s house.
I shrug. “Four walls and a roof. It’s what you do to make it a home that matters.” Like fucking me against these four walls.
Whoa!
I’m a mess. My mind doesn’t crawl around in the gutter like this. What’s happening? Was there something in the food? No. I barely ate. The ice tea did taste a little different. Maybe someone slipped an aphrodisiac into it. No. That can’t be … Sherri doesn’t look like she’s ready to dry hump Scott’s leg.
This is all Nate. He’s messed with my head. The way he looks at me. The things he says. It’s twisted my thoughts. Nightmares. Sex dreams. I’m not myself. I don’t know who I am. But I know I’m ready to orgasm just looking at Griffin. I smell him like a bloodhound in heat.
“You look flushed. Are you feeling okay?” Sherri’s head cocks to the side, concern etched into her forehead.
“Um …”
“Were you allergic to something in the cobbler?” She gets me a glass of water.
An allergic reaction? Maybe. I’ve never had one. I thought allergic reactions caused swelling … well, my breasts feel heavy and so does a certain area between my legs. “I … maybe I should go lie down. I am feeling a little feverish.”
I gulp down half of the water and stand.
Griffin grabs my wrist, but I can’t look at him. I pull out of his hold. “Thank you for dinner and dessert. And helping me move my stuff. You’ve been amazing.”
I feel Griffin’s scrutinizing gaze, but I don’t acknowledge it. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Scott and Sherri say.
Oh sweet mother of mercy, even walking is painfully stimulating. There’s no way I look flushed, not when every ounce of blood has merged between my legs. I take a left into the bedroom, strip off my shirt—because holy hell it’s hot in here—remove my leggings, and crack the bedroom window, desperate for the cool air to hit my skin.
One breath.
Another breath.
It’s not working.
Voices mumble, but I can’t make sense of them past the thundering of my pulse. I close my eyes and block out everything except what I need. My hand slides down the front of my panties.
“God …” I pant, sliding my middle finger over that little bundle of nerves.
“Fuck me, baby …”
All the muscles in my body clench as I jump, eyes flying open. I make a quick move to pull my hand out of my panties. Griffin arrests my attempt, covering my hand with his and sliding them both back under the white, lacy-edged cotton.
Turned on.
Embarrassed.
Ready to die.
Seconds from exploding.
I don’t know which feeling demands my attention the most.
Flecks of gold and brown sear me as Griffin’s gaze holds mine a few seconds before his head dips, lips brushing my ear. “Spread your legs more,” he whispers, guiding my fingers beneath his. “Let’s make you come.”
All of those feelings bleed into each other when his mouth takes mine. We communicate in deep moans and the slide of our hands, the tip of my pelvis, the commanding hold he has on the back of my head.
His tongue flicks mine, teasing it over and over, making me feel it lower … so much lower. My knees buckle. Breath hitches. Eyes roll back.
This unraveled, completely intoxicated feeling leaves me paralyzed. He steps back, putting the wall in charge of keeping me upright.
“You have never looked sexier.” He grins, eyes roving the length of my body as he pulls off his bandana revealing short, dark hair.
I love him shaven and smooth, but I love him with thick dark shadows coveri
ng his head and face too. Griffin does it for me any way.
He loses the white tee next, gaze affixed to something below my belly. My hand is still in my panties, resting there like it’s a pocket. I’m that out of it. I slide it up.
“Don’t you dare.” He shakes his head, bending down to remove his black boots.
Leather pants.
Black briefs.
They pile up beside him as my eyes get reacquainted with his tattoos, the lines of his muscles, and the steely erection begging for my mouth.
He frowns in disapproval at my hand leaving my panties as I step toward him.
“Don’t give me that look, Griff.” I push his chest once.
He takes a step backwards.
“No more games. You have somewhere you need to be.” I shove him again.
He surrenders, easing back onto the bed. “Where’s that?”
I crawl over him, ghosting my lips over his skin, my tongue tracing the length of his erection.
He groans, flexing his hips.
“Here.” I kiss his pecs, up his neck, and hover over his lips. He’s hard and warm in my hand. I stroke him a few times until his eyes leaden. “This is where you need to be.” Sinking onto him, I close my eyes.
Before I can relish the illusion of control that he’s given me, he grips my hips and rolls us over, pinning me to the mattress. For the rest of the night I don’t think of the girl I’m not, the woman I am, or the memories that don’t belong in my head. It’s just me and my grocery store guy doing what I’m certain we do better than anyone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Good morning.” Griffin hands me a cup of coffee. I fear it’s decaf. I’m a junk food junkie in love with a health nut.
“You’re showered and dressed.” I frown. “It’s Sunday. We were supposed to wake up together—naked.”
He leans over and pulls out the kitchen chair next to his, depositing a slow kiss on my lips as I ease to sitting. “I worked out. Felt a little flabby after my week away without exercise.”
I chuckle. “Flabby? Yes. I thought the same thing about you.”
“We can do naked the rest of the day if you want.” He shoots me a playful grin before sipping his green tea. Health nut.
My eyes roll as I sip my decaf. “No. That’s fine. Staying in bed is lazy. Getting back in bed feels overindulgent unless we’re on our honeymoon.”
“I see.” He nods. “Where should we go on our honeymoon?”
This guy has proposed to me on more than one occasion without actually asking me to marry him. It’s equal parts exciting and confusing. “I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. When the right guy asks me to marry him, I want to plan the wedding and I want him to plan the honeymoon. I want it to be a surprise.”
“The right guy?” Griffin stands, shoulders back, chest puffed out, towering over me. “Are you suggesting I’m a stand-in until you find the right guy?”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. “Yes. A real boyfriend.”
I didn’t say that. No, no, no … I didn’t just say that. She would say that. I’m not her. Nate has told me too many stories. She’s in my head because of him. That’s all.
Griffin nudges my chair with his leg, turning me to the side and easing onto my lap, straddling me while supporting most of his weight in his solid, jean-clad legs. “Marry me.”
I laugh. “Sure. When and where?”
“I’m serious.” His eyes confirm it.
“This is it?” I chuckle. “This is your grand proposal? No ring?”
Whisky eyes search mine. I love this man with all that I am, even on the days I don’t know who that is. And he loves me. I knew it before he ever said it. It’s something I’ve felt in the way he holds my hand and smiles at the crazy things I say and do. It’s in the way he looks at me when he doesn’t know I feel his gaze on me.
“Do you need a ring?” He circles his calloused finger over my left ring finger.
I shake my head. “I need you.”
“Am I the one? The right guy?” He feathers his knuckles along my cheek.
“Yes.” I whisper, leaning into his touch.
He slides his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a ring. “I got one just in case.”
“Oh, Jesus …” I breathe out, my tear-filled eyes flitting between the ring and the most sincere expression I have ever seen on the face of another human. “You’re really doing this …” I shake my head. “Right here, in our kitchen. Sitting on my lap. Next to the worst cup of decaf coffee ever.”
He grins. “Right here. Right now. Because we’ve never been conventional. And you owe me for your groceries.”
I laugh. “I bought you lunch.”
“I think your groceries cost more than the lunch you bought me.”
I nod. “And if I agree to marry you, we’re even? My debt will be paid in full?”
“Yes.”
I fist his shirt and pull him closer. “Then, yes. I will be Mrs. Grocery Store Guy Calloway.” I brush my lips over his and trap his lower lip between my teeth.
He growls, standing and scooping me up in his arms. “I was wrong. It’s a naked day after all.” He tosses the ring on the table. On … the … table. And carries me off to the bedroom. I don’t care because he really is all I need.
*
“It’s a good idea to do reds separately, but if they’ve been washed quite a few times, it’s okay to stick them in with other darks like blues and blacks.” Griffin loads the washer as I watch him from my spot perched on the dryer.
“I like that you do laundry in just your underwear. That fascinates me.”
“Are you listening?” He squints at me.
I could not care less about his laundry sorting rules. Domestic Griffin is my porn. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Reds on hot and washed with whites.”
Griffin starts the washer and lifts me from the dryer, tossing me over his shoulder. “Just continue working on your cock-sucking skills and leave the housework to me.” He smacks my ass.
“Ouch!” I laugh and smack his butt just as hard, blood running to my head. “I know how to do laundry, cook, and clean on a need-to basis. And there’s nothing wrong with my cock-sucking skills. I’ll be a fine wife. Just wait and see.”
He drops me on the bed. “Get dressed. Let’s go get the last few things from your apartment so you can turn in your keys.”
“When are we going to tell my mom and your family?”
“After we elope.” He pulls on a T-shirt and jeans.
“Excuse me?”
“We’re living together. Weddings are expensive. You said all you needed was me. I know all I need is you.”
How did this happen? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He grabs his wallet off the dresser and bends down, kissing me on the cheek. “I love the simplicity of our love. It’s almost dinnertime and you haven’t taken the ring from the kitchen table and slipped it on your finger because that’s not what matters to us.”
No. No fucking way. I slide off the bed and throw on my clothes, yanking and pulling them like they did me wrong.
“Ready?” he asks as I stomp toward the back door, hands balled, jaw clenched.
“I’ll get the rest of my stuff later. I’m going to my mom’s … alone.”
“Whoa … what’s going on?” He grabs my arm as I shove my feet into my sneakers.
“Nothing’s going on.” I attempt to jerk out of his grip.
“Look at me.” He grabs my other arm, forcing me to face him.
I glare at his chest.
Silence settles between us as he refuses to let me go and I refuse to look at him.
“You want a wedding?”
I don’t respond.
“Swayz?”
Nope. I’m not going to move. Not one blink. How dare he be so presumptuous? Now the truth will make me sound greedy, selfish, and materialistic.
“Would you look at me?”
Biting my tongue and holdin
g my breath, my gaze works its way up to meet his.
“Is that what you want? If so, then that’s what we’ll do. I don’t care.”
“No.” This time he lets me wriggle out of his hold. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to completely dismiss my dreams—crush them—and then take it all back with a simple I don’t care. You don’t get to own a truck, a motorcycle, and a house then make me feel like wanting a wedding is impractical and excessive.”
My voice continues to escalate as I cross my arms over my chest. “And the only reason that ring…” I glance over at the table and then back to him “…is still sitting on the table is because you should have the fucking decency to get down on your goddamn knees and put it on my finger like the right guy would do. And the right guy would care. He would want to see me in a stunning white gown walking down a long aisle toward him. He would want to dance with me to a song that meant something special to us. He would want to take off that stunning white gown like unwrapping the best gift he’d ever received.”
Griffin doesn’t move, not even the expression on his face. “Fine.” He nods after a few seconds of silence and grabs the ring from the table.
“Hell no.” I shake my head as he starts to get down on one knee.
He stops halfway to the ground.
“You cannot make this right. Not now. It’s too late. Now I have to decide if this is it … do I marry the man I love in spite of the botched-up proposal or do I hold out for something better so I don’t spend the rest of my life envying epic proposal stories of other couples?”
He stands slowly and bites his lips together.
“I’ll call you or maybe see you later. I don’t know.” I open the back door and head toward my car parked on the street.
A strong arm hooks my waist before I make it to the end of the driveway. Griffin backs me up against the door of his truck.
“Let go of me.”
“No.” He clenches his jaw while grabbing my hand.
I try but fail to pull it away. He shoves the ring onto my finger.
“You said yes. That was the deal. You owe me for wine, chips, chocolate, and tampons.” He holds my arms to my sides, keeping me from going anywhere as he kneels in front of me. “Will you please marry me?”
