Surrender (The Titans of Founder's Ridge Book 3)

by Nichole Greene

  I’ve never been so happy to have two days off from rehearsals. I bend down and grab the shirt that Griff was wearing last night. I walk to the bathroom to see how rough I look. My hair is a tangled mess, so I just toss it into a messy bun before wetting my face with some cool water. I swish some of his mouthwash around in my mouth. I roll the sleeves up on his shirt and button the middle two buttons, it’s long enough that it hits me at mid-thigh, but I still go on a hunt for a pair of shorts or boxers to put on. Once I find a pair, I roll them at the waist a few times and tie the ends of his shirt into a knot, so I look somewhat cute.

  I walk down the hall and to the stairs that overlook the kitchen and living room of his penthouse. He has the news on quietly while he chops veggies. He looks so sexy. I take a minute at the top of the steps to watch him before he notices me. His hair is all disheveled. A pair of Harvard sweats hang low on his narrow hips. All his lean muscles and ink are on display.

  He looks up and notices me. “Good morning, beautiful.” He tells me with a warm smile when I reach the bottom of the stairs. “You look a lot cuter in that shirt than I do.”

  “It’s all in the knot,” I tilt my head and tug on one of the ends of the knot. “I’ll give you a lesson sometime.”

  “Sounds good. Scrambled eggs with peppers and spinach okay?”

  “That’s perfect. Do you need help with anything?”

  “You can make yourself a cup of coffee if you want.”

  I go to the drawer he told me holds all his coffee pods and pick one. After I get everything going, I turn and take a seat on one of the island stools to watch him work. He’s so sure of everything he does. I’ve always wondered how he, Con, and Levi all have this unending confidence in everything they do. They never seem to second guess or overthink anything.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” He asks over his shoulder.

  “Nothing in particular. Enjoying watching you work.” I’m not bringing the vibe down by talking about Con.

  “Do you have anything going on today?”

  “No, the studio in my apartment was just finished, so I’ll probably practice.”

  “Is it safe for you to be practicing alone?” He turns back to me with our breakfast plated and sets mine down in front of me. “What do your doctors say about everything?”

  “I don’t have any restrictions on physical activity yet.” My mood instantly drops with this topic of conversation. I sigh as I pick up my fork.

  “Hey.” He swivels my stool around, so I’m facing him. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

  “Yeah,” I give him a half smirk, “you totally failed the vibe check.”

  He makes it up to me by changing the topic of conversation while we eat and kissing me senseless as I get ready to go to home.

  6

  GRIFF

  “Hello, Mr. Potter,” Connor’s assistant says as I step off the elevator. “Mr. Volkov is back in his office.”

  “Thank you, Helen.” I smile politely as I pass her. The door to Con’s office is cracked, so I just give a quick warning knock and slight pause, just in case Lilith is in there. After living with those two for four years, I can’t count the number of times I walked in on them. When I push open the door, I’m taken aback by his appearance.

  He’s usually dressed almost as sharply as I am, with a three-piece suit and perfectly tied tie. Today, though, his tie is laying haphazardly on the bookcase to the left of his desk, the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and his hair is a mess. He’s hunched over a book and keeps looking back and forth between it and his computer screen.

  “Did you know baby girls sometimes have period-like bleeding as newborns?” His eyes are crazed when he looks up at me. “How. The fuck. Am I supposed to take care of newborns on their periods?”

  “Maybe they make tiny tampons?” I joke and chuckle at the glare he shoots me.

  “You know what else?” He raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up. “They come out with their own breast milk!”

  “That’s….”

  “Fucking terrifying.” He slaps the book closed, and I see what it is, some baby and pregnancy book. “It’s fucking terrifying. Don’t get anyone pregnant. Anal sex only,” he says as he points at me, and my stomach churns with guilt. He definitely wouldn’t be suggesting that if he knew I was sleeping with his baby sister.

  I clear my throat and sit down, pulling my messenger bag over my shoulder. Luckily, I have some legal forms to have him sign, so I get an extra few seconds to compose myself. I knew the guilt would eat me, but I didn’t expect my skin to feel like it’s on fire.

  I pray to the ginger gods that I’m not red when I look up and make eye contact with my most perceptive friend. My pleas are answered when I look up at him and see he’s busy reading whatever is on his computer screen. His eyes are racing back and forth as he takes in the information in front of him.

  “It just keeps getting worse the more I learn about it,” he murmurs.

  “Yeah,” I reach around and turn his monitor off, “let’s take a break from the crash course on babies.”

  “Okay.” He runs his hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. “Did you bring all the paperwork for me to sign?”

  “Yes,” I slide it across his desk to him. “Sign by all the red tabs, and we’ll be ready to launch the company.”

  We spend the next hour and a half going over details and finalizing the contracts before veering into catching up on our respective lives. It’s been an adjustment not seeing him and Lilith every day. We still text all the time, but it just isn’t the same. I didn’t realize how much I would miss them. The guilt at being with Claire compounds that into some serious self-loathing on my part.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a text from Claire.

  Claire: I hate this, but can you come to me? I need you.

  Me: On my way. Where are you?

  Claire: My apartment.

  Me: I’m in Con’s office. Be down soon.

  Me: Are you okay?

  Claire: I don’t know.

  “Who’s that?” Con asks with no note of suspicion in his voice.

  “Just a friend I’m doing a favor for.” It’s not a complete lie, just omitting the name of the friend. “I actually should get going.”

  “Sounds good,” he says opening the baby book back up. “Lilith wants everyone to come for a family dinner before the babies are born. We’ll work out dates in the group chat.”

  “That works for me. I can be available whenever.” I point down at the book and then back at him, “Don’t stress too much about that. You guys are going to be amazing parents. Probably only going to have to send the kids to therapy for five years instead of ten.”

  “Fuck off,” he throws a pen at me. “Get out of here.”

  I leave with a chuckle and a wave over my shoulder. Instead of getting on the elevator to go back down, I grab the one for the private residences and key in the code for the floor that Claire’s penthouse is on. Anyone watching probably assumes I’m going to say hello to Lilith, who’s on modified bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.

  When I get to Claire’s door, I notice it’s open a crack, not too concerning because Con and Lilith are the only other people who live on this floor and security is tight. Still going to have to say something though. She can’t be leaving her door cracked open like that.

  “Claire?” I close the door behind me quietly and look around. The layout of her apartment is similar to Con and Lilith’s with the kitchen and dining room open to the living room. On one side is the master suite. The only real difference is that instead of several guest rooms on the opposite side of the apartment, Claire has a large studio space.

  I head toward the studio and see her sitting in the middle of the floor, her forehead resting against her knees and her arms wrapped around her shins. Her body is trembling a bit, and I can hear muffled sobs.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” I drop to my knees beside her, “what’s wrong?�
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  I flinch when she lifts her head and looks up at me. Her mascara has run down her cheeks in black rivers, and the whites of her eyes are pink. The contrast makes the green of her eyes even more potent than usual. I have never seen a woman look more beautifully broken.

  “I’m sorry.” She hastily wipes the tears and looks away from me. “Fuck.” She stands up gracefully and walks toward the wall of windows on one side of the room. I can’t stop myself from appreciating the lithe way she moves across the floor. All she’s wearing is a pair of tight shorts and a sports bra, her pointe shoes bang against the floor with each step.

  I stay where I am, aware that she doesn’t want me hovering around her protectively in this moment. I just wait for her to get ahold of herself. I’d gladly wait here on my knees for her forever. That thought has me doing a double take inside my own head. I kneel for no one, at least I didn’t until her.

  “I feel like I’m at war with my body now. As a dancer, my body has always been my greatest asset, a tool for me to use and manipulate to create my art. Now it just fights me every step of the way. I want to go left, it goes right. I need to be balanced en pointe, and I fall out of basic turns like a bumbling novice.” She shakes her head and turns to me, her voice cracking. “I have an expiration date, not just as a dancer but as a human being.”

  I stand up and stalk toward her. I reach her in three long strides and grip her chin firmly in my fingers. “No, Tsarina. I will not allow you to entertain that narrative.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” She stares back at me through a sheen of tears. “It’s the truth. The average life expectancy for MS is twenty to thirty years following diagnosis.”

  “So?” I back her against the windows. “You’re just going to give up? To give into self-pity? Wallow in what could have been instead giving the universe the finger and continuing to be you, striving continually for what you what?”

  “Maybe,” a fire lights in her eyes. “I’ll never dance on the stages of the world.”

  “You sure as fuck won’t with that attitude.”

  “Why did I even reach out to you?” she asks as she pushes away from me.

  “Because you need me.”

  “I don’t need you,” she says with a derisive snort, “for anything more than the favor you’re already doing for me.”

  “Okay,” I turn and start walking for the door. I have no intention of leaving, but she doesn’t need to know that. I walk into the kitchen and grab a chair, carrying it into the studio.

  Her brow wrinkles as I put it in the center of the floor and sit down, loosening my tie. I don’t say anything, I just sit there, returning her stare.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asks.

  “You’re going to dance for me, Tsarina. My very own private show. Any music, any movement, just let your body lead you through it.”

  She stares me down for a minute as she tries to decide whether or not to humor me with this request. Finally, she moves toward her phone and cues up a song. She moves directly in front of me and lifts onto her toes.

  I’m in awe of the way her body flows perfectly in time with the music even though I’m quite sure she is freestyling this dance. She spins with one leg out level to her waist so many times I start to get dizzy just watching her. As the minutes pass, she lets go more and more, becoming one with the music and her body. By the end of the song, her chest is rising and falling deeply. I lick my lips at the sight of her small but firm breasts straining against the fabric.

  “Another.” I command with a voice that does not betray how turned on I am by watching her.

  She cues up another song, this time it’s a song I’m vaguely familiar with. The lyrics are about an electric connection between two people. Through all her movements, she holds direct eye contact with me. She walks toward me like a predator honing in on her prey. The hungry look in her eyes has my dick swelling against the zipper on my pants. The bite of the metal against the tip of my cock keeps me grounded. I want to see what her next move is.

  She dances just out of my reach, a slight smirk on her lips as she catches a glimpse of my erection. In a move I’m completely not expecting, she pulls her bra off so she’s dancing topless. I bite down on my tongue as I watch her continue to dance, her nipples hard and pink against the cool air pumping from the vents.

  “Tsarina,” I point down at my knee when the music stops, “come here.”

  She sits down, straddling my leg and looks at me with hooded eyes. “Did you enjoy that?”

  “I did.” I run my hand up her thigh to her hip and squeeze it. “Why are you still wearing these?”

  “It wasn’t a full peep show,” she kisses my cheek softly as she starts unbuttoning my shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I lift my hand from her hip and cup her breast, squeezing her nipple between my thumb and index finger. My cock twitches at her shaky gasp and the way her hips grind down on my thigh.

  “Losing myself.” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders and goes to work on unfastening my belt and pants. “I need you,” she says with a soft sincerity as she looks into my eyes. In this moment, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I close my eyes and tip my head back as she frees me from my pants. Her hand wraps around me as she pumps me agonizingly slowly.

  I push her hips back and tear her shorts down her legs. Thank fuck that she doesn’t have panties on. I pull her back to me and tease her pussy lips with the tip of my cock, gathering her already flowing juices on the tip. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she slides down on me until I’m filling her completely.

  I let her bounce on my dick in the rhythm that feels best for her while I lean forward and suckle her tiny pink nipples. Her hands dive into my hair as she arches her back and moans my name. At this angle, my dick pulses once, and I have to fight every urge not to come inside her yet.

  I glance over at us in the mirrored wall, and it’s the most fucking erotic thing I’ve seen. Claire completely naked except for her toe shoes, her feet pointed on either side as she arches back in the sexiest display of flexibility. She screams as she comes, her juices running down my shaft and balls as she spasms around me.

  I’m just about to explode inside her when she unexpectedly stands and quickly kneels between my legs. She takes me, dripping with her release, into her mouth in the dirtiest, sloppiest blow job I’ve ever gotten. My hand goes into her hair as I fight the urge to slam my cock down her throat.

  “Griff,” she says breathlessly, “fuck my fucking face.”

  That’s all I need to hear to start thrusting my hips and push my dick to the back of her throat. It only takes a few hard strokes before I’m coming. Her lips stay wrapped around me as I finish, licking me clean while we both catch our breath.

  It’s well after midnight when I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check the time. I know I should go. It’s way too risky to stay here with Con across the hall. But when I look down at my Tsarina tucked under my arm, her dark hair tangled and splayed across my shoulder, I can’t bring myself to move. We spent the entire night fucking, aside from one tiny break to eat.

  A woman has never surprised me the way she does. I find myself constantly on my toes, wondering if she’s going to hit me with a demand or shock me by revealing her soft side. Before today, I had never seen her actually cry. Sure, she shed a few tears during our initial conversations about her diagnosis, but to see her sobbing and defeated like that. It felt like a knife to my heart.

  The deeper I get in with her, the more risky this becomes. The longer we go without telling Connor, or anyone, about us, the more I have to lose. More importantly, though, she needs to tell her family about the MS diagnosis. She has me, but I’m not enough. She needs all of us.

  I set my phone back down and pull her closer. Tonight, I’m not going anywhere, consequences be damned.

  7

  CLAIRE

  “Start from the pas de deux,” Kent, the choreographer, says with a snap of his fingers. “And Claire,
” his voice drips with disdain, “if you can’t keep up, I’m sending you back to the academy.”

  “It’s okay,” my partner, Seth, whispers in my ear with a squeeze of my waist, “I’ve got your back on this.”

  I have to bite back the snide comment on the tip of my tongue. I don’t need him to have my back, I need Kent to not be a giant asshole and for my mind to speak to my body. The music starts, and Seth lifts me into the air gracefully from an arabesque. The three other sets of partners we’re competing against flow through the routine with us effortlessly. I force myself to be extra focused on my steps and ignore everyone around us.

  Kent watches us all with a blank look that gives no clue as to what he’s thinking or how we’re dancing. He clears his throat when we all land the final lift of the series perfectly. He still looks unimpressed as we end practice.

  “Claire, stay after,” Kent says with his back turned from the corner where he keeps his notepad.

  Friday, Seth, and I share raised eyebrow glances at each other as we pull our shoes off and gather our belongings. I give them both air kisses as they walk out of the studio last.

  “You wanted to speak to me,” I say as approach Kent.

  “Yes,” he looks around the room, “I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but you went from being one of our most promising dancers to being a mess.”

  “I’m sorry,” I answer while trying to keep my voice neutral, “I’ll work on doing better.”

  “I hope so.” He steps closer to me, too close. “I could do some extra sessions with you if you want.” He gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a charming smile, but it just sends chills down my spine.