Griffin (Ruthless MC 3)

Something ticks in the air between us, like a bomb about to go off.

Then suddenly we’re kissing.

CHAPTER 12

GRIFF

It’s just a kiss, I tell myself going in. Like a bump of coke to take off the edge before a performance.

I’m even mindful enough to pinch out the joint to keep from burning her before I wrap my hand around her neck and pull her in. Real gentleman. Zero Mötley Crüe.

But then our lips touch, and even coke doesn’t rush through me like this.

A firebomb explodes between us, and we go up in flames. We claw at each other, our lips wet and messy as we burn alive.

The dick I thought I'd tamed fills with lead. I press it into her soft body to relieve the ache, but that only makes it worst.

No, not just a kiss.

I thought I had this under control. I thought I had myself under control, but I instantly turn into an animal. I do not give one fuck about her boundaries. Just one kiss, but I’m starving. And it feels like I’m going to die if I don’t get inside of her.

All I know is the want. All I know is the hunger. Nothing else matters until she pulls back and gasps out, “Hold on, hold on . . . Let me try something.”

Her voice carries both apology and a promise—a promise I don’t understand until she starts pressing feather-light kisses down my chest toward my . . .

“What are you doing?” I ask, even though my cock is pulsing—pulsing in anticipation of what it already knows she’s doing.

“What does it look like?” She glances up at me, and that wicked smile is back on her face. “You don't strike me as the kind of guy who's never been offered a blow job before.”

She’s right. I’m not that guy. It's no longer the eighties as far as the music scene goes, but it’s still rock 'n' roll. Girls offering BJs are a dime a dozen. But . . .

I tell her the truth. “You're not other girls.”

She smiles in a kind of goofy way. I can’t tell if I’ve embarrassed or pleased her.

Either way, she ducks her head and focuses on pulling my cock out. Her eyes widen when she sees it for a second time, as if she thought maybe she’d only imagined how big it was before. And damn, if that look doesn’t fill my chest with stupid pride.

“Can I put my mouth on you?” she asks, her voice a little breathless.

Can she . . . ? I nearly laugh, and a strange, tender sensation pops off in my chest. Does this girl have any idea? Any idea at all what she does to me?

“You don't have to ask permission,” I grit out.

“Consent is important.” That teasing note creeps back into her voice.

And the tender feeling vanishes. Dark ideas warp through my head. Ways I could punish her. Ways I could make her beg.

Wait until I—

All thoughts of my imminent revenge cut out when she takes me in her mouth.

Fuck. I’m not going to come early again. I refuse.

But the feel of her, warm and wet around my aching cock. And the sight of her . . . She can’t take all of me, but she wraps a hand around the part of my shaft below her hot mouth, dragging it up and down as she suctions the rest.

Then, for some reason, she looks up at me in a tentative way. Like she's afraid she's not doing it right.

She's doing it right. Fucking hell. Too right.

My spine’s rippling again. She’s got me revved up and ready to shoot in a matter of seconds. Not minutes. Seconds.

But maybe that would be a good thing.

Maybe I should have thought of this that first night instead of asking her to stay. A blow job satisfies the bet I made with the other Reapers. And after this, that done feeling I always get after nutting with some new girl will swoop in, and there won’t be any reason to keep her here. I could go back to the roadhouse for Christmas or maybe even throw a last-minute rager at my place in Nashville—one of those sick parties she mentioned earlier.

But for some reason, the thought of ending this with a blow job, of sending her away because I’m done with her, hits me like a bucket of ice water.

“Stop.” My voice comes out as something between a growled whisper and a plea.

She keeps on going, and I don't think it's because she didn't hear me. She's testing me, poking at my boundaries like she did when she asked to take control that first night.

“Stop,” I say again, and this time there’s no plea in my voice, only steely command.

I grab her by the hair and pull her off my cock. She comes off with a wet suck that sends another dangerous ripple down my back. I immediately miss her mouth wrapped around my dick, but I don't need her to suck me off.