“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 covering 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?”