Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

Griffin circles my wrist with his fingers and drops his head, lips brushing over my knuckle. “We can’t all be perfect, now, can we?”

“I suppose not, and perfect is boring.”

“That it is.” He hums against my skin, and I feel it through my entire body. “I would like to try that kiss again, if you’re still interested.”

Oh my God, he’s actually asking permission, but in a way that isn’t awkward. Instead, it’s sexy and it makes me feel like I’m in control. “I’m still interested.”

He presses his lips to the back of my hand, then flips it over and touches them to the inside of my wrist, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my entire body. Literally, it’s like I’ve been struck by a lightning rod of lust.

Ever so slowly, he drags his fingers along my arm and over my shoulder until they glide up the side of my neck. Trailing along my jaw, he tips my chin up. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

I don’t have a chance to respond, which is probably good because my answer would’ve been snarky. Nev is beautiful, I’m what people call “striking”—which means there’s something slightly off about my face, but it’s hard to pinpoint what it is. Our lips brush, a whisper of touch before they disappear again. I’m about to crack a lid when they press against mine, firmly this time.

His fingers slide along the edge of my jaw, and he angles my head slightly, tipping his own in the opposite direction. My stomach does that weird somersaulting thing I’ve always read about, but has never happened to me personally until now, and then he pulls my bottom lip between his, lighting off a crate of fireworks inside my body. I can actually hear them going off in my head. Or maybe that’s someone lighting actual firecrackers at the park down the street. Regardless, I like it. He repeats the same action with my top lip and then, finally, his tongue dips inside my mouth.

I have a moment of panic that the onions are going to overpower the mint, but my worries vaporize as his tongue finds mine. It’s like a dance, a twirl and twine, soft and slow and sweet, at first, anyway.

I push closer and ease a hand over his hard chest until I reach the hot skin of his neck. I feel the steady pulse in his throat, beating hard and heavy. It’s me that’s causing that reaction, and the knowledge bolsters my confidence. I skim the rough stubble along his jaw, and I rest my palm there so I can still feel his pulse hammering against it. He makes a low sound and angles my head even more, so he can go deeper.

My toes curl when he sucks on my tongue, and I moan into his mouth. My entire body hums like a radio searching for frequency, and if we weren’t in a tiny sports car, there’s a very good chance I’d glue myself to the front of his body so we could kiss like this forever. I’m unsure if I’m disappointed or relieved I can’t act on that impulse.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both panting. His eyes roam my face and fall back to my lips, which I lick.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and comes back in for another kiss, this one lasting just as long as the first, but with none of the initial lead up and all of the intensity of the last one. I’m not sure exactly how long it goes on for, but by the time he pulls back again, there’s a pulse below my waist I’m going to have to take care of when I get up to my apartment.

For a moment, or several moments, I consider inviting him up. But then I remember that my sister is still crashing on my couch, and that’s a whole level of awkward I don’t need. Especially on a first date. Also, I doubt Griffin has done the roommate thing in a lot of years, and I would like to avoid drawing more attention to our age gap/life experience differences if I can help it.

He exhales a slow breath and drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “I’d like to see you again.”

I don’t want to sound too eager, so I clear my throat and say, “I can check my calendar.”

That stunning smile of his makes yet another appearance, and he strokes my cheek with a knuckle. “I can call you?”

“Sure.”

“And you’ll answer?”

I laugh. “I’ll answer.”

“Great.” He unbuckles his seat belt and opens the driver’s side door.

I’m still in a bit of a daze, so it takes me a few seconds to manage the coordination necessary to unfasten my own seat belt. By the time I free myself, Griffin is already at my door, opening it for me. I’m so off-kilter that I forget my backpack. Griffin gets it for me and walks me to the door. I get one final goodbye kiss, this one much shorter and chaste.