Page 73 of Griffin

Would you like it if I fucked someone else?

His husky voice in my ear, his breath sending shivers to places I didn’t know they could reach.

Shelby sips her cocktail, her eyes dancing with happiness as she glances around the bar. Not with her usual prowess, though — this time, she’s merely observing.

“Looking for your next fix?” I tease, wondering why she’s flushing so hard beneath my gaze. Her hair is in natural loose curls, the humidity too much for a hairdryer to contend with.

“No,” Shelby says with a grin. “I’m just relaxing.”

She’s relaxed, alright.

“Since when do you relax on nights out?”

Shelby gives me a coy look and shrugs, her eyes refusing to meet mine.

“I’m bored with just fucking randoms.”

I can’t hide my surprise.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Shelby?” I laugh, easing back into my chair.

The memory of Griffin’s warning sings in my head, and my mouth goes dry.

Don’t even think about letting anyone touch you. Ivy.

As ifanyonecan touch me like him.

It’s like I’ve been asleep for years, and he’s woken me from my slumber with his skilled tongue and calloused hands.

I frown at my friend, trying to distract myself from my sex-stained thoughts.

“I’m happy; that’s all I’m saying.” Shelby throws her hair over her shoulder, rising to get another drink. “Same again?”

I nod, watching as Shelby makes a beeline for the bar, her winning smile getting her served before anyone that’s waiting.

It isn’t like Shelby to keep something like this from me. If it’s just sex, why isn’t she telling me who it is? I decide to grill her when she comes back, but someone stands in front of me, blocking my view of my best friend.

“I owe you an apology.”

Holy shit, it’s Finlay.

His eyes drift over me like they always do, appreciative yet seductive like I’m a meal he’s considering eating. No, devouring. A smile plays on his lips as my cheeks flush.

I raise an eyebrow, wondering how I thank him for letting me down for our date. How I had the best sex —

“Can I get you a drink?” His lips curve into the wicked smile that used to make me go weak in the knees as he holds my gaze.

Memories of ardent kisses and soft moans fill my mind, but Finlay’s touch would be amateur compared to Griffin’s.

Fuck, why does everything come back to Griffin?

“Shelby’s getting the drinks,” I say apologetically. “Don’t worry about the date; I had other things to do, anyway.”

Finlay arches a brow, and my stomach twists in response.

“Oh? Who?”

This is Finlay all over—guessing correctly that when I said I had other things to do, it meant another man.

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