Page 47 of Griffin

I close the fridge door to see him gazing at me from the doorway, his eyes locking onto mine.

“I’ll probably head home after this,” I say airily, cracking the lids from the bottles.

Griffin moves forward, taking both beer bottles from my hands and placing them on the side.

He’s close, so fucking close to me, and I don’t know what to do.

“What?” I ask, my voice needy.

Griffin moves closer, his hands on either side of me, so I’m pinned to the counter.

Oh, my fucking god.

“I can help you, you know.” His breath fans my face, my knees tremble, and my core screams for his touch.

Up close, I’m lost,lostin his divinity.

I want to touch him so badly.

“Help me?” I stammer, unable to tear my eyes from his mouth.

He doesn’t move closer, though, but he sighs heavily.

“You’re frustrated.”

I close my eyes, shame washing over me.

“So?” I whisper as his breath moves to the side of my face, curling toward my neck.

My fingers rest on his biceps, and a moan leaves my mouth when his lips brush against my clavicle.

“Do you want me to?”

Do I want him to?

“Want you to what?” I can’t help but question him; sure I’ve got this wrong.

“Ivy. Quit playing.” His voice is deep and gruff.

I can’t handle it.

I move my hands further up his arms, finally opening my eyes when my hands rest on his shoulders.

He looks like he’s in pain.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what you want.”

Oh. God.

Am I doing this?

Dizziness sweeps over me when he stares at me, waiting for an answer.

“You’ll think I’m being ridiculous,” I whisper, my eyes searching his. “I know we can’t … ”

Griffin stiffens, and I pray I haven’t gotten this wrong.

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