Page 184 of Fighting the Forbidden

Even though I know my place well, moving through it when it’s pitch-black isn’t the easiest. I fumble my phone off the counter and click the flashlight app on, then carefully sift through the drawer where I usually keep a bright tactical flashlight. Nothing. Fuck.

Molly gave me a candle when I moved in. Where’d I put it? Cabinet. My fingers brush against the heavy glass jar, almost knocking it on my head. I grab it and rummage through the drawer for a lighter. Once it’s lit, I return to the living room.

“Molly? Where you at?”

“In here.”

Bedroom.

All my blood heads south.

I hated telling her we had to go earlier when we were tangled up together in the back seat of her car. Even getting caught in the raging storm hasn’t stopped my mind from replaying her body pressed up against me over and over.

Now we’re alone. In my apartment. And she’s in my bedroom. During a blackout.

Every nerve in my body thrums with anticipation.

I cross the threshold and at first can’t make out any details. A soft glow from what looks like several small candles on my nightstand provides some guidance. Another flash of lightning illuminates the room.

There she is. Sitting on the farthest edge of my bed, facing the window.

My gaze slips over her bare shoulders. Her long curtain of dark hair spilling down her back obscures my view. Can’t tell if she’s completely naked or not.

Can’t wait to find out.

I set the candle on my dresser and slowly make my way around the bed until I’m standing in front of her. “What are you doing in here all by yourself?”

“Waiting for you.” She holds her hand out, inviting me closer.

No, wait, she’s handing me a piece of paper.

The corners of my mouth tip up. “What’s this?” I take the folded note.

She stretches, resting her hands on the mattress and arching her back, letting me get the full view of the sheer bra and panty set covering almost nothing.

My mouth waters, and I can’t stop my gaze from gliding over all her curves. She lifts one leg and rests her foot on the edge of the mattress but angles her knee to obstruct my view.

“Read it.” She encourages me.

Read? I’m not sure I remember how. Not when I’m dying to slide my tongue over every inch of her exposed skin.

The paper crinkles as I unfold it.

Molly’s girlish print fills the page with a very simple message.

Dear Griff, I’m ready. Please make love to me. Love, Molly

And in case my brain was too scrambled to read the words, she doodled a cherry on its stem and written “yours” with an arrow pointing toward the fruit.

“You said you needed it in writing,” Molly teases.

Laughing, I fold the note and set it on my nightstand. I want to laminate it and carry it in my wallet for the rest of my damn life except if anyone ever accidentally saw her sweet, personal note to me, I’d have to carve out their eyeballs.

“Actually, you’re the one who wanted to put it in writing,” I remind her. “But I’m not complaining.”

Just thinking of Molly taking the time to write those words and the intention behind them has me harder than a fucking hammer. I reach for her, cup her cheek, and rub my thumb over her bottom lip. “I still want to hear you say a certain phrase.”

Her skin warms and she glances down. “Griff, will you?—”

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