Page 41 of Fighting the Forbidden

He twists his head to the side and peers down at me with a raised eyebrow—a look that pokes me like a silent scolding.

“We don’t get to spend a lot of time alone like this,” I murmur, my confidence slipping.

“I know,” he rasps as if he’s struggling to force out each sound.

“It’s nice.” I tilt my head to the side. “Being alone with you.” Hint, hint.

He answers with a deep rumble of agreement that vibrates through my entire body.

“We should…” I’m not sure how to say what I want. I try to move my hand out from under his, but he clamps down harder, holding me in place.

“Molly,” he groans and rolls his body sideways, so he’s facing me. The movement dislodges my leg, and he releases my hand to cup my cheek instead. “What’re you doing to me?” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “We talked about this.”

“Actually...” I flick my tongue against the pad of his thumb. His eyes flare and he sucks in a sharp breath. Good. Now I have his attention. “You gave me some excuses for why we can’t be together at the moment. And now that I’ve had time to think about them, I want to tell you why they’re invalid.”

An amused but interested smile tilts his lips. “Is that right?”

I shift closer, sliding my hand over his ribs and curling my arm around him. To my relief, he mirrors the movement, pulling me closer, cradling me in his arms. It’s awkward—our lower halves are sort of hanging off the couch. It reminds me of something my grandmother once told me about always keeping at least one foot on the floor when you’re alone with boys. I never understood what she meant until this very moment.

His lips are so close. His beautiful, kissable lips that felt so good against mine before. As if he’s reading my mind, he leans in closer and kisses my cheek, then the tip of my nose. Sweet but not quite what I had in mind.

I angle my head and catch his lips the next time he aims for my cheek. The contact unleashes whatever was holding him back. His hot, silken mouth devours me, his tongue pushing my lips open. I moan and bury my hands in his hair, holding him closer. I stroke my tongue against his and he groans. My pulse jumps with excitement.

Griff, always so in control, seems to be unraveling. Fire races over my skin, through my blood, burning with the need for more.

“Molly.” He pulls my collar to the side and kisses my neck.

What was I going to say again? All the words have flown out of my brain.

Griff tugs at the fabric of the oversized sweatshirt. Why’d I have to wear his hoodie tonight? It’s so big, it’s like being encased in a sleeping bag.

Finally, he slips his hand underneath it and his fingers graze my stomach. All my senses are so heightened, his touch tickles. Laughter bubbles out of me into Griff’s open mouth.

Between kisses, he smiles. “What’s so funny, Muffin?”

“That tickles.”

“This?” He raises an eyebrow and runs the tips of his fingers over my ribs.

“Yes!” I sputter. In between giggles, I tease my hand under his shirt and return the favor.

But it doesn’t elicit laughter from Griff. My attempt to tickle him is more like igniting a spark. He reaches one hand behind his back and tugs at his shirt, pulling it up.

Oh, yes.

I eagerly help him take it off the rest of the way and toss it on the floor.

Much better.

My breath stutters. He’s so, so perfect, his muscles straining to hold his weight off me, intensity burning in his eyes. I shift and wriggle myself underneath him, lifting my knees and pinning them to his hips.

He groans and the steely bulge in his pants presses hard against my center. A rush of pleasure pours through me. I did that to him? He could be with any girl he wants but he’s excited to be here with me. He left his party early to see me.

I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back. His entire body shudders under my touch.

“Come closer,” I urge, raising myself to kiss him again.

He groans into my mouth and settles against me. Why does my shirt have to be in the way? Doesn’t matter. I can’t separate our bodies again.

---