Page 210 of Repairing the Wreckage

“You feel so good.” He moves his fingers in the slow, circular motion that drives me crazy. Then he slides in and out with a slow, rocking thrust. Over and over. His whole body vibrates from maintaining the slow pace.

“More,” I whisper.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” he rasps. “I want you so fucking much.”

I meet his eyes in the mirror and clench around him. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

He moves faster, thrusting harder and harder. Relentless. His hands roam everywhere, sliding and squeezing. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

The dresser starts to knock into the wall.

“Fuuuck!” He pulls out and captures me around the waist, hauling me to the bed.

“Griff!” I squeal and laugh as we fall onto it in a tangle.

He pushes up on his elbows, bringing himself into the center of the bed. “Come here. Get on top of me.”

I eagerly swing my leg over his hips and promptly get my shoe tangled in the sheet.

“Fuck!” He works to unbuckle my shoe so I can take it off. “Get on my cock. I’ll get your other shoe off.”

I giggle at the absurdity of my shoes causing so many problems, then groan as I sink onto him.

“Yes,” he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s my girl.”

He finally works the other buckle loose and rips the shoe off, throwing it somewhere across the room.

“Please, I’m begging you, Muffin. Grind your hot little pussy down on my dick. Hard.”

I find a perfect, pulsing rhythm—back and forth. “Touch me,” I gasp.

He shifts his hand from my breast to my thigh, teasing his wicked thumb over my clit in time to my movements.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Blood pulses through my ears. Electricity sparks over my skin. My body shakes. Pleasure shoots through me and I grind myself down harder.

His hands seize my hips and he holds me tight, snapping his hips up, extending and amplifying my orgasm.

His comes in a slow, agonizing release. He pulls me down over him, fusing our mouths together. He groans against my lips and holds tight.

I cling to him for the longest time. Until our hearts return to almost normal. He lifts me off him and I melt onto the bed, curling into a ball against him. He hugs me to his side and kisses my forehead.

“Coach keeps telling me to meditate,” he rasps. “But I think I just reached a higher plane of awareness and absolute clarity with you.”

Still buzzing with electricity, I kiss his cheek and nuzzle against his neck.

Griff

What planet am I on?

My body’s just sort of floating on the bed. Molly’s sweet, sweaty little body’s clinging to me while she drops soft kisses on every inch of me she can reach.

The absolute clarity I reached—if I win Saturday, I want to ask her to marry me.

That probably wasn’t what Coach was talking about.

“Griff?” Molly’s voice holds a note of hesitation. “You’ve been doing it longer. Is it always like this? Amazing and explosive each time? Does it ever get…boring?”

“Boring?” How the fuck do I answer that? I need her to understand I’m dead fucking serious. “I don’t remember anything before you. But nothing could ever be boring between us. No. Never.”

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