Page 70 of The Check Down

He grasps the roots of my hair and tugs. “So, tell me what you want, Brynn.”

What do Iwant?

I want to tell him that I’m glad I crashed Jack’s car into his on that fateful Sunday morning. That his friendship has freed me. Allowed me to experience things I never would’ve on my own. That he’s helped me embrace who I am as a woman. He’s made me braver and more confident than I’ve ever been.

I want to confess it all, but I settle for voicing one thought that will get me what I want most, right now: “I want to kiss the wordfriendright out of your mouth.”

“Thank fuck.”

He cups my cheek with his other hand, the touch a tender contradiction to the other. To where he’s still gripping my hair with a roughness that thrills me. The first press of his lips to mine is soft. We’re both gentle, hesitant, as we find our rhythm, as our lips explore and learn how to move together. The heat of his mouth and the rasp of his beard against my sensitive skin lights a spark of desire deep in my core. He teases me, capturing my top lip between his and pulling it taut. When he releases it, he leans back, breaking our connection.

I rest a hand on his chest and thrill at the frantic beating of his heart, the way it’s synced with mine. The hunger in his eyes as he stares at my freshly kissed lips makes me ravenous.

“Did you know—” I lock my arms around his neck and lift up on my toes, bringing our faces so close that our lips brush with every word. “A kiss has to be at least six seconds long to release oxytocin?”

He nudges my nose with his, his breath fanning my cheek. “Hmm.” A peck on my jaw. The corner of my mouth. My lips. “Six seconds, you say?” He tantalizes me with another touch of his lips to mine.

“Mmm.”

“I think we can do better than six seconds, professor.”

He hefts me onto the counter, pulling a surprisedwhoopfrom me, but it’s cut off as his mouth plunders mine. There’s no hesitancy this time, just pure, unbridled passion, his kiss hot and demanding. I let my hands roam, aching to touch every part of the gorgeous man standing between my thighs. Griffin’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangles with mine, and retreats. Then his lips take charge.

His hands are everywhere—caressing my shoulders, my back, my hips. They’re in my hair, tilting my head for a better angle. They’re kneading my ass, pulling me so close that the hardness in his pants nestles between my thighs. The delicious friction of his beard ratchets my desire higher, so high I don’t care if it leaves my skin pink and abraded.

I’ll wear his burn proudly. A physical representation of how he ignites me. A bold statement to the universe: this man is mine.

Because this isn’t justa kiss. It’s a claiming. A wicked promise of things to come.

I stroke the short strands of his hair as he trails open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, and when he suckles the skin below my ear, the moan that escapes me makes him tighten his grip on my waist.

With a growl, he releases the sensitive spot and rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths stutter out in pants as we grant our lungs—and pulses—a reprieve.

“Brynn.” His voice is both reverent and husky.

I make soothing passes up and down his biceps, loving the freedom to touch him like this. He must revel in it, too, with the way he’s tracing a path on my thighs.

“Fuck, baby. Just…fuck.”

Racy Lacey, at a loss for words?

Never thought I’d see the day.

Chapter fifteen

Griffin

Once I’ve added the fifth and final box to my newest white board puzzle for Brynn, I cap the marker and stand back to survey it. She’ll be pissed that I’m taking our little word game in a naughty direction, but I’ve turned into an adolescent horndog this week.

She’d argue that it’s my own damn fault.

And she’d be correct.

Our first kiss on Sunday night was hot and perfect and everything I’d imagined it would be. So when we finally came up for air and she looked at me and point-blank asked, in that blunt manner of hers that I love, when we were going to have sex, I panicked. I blame it on the lust haze that had fogged my brain while her lips were pressed to mine.

Did I want to jump right into bed with her that night? Uh, 100 percent.

But did I also want to prove to her—and to myself—how special this relationship is? Absolutely. The last thing I want to do is cheapen it by rushing things in the typical Racy Lacey manner.

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