Page 79 of The Check Down

“Baby, you’ve got me.Allof me.” He accentuates that statement by grinding his hips against me. Then he pins me with more of his weight.

I grip his waist, digging my fingers in as he rocks his pelvis in a rhythmic pattern. The additional elevation from the pillow provides the perfect angle for my clit to be rubbed with every thrust. As he works me over, I roam every bit of his sweat-slicked skin, touching every inch my fingers can reach: straining biceps and sharp shoulder blades and tight butt.

When I squeeze his round backside, he swears. “You’re taking me so well, baby. My fucking dream girl, made just for me.”

He increases his tempo, and I can’t hold back the moans and whimpers. The rasp of my nipples against his chest hair and the puffs of heat he grunts into my ear trigger the telltale tightening of my core, that delicious throb like a heartbeat between my thighs.

“That’s it, Brynn. Give it to me.”

His gruff words are my undoing. As my climax crashes through me, I’m hit with wave after wave of pure bliss. The undulations are intense and drawn out, every cell awash in euphoria. Griffin’s pace becomes frenzied, and he hitches my knee up to his thigh so he can thrust deeper and harder, chasing his release. After a few more erratic plunges, he stills, his face contorting, and he lets out a groan. He’s magnificent when he pulses inside me.

Watching him come undone above me is a sight I want on repeat.

Spent, he slumps over me, burying his face in my neck.

I wrap my arms around him as our heartbeats slow and our bodies cool. “How do you feel?” I make lazy passes up and down his back, reveling in the feel of his weight pinning me to the mattress.

His words are muffled against my skin. “I came so hard I might’ve blacked out for a second.”

I huff a laugh and hug him tighter, contentment blooming in my chest.

He nuzzles closer and kisses my neck. “How was it for you?”

Words flit in and out of my mind like a shuffled deck of cards. They run the gamut fromrapturoustoterrifying. Rapturous, for obvious reasons. Terrifying because this relationship has the potential to wreck me if it goes south.

In the end, I land on three simple but honest words: “It was perfect.”

He raises his head and studies me, his mouth kicked up on one side. “Yeah. It was. Becauseyouare perfect.” He presses his lips to mine.

After several minutes where we bask in the afterglow, kissing and snuggling, he rolls off me, and with a groan, rises from the bed. He offers me a hand and pulls me up. Then he swipes the used pillow from the bed and tosses it on the floor. “Pillow trick forthe win. Make sure you tell Celeste.” His mouth twists in a proud smirk.

I scoff. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

He pokes out his bottom lip, a tease on the tip of his tongue, but then his attention flits to my chest, and instantly, he’s distracted. Stepping closer, he caresses my breast. He makes one pass of his thumb over my nipple, sending a jolt straight to my pelvis. I squeeze my legs together, where the evidence of our lovemaking trickles out.

Griffin hauls me up and tosses me over his shoulder, and when he smacks my butt, I let out a cackle. “C’mon. Let’s get a shower so I can dirty you up again.”

As we pass the sign welcoming us to Griffin’s hometown, the one that proudly boastsHome of Super Bowl Champ Griffin Lacey, I relax against the headrest and let my head loll to the side so I can take him in. “I thought a hollow was a small valley. I’ve seen nothing but flat land since we got off the highway.”

With a laugh, he gives our loosely intertwined fingers a shake. “Don’t mention that to anyone while you’re here, professor.” When I lift a brow, he sighs. “Trust me on this. There are twohighlyimprobable versions of that history, each with supporters who will defend their preferred tale with blows, if necessary. At the very least, they’ll launch into a heated debate, and before you know it, you’ve lost hours of your life that you’ll never get back.”

“Wow, it’s that contentious, huh?”

He pops a shoulder. “Small town, USA, baby.”

“Is that why the name’s been changed?” The white wooden letters on the sign we passed readWelcome to Holly Hollow, but theoandwin the last word were crossed out, and anerhave been stenciled above them in green paint.

“Officially, it’s Holly Hollow. But, since its founding, folks have called it Holly Holler. It has a better ring to it. That’s one of the few things everyone around here agrees on.”

Giddy, but also a little nervous, I give his fingers a squeeze. “I can’t wait to see where you came from.”

He brings our joined hands to his lips. “And I’m excited to show you.”

There’s no mistaking the pride in his voice as he points out his hometown’s highlights. First, we do a slow pass by his high school, eyeing the boldHome of the Hornetsmotto painted on the wall of the gym in huge, yellow letters. He idles at the fence surrounding the football field, his eyes growing misty as he takes in the metal stands and the field’s freshly cut grass.

“I couldn’t even drive by here a few months ago—when I moved home to recover after surgery. Hurt too fucking much to come back to where I fell in love with football, thinking I’d played my last game.”

I study the scoreboard, the fierce cartoon hornet that lords over the center, and the huge wooden numbers posted to the fence below it: a 9 with Griffin’s name and class of 2009 painted on it, and a 55 that reads Tucker Lacey, class of 2013.

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