Page 38 of One Hot Summer
He shushed me with a kiss, then slid his hands down to my ass and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, rubbing myself against the rich material of his slacks as he half-carried, half-stumbled us to the bed. We collapsed together, his weight pinning me down, the heat of his skin like a live wire against my own.
He took his time, kissing down my neck, biting gently at my collarbone, then moving lower, tongue swirling around my nipple until I was squirming under him. He nibbled a trail down my stomach, stopping to nose at the sharp lines of my hipbone. By the time his mouth reached my cock, I was shaking so bad I thought I might fall apart.
He licked the head, slow and teasing, then took me in all at once, his lips hot and soft, tongue flicking just right. I groaned, clutching at his hair, and he hummed in approval, the vibration sending sparks straight to my brain. He sucked me deep, his hand pumping what his mouth couldn’t reach, and the sight of him—Griffin fucking Price, on his knees for me—was almost enough to finish me off right then.
I tugged him back up, breathlessly. “I want you inside me,” I gasped.
He growled, low in his chest. “You sure?”
I nodded. “There’s lube in the drawer,” I told him, gesturing to the bedside table.
He quickly stripped the rest of his clothes then reached for the drawer, and when he pulled out the bottle, his hands were steady, like he’d done this a million times. He coated his fingers,then pressed one inside me, slow and careful. I arched up into his touch, groaning as he curled it just right.
He worked me open slowly, almost reverently with two, then three fingers, always watching my face for any sign of discomfort. When I whimpered, he slowed down, kissing me until I melted against the sheets. When he finally lined up, I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him in, desperate. The first push made me gasp, but he didn’t move, just held me there, forehead pressed to mine.
“You okay?” he said again, voice shaky.
“So good,” I managed, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Please, Griffin. Please.”
He thrust in all the way, slow and deep, and for a second all I could do was hold on, panting. Then he started to move, rocking into me with a rhythm that was both relentless and perfectly controlled, every stroke sending lightning up my spine. I could see the tension in his jaw, the sweat beading on his forehead. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to make it good for me, and that thought alone nearly undid me.
He leaned down, biting my lower lip, then whispered in my ear, “You feel so fucking good. I could do this forever.”
“Don’t stop,” I begged, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close.
We moved together, sweat and skin and breath all blending into one endless loop. He fucked me hard, then slow, then hard again, like he was trying to memorize every reaction, every moan, every wordless cry.
I clawed at his back, leaving crescent marks, and he groaned, grinding in deeper. “I love you,” he said, the words raw and true, and I felt something inside me crack wide open.
Tears blurred my vision. “I love you too,” I choked out, and that was it, the floodgate, the point of no return. I came hard, the world going white at the edges. Griffin followed a second later,hips jerking, voice breaking as he buried himself inside me and let go.
We collapsed together, tangled up, both of us shaking and gasping for air. He kissed me, soft now, over and over, until the world started to come back into focus. He rolled us onto our sides, still holding me tight, and buried his face in my neck. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his breath hot on my skin.
I grinned, happier than I’d ever been. “All yours,” I promised.
We stayed like that, limbs tangled, sweat drying on our skin, the sounds of the city drifting in through the single-paned window. I listened to the beat of his heart, the slow even breaths as he came down, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for the next disaster. I just felt… content.
Eventually, he pulled back, running a hand down my spine. “You know,” he said, voice lazy and satisfied, “I was going to try and impress you with dinner first. Really woo you. Candlelight, expensive wine, the whole thing.”
I laughed, feeling boneless. “You still can. Just let me walk again first.”
He smiled, pressing a kiss on my forehead. “Deal.”
We drifted off together. Every so often, I’d wake up, just to make sure he was still there, that this was real. It was. He was. And for the first time in my life, I trusted that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Twelve
ADAM
The first thing I packed in the kitchen was a chipped mug I’d rescued from a Goodwill store our sophomore year—a tacky white one with a rainbow-colored unicorn on the front and the words I’M SO HORNY sprawled across the top in bright green font. I liked the humor, but also that it held more than two cups at a time. Now, I was wrapping it in three layers of bubble wrap and trying to ignore how much my hands were shaking.
The rest of my life, such as it was, was stacked around me in the world’s shittiest cardboard fort: two suitcases of clothes, three laundry baskets of books, an assortment of cables and chargers that might as well have been a snake pit, and a single sad box labeled “MEMORIES” in Dalton’s terrible Sharpie handwriting. If you’d asked me two months ago, I would have said I could move out with a single duffel and my phone charger. Turns out, I’d collected more things throughout my years there than I’d thought.
Dalton swept into the living room like he was on a reality show, arms full of hangers and dry-cleaning bags. “Jesus, Adam, is all this coming with you? Please tell me you’re not packing the broken crockpot.”
“It’s vintage,” I protested, shoving the mug deep into the box. “And yes, I’m bringing it. Griffin cooks, you know. He’ll appreciate it.”
Dalton shot me a look. “Did you seriously just refer to my dad by his first name in the context of domestic bliss? Wow. This is even worse than I thought.”
