Page 30 of Playing Hard to Hate
I closed the bathroom door behind me, struggled my way out of the stupidly tight dress, and then washed the night away. When I opened the bathroom door, he was standing in my room, staring at the pictures on my dresser.
One in particular of the two of us as kids, my mom had taken after he gave me his own bike for my eighth birthday.The first one without my dad.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Your dad being a jerk.” He doesn’t look at me, still locked on that picture.
“It’s late. Go shower, Griffin.”
“Why do you have this if you hate me?” He picked up the picture and looked at me.
“Who said I hate you?”
“You did. A lot of times.”
“You hurt me. A lot of times.”
He put the picture down and stepped closer to me, looking at me in a different way. I stepped back, hitting the wall.
“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You looked beautiful tonight. And the lipstick, it’s a nice change.”
I blushed at his compliment. It had been a long time since a man had said something nice, and not sexual, to me.
“Millie calls it hooker red,” I said stupidly as he stepped closer.
“How many men have you kissed, Tate?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He was in front of me now, our chests brushing, breath mingling.
“How many?” he growled. His hands wrap around my wrists, slowly dragging them up the wall.
“None,” I whispered, compelled to answer him.
“I want to be the first,” he said so softly I was sure I was dreaming.
“Griff, is this real?” I whispered, closing my eyes, inhaling his scent mixed with the spicy cologne he’d been wearing tonight.
He cut through my words like butter. “May I kiss you, Tatum Grace?”
I couldn’t even speak, my mind was screaming,yes, absolutely yes,but all I could muster was the soft hum of my voice. I was still feeling like I was in another life, like my body wasn’t mine. “It was always meant to be yours.”
He groaned and dropped his forehead to mine. Then he was moving to close the distance between us. His lips pressed ever so softly against my neck, his stubbly checks brushing up against mine. His lips sucked on my earlobe. A moan broke through my parted lips, and I was so embarrassed, but I couldn’t contain myself.
His lips traced my jaw, so softly, so perfectly, my toes curled into the carpet. His nose brushed mine, then there was the slight pressure on my lips as he pressed his to mine. I moaned when his hands dropped my wrists and sank into my hair, holding me to him. His tongue slipped inside, stealing all my secrets.
Millie was right. I was missing out on something. Something so beautiful, poetic, and utterly breathtaking. I didn’t have words to describe its beauty.
CHAPTER 14
GRIFFIN
