Page 69 of Tangled Kisses
Griffin leans back in the corner of the booth, legs spreading as his hand finds my hip. With a steady tug, he draws me in until I’m settled between his thighs, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.
And the emotions coursing through me.
I take another sip of my whiskey, desperate to control my racing heart.
But all bets are off when his hand skims the edge of my skirt, his fingertips dancing just beneath the fabric before trailing a slow line down the inside of my leg.
Every nerve ending lights up, begging for more.
The warm brush of his breath skims my ear. “You’re so damn soft. I could touch you for the rest of my life and never get enough.”
I close my eyes as tremors reverberate through me.
No man has ever evoked these emotions inside me with nothing more than PG touches. If this is what his warm-up feels like, God help me when he goes R-rated.
What if…
“I’m a good dancer. I can fix pretty much anything around the house.”
“What?” I glance up at him, confused by his sudden segue.
“Telling you all the perks of being mine.” His blue eyes are wide, innocent, as if he didn’t just kiss me senseless five minutes ago.
“Oh, continue.”
“Let’s see, I’m pretty handy.”
“Yes, you are,” I reply with a pointed look toward my leg.
His grip tightens on my thigh. “With cars and trucks.”
I sip my whiskey and offer him an exaggerated sigh. “Among other things.”
He leans down, dusting his stubbled cheek against my ear. The scrape sends a shiver straight down my spine. “Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
He chuckles, dropping a kiss to my hair. “I love animals, even ornery orange tabbies.”
“And Chowder loves you, which is saying something.”
“But the most important perk? Besides daily adoration, obviously—I would make eating your pussy my new religion.”
My jaw drops, heat flooding my cheeks so fast it feels like a slap. My fingers tighten around my glass as I fight not to choke on air. “Griffin!”
He tips his head, mouth curving in that predatory grin as his hand slides higher, thumb pressing just inside the tender skin of my thigh—possessive, claiming. “Had to see if you were paying attention.”
“Trust me, I amnow. You never talk like that.”
“I don’t. But with you, it feels right.”
“Can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.”
His hand drifts higher, fingertips teasing along the lace, brushing the last barrier between us, his voice a low rumble. “It’s good, because now I’m picturing spending the rest of the night between your thighs until you’re begging me to stop.”
Heat flares low in my belly, spiraling outward until my pulse is pounding in my ears. Every word, every graze of his fingers, has my body leaning toward him like he’s gravity itself.
But tangled up in that heat is the same old, stubborn knot in my chest—the one created from years of awkward encounters, forced smiles, and fake moans so men wouldn’t feel inadequate. Quick, selfish fucks where foreplay was optional, meaning never. Me flat on my back, running through my shopping list until it was over.
