Page 19 of Cherry Picking
“Okay,” I say, purposefully leaning in so my breath brushes his collarbone. “Guess.”
He shivers as I trace over the drawing with one finger.
“A boat?”
I pinch my lips together and shake my head, but realize he still has his eyes closed. Instead, I pinch the skin of his shoulder lightly between my fingers.
“Ow. Is that a no?”
“Not even close.”
I repeat the pattern again and feel him trying to map it out on my shoulder.
“A hammer?”
A loud burst of laughter nearly has me keeling over. “Holy fuck, Riles. How do you go from boat to hammer?”
“Hey now. Don’t shit on my deduction skills. Maybe you suck at art.”
He isn’t wrong there. Art really isn’t much of my forte, but just for that, I pinch him again.
This time his eyes spring open, glaring straight into mine as I fail to hide the wide grin on my face.
He looks down and sighs, shoving my shoulder hard enough to knock me off the wall, but his hands on my waist keep me in place.
“Is that supposed to be like a Mary Poppins umbrella or some shit?”
“I was going more for the Umbrella Academy logo, but Mary Poppins works too.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, yeah, and now you get to have some revenge.”
I lean back, balancing my hands on the upper rung of the wall and pressing my chest out. If I give him a private moment to check me out without fear of being called on it, no one has to know. But the heat from that gaze has my body lighting up in all sorts of ways, and if he doesn’t get a move on, the problem in my pants is going to become very apparent.
Letting him take his time, I close my eyes and wait for him to begin. With the first touch of his finger to my collarbone, my skin erupts with pebbled flesh. It trails down my sternum, under each pec, and down my ribs. A brief reprieve, and then both hands cradle my stomach, thumbs tracing an indiscernible pattern up and down my abdomen.
There’s little dabs of touches all along my front. No pattern that I can find. Then, two fingers press around my throat, dragging from the sides to the center and back down until they meet just under my chest.
I have not a single clue what he’s put on my body, but disappointment leaks from every pore once his hand falls away and I know that he’s finished.
“Guess, Griff.” Hot breath spills over my neck, and it takes every shred of self control not to open my mouth and moan.
“Was I supposed to be paying attention to that?” I ask, and I swear I feel something soft and warm touch my lips before Riley’s chuckle spreads across my cheeks.
“This was your game, frat boy.”
I open my eyes slowly—keeping them aimed up so I don’t cheat—and meet his gray ones inches away. “And I told you it was a flimsy excuse.”
“Just look down,” he says on a low chuckle, taking a step back.
I do as he says and can’t decide if I want to smile, scoff, or kiss his awfully handsome face.
It’s no masterpiece, but it’s a hell of a lot more thought out than what I came up with.
“Is that a griffin?”
The head of a griffin to be precise, and laughter bubbles up so strong I can’t help but reach for him and pull him into a one-armed hug.
