Page 77 of Cherry Picking
“Maybe we should make it one.” I drag both hands through his hair and cup the back of his head, his eyes widening as the space between us dwindles until we’re a breath apart.
Every wisp of life in my body draws me to Riley, begging me to hold our mouths together until our hearts and lungs ache and their rhythms sync.
“You left me,” I say, because I need the painful truth off my chest.
Riley’s eyes flick away from mine, and I grip his hair to regain his attention.
“I did.” His voice is cracked and raw like sandpaper on concrete.
“You really thought I’d let you?”
I press forward so our chests collide, so his breath puffs hot against my face, and I can barely brush my lips on his.
“Griff …”
His mouth moves, and mine follows, my hands holding him in place.
“Say it,” I whisper, letting my lips trail his cheeks, his chin, to the sweet spot just below his ear. “Say what you told me on the phone.”
Nothing in the world is more heartbreaking than hearing your boyfriend admit how much he cares about you as he’s breaking up with you.
“Baby.” Finally his hands circle my waist, pulling me flush so our bodies hold every point of contact. “I love you so much.”
All of the passion, regret, and fear in this behemoth of a man’s body pours out with the words, and something inside of me cracks open.
It doesn’t matter that Riley is bigger, broader, and all around stronger than me. It doesn’t matter that I like when he lets loose and throws me around.
I dig my fingers into his neck, the others groping at his ass so I can feel every inch of him.
Two weeks where I haven’t kissed, touched, or held Riley, and now I need it all at once.
“Say it again.” I drag his lip between my teeth and swipe my tongue into his mouth, listening to the sinful, pleasured moans that pass between us.
“Griffin.”
I hold him tighter, harder, and he gasps when I roll my cock into his thigh.
“Say it, Easton. You owe it to me.”
His hands wrap around my shoulder blades, mouth leaving mine to scrape his beard along my jaw.
“I love you, Griffin Foster.”
“Damn right, you do.” I draw him back and slam my mouth into his hard enough it forces him backward.
Just a step, but then I push harder, and he goes another. I don’t stop until his back hits the wall, and I throw my hands up beside his head to cage him in.
“Unless you’re done with me,” I break away to gasp the words, “I won’t let you leave. Until there’s no part of you that wants to claim my body and heart, I won’t let you call this off.”
I pin his hips with mine and rock us together. I’m hard, and I want to feel the warmth of his hand, his mouth—hell, I’ll take rutting between his thick thighs or firm, round cheeks at this point.
Two weeks of no sex and being too damn depressed to jerk off is finally catching up with me.
“That’s it, baby.” Riley’s head thunks the wall as he groans out his breathless command. “Use me. I deserve it.”
“Damn right, you do,” I repeat the sentiment from before, angling my hips to find his own aroused length and grinding against it.
It’s like I’m not in control of my own movements, our bodies rolling together like ocean waves crashing and seeping into one another.
