Hot, liquid heat spattered on her stomach, even as he groaned her name.
Maylee lay back, stunned by the eroticism of it. Why was it that what was supposed to be a quick dry-hump had turned into one of the most erotic sexual moments of her life?
Panting, Griffin's hand moved to her belly and traced around the cum he'd left there. "I should have left the lights on."
She touched her stomach, uncertain. "Did you get it everywhere? Should I get a towel?"
He chuckled. "No, I just wanted to see you under me, covered in my cum. It's a primal male thing, I suppose." He bent down over her and gave her mouth a hard kiss. "And I'll get the towel."
The bed creaked as he jumped off, and across the room, a light flicked on. Illuminated by the bathroom light was Griffin's gloriously na**d backside, all tight muscle and corded, thick thighs. Oh, mercy. Wasn't that a delicious sight. Maylee felt herself getting aroused all over again, and she blinked with disappointment when the lights went out once more, leaving her in darkness.
Then, Griffin was back in the bed, gently wiping down her stomach and tugging at her pajamas. "You should probably take these off. They'll need a good cleaning. You can sleep in one of my shirts."
"Oh. I'm sure I have something else I can sleep in-"
"No," he said firmly. "I like seeing you in my shirt. Humor me."
She blushed at that. "All right, Mr. Gri-um, Griff."
When he got up to get rid of the towel, he returned with a soft T-shirt for her to wear and pressed it into her hand. "Need some help undressing?"
"I think I can manage," she said in a wry, breathless voice. She quickly stripped out of her clothing and tugged on the shirt, mindful of the noises he made as he moved to the other side of the bed. When she pulled the shirt down, her bottom hung out the other side, and she didn't have any spare panties with her. "Um. Do you have some boxers?"
He chuckled. "If you insist, though I'm a little disappointed that I don't get the pleasure of having you snuggled up against me all night, bare-assed."
"Boxers," she said again, primly.
A moment later, more soft material touched her hand, and she realized he'd had them all along. "You are shamelessly wicked, Griffin Verdi," she chided him as she wriggled into his boxers. They were a little tight in the ass, as she had more junk in her trunk than he did.
Once that was taken care of, she lay back in the bed and adjusted her pillow. What did they do now? Kiss goodnight and roll over onto their separate sides?
Griffin solved that problem for her. As soon as she lay back, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him, his h*ps curving against hers. Aha. He was a spooner. Griffin nuzzled her neck as he settled her against him. "This is much better than the pillow fort, don't you think?"
His words tickled her ear. "It's definitely more intimate. I hope you don't snore tonight."
"I never snore," he said in that haughty voice. "You, on the other hand, could put a train to shame."
She snorted. "Now I know you're lying. I'm a Southern girl. We don't snore, and we don't cuss."
"Mmmhmm. Southern girls are clearly out of touch with reality."
She tickled his sides before he grabbed her hands and tucked them into his grasp. Then she cuddled against his chest, his mouth teasing her neck, Maylee somehow drifted off to sleep.
***
The next morning, Griffin woke up with a raging hard-on, wild white-blonde curls tickling his nose, and an urge to spend the day in bed.
He sat up and reached over the woman clinging to his front to flick off his alarm, and noticed with amusement that Maylee didn't even stir. Well, actually, all she did was burrow deeper against his chest, increasing his morning wood problem.
Damn, but he'd liked last night.
He stroked a hand over her out-of-control curls, admiring the way they fluffed and made her look thoroughly, adorably f**ked. So they'd had a pajama barrier. He couldn't deny that fooling around with Maylee had been the best thing to happen to him in a long time. And for the first time, he was rather grateful for the royal wedding and Kip's inconvenient chicken pox.
Leaning down, he kissed her cheekbone. "Maylee, darling, wake up."
She mumbled something about feeding the hounds and flicked a hand at her cheek as if brushing away a mosquito.
That was . . . charming. With a grin to himself, Griffin reluctantly released her and made his way to the bathroom. He'd shower and then wake her up when he got back.
He undressed and examined himself in the mirror. He was smiling like a loon. No, he realized, like Reese did whenever someone mentioned Audrey. He normally just rolled his eyes at that dopey, lovesick smile on Reese's face and figured Audrey could do amazing stunts in bed.