“Enjoying?” said Griffin.
I could only pant.
“That’s more like it,” he said, kissing my nipple.
“It’s only that it’s not very fair, is it? I mean, what about you?”
He raised his head to look at me, but his fingers still traced lazy trails over my breasts, making it hard to think. “I want this to be perfect for you.”
“It is,” I said. “I want it to be perfect for you.”
He slid an arm under me, pulling me against him. “I don’t mean to talk about the past while we’re being intimate, but I, um, I didn’t really do this right the last time through.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I had sex when I was in high school, but I was a typical idiot guy, you know? I didn’t have a clue about foreplay. I kind of just... went for it.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that’s high school.”
“So,” he said, “this time, I want to make sure I please you. I want to make up for every time that I might have used someone in the past and only worried about my own pleasure. It’s not cool. I know that now. And I want to make you melt.”
I was grinning again. I touched his chin. “Are you real? Are you a robot or something? Did someone make you to be my downfall?”
“What?” He looked confused.
“You keep saying these perfect, wonderful things,” I said. “A real guy would never say something that awesome. Ergo, you must be a love robot.”
He laughed. “A love robot?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It could happen. Dewhurst-McFarland made you to seduce and destroy me.”
“That seems like an awful lot of work. Why bother seducing you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
His hands were on me again. “I’m not a robot.”
“Mmm,” I said. “You feel real enough.”
He slid his hand over my stomach, easing his fingers under the elastic of my jogging pants.
I gulped. “I thought you said above-the-waist stuff.”
His fingers slid lower. “Maybe we’re speeding up just a little bit.”
My mouth was dry. I tensed up. I wasn’t sure why it seemed like such a big deal. When I took guys home from the bar, they usually had their hands in my pants in five minutes. But this was different somehow.
Maybe it was because he was moving so slowly, inching down further and further.
With each new place he touched, my heart pounded more quickly, my breath grew more shallow, and it grew warmer and warmer between my legs. I’d never anticipated a touch more than this one.
His fingers grazed me, and strong shocks traveled up my body. I cried out.
He kissed my earlobe. “You’re going to have to help me. I never did figure out where I was going down here.”
I just moaned. He was doing fine.
He stroked me, his touch delicate and faint. “Here?”
I bit my lip. “Um, a little higher.”
And then he was sliding over the most sensitive part of my body. I made a sound of surrender, of giving myself over. I felt my body open to him, relaxing.
I writhed against his fingers, drowning in exquisite sensation. He had his hand right on the center of everything, and he was parting me, unwinding me, unraveling me, taking me apart strand by strand.
And I wanted him to. I wanted to help. I slithered and squirmed, making sure he had access, making sure he was able to do just what he wanted with me.
His mouth was against mine, and I was whimpering into it.
One of his hands was on my breasts, and that seemed to peel away yet another layer of me, laying even more of myself bare.
I don’t know how long it lasted. It seemed like ages. It seemed like I’d been transported again, that I’d fallen into some other place, a place where I was nothing more than a collection of sensitive parts, and those sensitive parts were swelling and gushing and opening and allowing and—
Detonation. Everything ruptured.
I came, and it was like he’d finally gotten to the center of me, like he’d massaged aside all the tension, all the things in the way. I was completely undone, splayed open, vulnerable and accepting. It was like he’d taken me completely apart. But I felt safe in his arms, lost and disembodied, but trusting and perfect at the same time.