I opened the door and flicked on the light. “Don’t be nervous. It’s not bad.”
He shut the door after himself. “Isn’t it? Because I’ve never had a conversation that started out with, ‘We need to talk,’ that ended well.”
“It’s only that...” I twisted my hands together. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me. And you won’t let me, and I don’t know why.”
He drew a hand over his face. “Oh, doll.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think we should. Because I keep thinking about how much I want to touch you, and I want you to want me to do that too.”
He turned away from me. “I do. Just... not yet.”
I grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to face me. “But how can this be enough for you? I’m getting all the pleasure. And you’re not getting any.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t true.”
“It is.”
“No.” He put his hands on my shoulders. He bent down and kissed me. “Just looking at you gives me pleasure.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I said.
“You don’t know,” he said. “You don’t know how I feel.”
“So, tell me.”
He ran his hands over my shoulders, the tops of my arms. “When I see you in this dress, I feel overwhelmed by how beautiful you are.”
I placed my hand on his cheek.
He covered it with his own. “And I can’t believe that I actually have the chance to touch something so beautiful. That you would allow someone like me to kiss you.”
“Griffin, why do you think that something’s wrong with you?”
He looked away, his smile bitter. “Because there is, doll. But I can’t talk about it.”
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t know.” His voice was sharp.
I sighed. I wandered into the kitchen. I picked up a fork that I’d left on the counter and put it in the sink. “That’s my point. You won’t tell me what’s going on.”
He was behind me, his hands on my hips, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my thighs where my dress ended. “Let it go for now, please? I can’t talk about it.”
“It’s not like it’s just about liking to look at me. We’re talking about sex.” Maybe I felt so bold because I wasn’t facing him. “We’re not doing it. And I’m having climaxes, and you aren’t.”
He planted a line of kisses down my neck. “I don’t need to. All I need is to know you’re having a good time.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Take off your panties.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What?”
“Just do it,” he growled in my ear.
I was too surprised not to comply. I slid my underwear down until they were pooled around my ankles, and then I stepped out of them.
“Good,” he whispered, turning me in his arms, so that I was facing him. I was pressed against his unyielding body. He kissed me. “Do you have any idea what simply knowing that you’re wearing nothing under that dress just did for me?”
“N-no.” I felt taut and tense, but eager for whatever came next.
He reached into the bodice of my dress, cupping my breast and pulling it out so that it was exposed. He did it with the other breast as well. The air in my kitchen was chilly, and goose bumps quivered over my bare skin, my nipples pulling tight. I drew in breath.
He surveyed me, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. “Seeing you like this is very nice.”
I was still feeling tight all over, but I was starting to feel warmth as well. It was a very enjoyable, tense feeling. And I liked the way his gaze roamed over me greedily.
His hands on my waist, he lifted me so that I was sitting up on the counter. He pressed up against me, his body strong and hard, his hands on my thighs, pushing my dress up over them, higher and higher.
My mouth found his, and we kissed hungrily until he broke away from me, stepping back.