Slow Burn(98)

    “You said you wanted to keep trying,” I said. “You said you didn’t want them to be able to steal this from you forever.”

    He nodded, his eyes still shut.

    I ran my hands over his chest, my fingers brushing his defined muscles.

    He grabbed me by the wrists, but he didn’t stop my movement. He held on while I touched him, eyes slammed shut, breath rapid.

    I eased my hands under his shirt. His skin was warm and sleek. I loved the feel of him under my fingertips. I pushed his shirt up, exposing his bare skin.

    He opened his eyes. “I don’t know, doll.”

    “Does it feel good?” I whispered. “When I touch you, does it feel nice?”

    “Yeah, but I keep thinking about—”

    “You’re not there,” I said. “You’re here with me. I love you.” I leaned over him. I kissed him.

    He met my lips eagerly, kissed me with enthusiasm.

    He let me take his shirt off.

    Bare chested, he lay under me, searching my eyes with his gray gaze. He looked so afraid.

I touched his cheek. “Do you want me to stop?” I didn’t want to push him. I didn’t want to hurt him.

“Yes,” he said. I started to move off of him. He stopped me. “No.”

I leaned down to taste his lips again. “Maybe,” I said between kisses, “if you didn’t have to do anything. If you just let me... take care of you.”

    “Maybe,” he said. His voice was faint.

    “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “We can stop. We can cuddle. We can just kiss.”

    “No, I want to,” he said. He closed his eyes again.

    I placed my lips on his chest, kissing him as softly and sweetly as I could. Surely my light touches couldn’t make him think of anything rough or ugly. I thought of the way they had used him, they way they had hurt him, and it made me ache for him. I kissed him tenderly, as if I could kiss that pain away for both of us. My mouth made its way over his chest, down his stomach, and all the way to the place where his jeans were fastened.

    He gasped.

    I raised my eyes to see him looking down at me. “It’s okay. It’s only me.”

    He nodded.

    “Do you want me to stop?”

    “No,” he said, but his voice was insubstantial, barely there.

    Carefully, gently, I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. I peel them aside, and I could see that he was aroused. He strained against the fabric of his boxers.

    We hadn’t been intimate in this way, not really, and the sight of him that way stirred a longing inside me. I wanted him. I wanted to give him pleasure. I wanted to see him and touch him and taste him.

    My breath quickened as I pulled away the thin fabric, freeing him.

    I’d seen his body before, but not this close, and in so much detail. I smiled at it. I always thought this particular part of the male body was neat on a level that I couldn’t quite explain. I wasn’t drawn to it aesthetically, not exactly, but it fascinated me, and it urged me.

    He was thick and long and beautiful.

    I couldn’t stop myself. I knew I should have asked, but I felt something roused inside me, an impatient longing. And I put my lips to him, tenderly enveloping his length.

    At my touch, he shrunk almost immediately, softening in my mouth.

    Griffin groaned. “I’m sorry.”

    I released his sex, sitting up. “I’m sorry. I went too fast.”

    “No,” he said. “You were...” He sat up, reaching for me. “Take off your shirt. Let me look at you.”

    I complied, but there were questions in my eyes.

    “It’ll help,” he said. “You’re beautiful, and you turn me on.”

    I unclasped my bra.

    He covered my breasts with his hands and pressed his lips against mine. I straddled him, and he sat up against me. His tongue teased mine. His fingers coaxed my nipples. And almost at the same time, we both seemed to wake up between our legs. His hardness was pressing against my dampness.

    He tugged at my pants. “Off.” He pushed me backwards, so that I lay down, and he looked down on me.