“There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” He winked, his fingers dropping from my hips.
My face heated as I took a step back.
“Let me get him moving.”
I nodded as he left the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Attraction was usually a game to me. I’d keep a guy at arm’s length, only letting it go as deep as I was willing to go. Somehow, I knew Griffin would be different. He demanded more. He wanted more. He knew me.
Standing in his arms, I’d felt more than I ever had with Wes. I’d never relished in the feel of his arms around me, his body cradling mine.
My fingers touched my still-tingling lips. Griffin was sweet with me.
Kisses on my forehead, short light kisses on my lips. If his tight grip on my hips was any indication, sex with him would be anything but sweet. The dichotomy intrigued me.
A knock sounded on the door, followed by Declan thudding down the stairs, then Griffin’s slower steps. I paused in the doorway to the living room, wanting to say goodbye to Declan, but not sure if Griffin wanted to introduce me to Ian’s parents.
Griffin held the door slightly ajar, so I couldn’t see past him, but I heard Ian and Declan laughing and talking. Griffin reminded Declan to behave and a female voice, presumably, Ian’s mother told him she’d call if there were any issues.
They talked a little longer about whether to sign the boys up for the same soccer team before saying goodbye.
When the front door closed, I moved to the couch, watching Griffin as he crossed the room, a predatory look on his face.
I should have sex with him. It would get him out of my system, regain some of the control I’d lost. Each day, I was spiraling, easing my restrictions, letting him in, bit by bit. If I took that physical step, could I keep him at a distance, steeling myself against any emotions?
He sat on the couch next to me, the cushions dipping me closer to him. “You didn’t want to say goodnight to Declan?”
“I wanted to, but he was already outside when I came into the living room. I didn’t want to interrupt since it might be a little too soon to meet Ian and his parents.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know what the protocol is for things like that.” He dropped his arm over the back of the couch. It was casual, yet calculated. His gaze passed over me, assessing, heated. He leaned in, kissing me. My hand curled around his neck, tangling in his hair. He didn’t touch me, other than with his lips. He kept it light where I would have taken it deeper.
Then he pulled away, grabbing a remote. “You want to watch a movie?”
I raised a brow, but he’d already turned his attention to the TV. Now that we were alone, I’d expected him to continue what we’d started in the kitchen, kissing me, then maybe I’d straddle his lap before moving to his bedroom.
I was generally good at predicting a man’s mood, his desires, but Griffin confused me. We were alone. Declan couldn’t interrupt us. Did he want to take things further?
Griffin shifted toward me to make a comment about the comedy playing, but I didn’t register his words, just that he’d moved closer, not returning to his original position. His arm dropped lower, my shoulder tucked under his arm, his warmth surrounding me. When he spoke to me every few minutes, he lowered his head, his words coasting over the shell of my ear.
“Don’t you think?”
I caught the tail end of his sentence, only registering that his voice was low and deep.
“I’m sorry?” I felt lightheaded and shaky. How could he watch TV when I was so distracted by his nearness?
“I asked if you thought this show was funny. It doesn’t seem like you’re into it.”
I glanced at the TV. It was an older comedy, one I’d enjoyed in the past. “No. This is good.”
How could he act like nothing was happening between us? Like watching a movie together was normal and comfortable?
When he shifted on the couch, his thigh touched mine. I wanted to reach out and touch his leg, to feel the muscles, the warmth of his skin. I wanted to drag my nails up his thighs until he turned away from the show, kissing me senseless before pushing me back on the couch.
“You seem bored.”
“I’m not.” Definitely not. Every inch of my body was hyper-aware of him, his body, his voice, his breath. There was nothing he did I didn’t notice with every one of my senses.
“Tired?”
“I don’t think I’m in the mood for TV.”
He flipped off the TV, the room darker than before. “What do you want to do then?”
I raised my eyes to his. “I thought after that invitation in the kitchen you wanted more.”
His gaze hadn’t heated like I expected it to. Instead, he assessed me like he was trying to figure me out. “You want to fuck?”
I flinched, trying to recover quickly. I wanted him. “Yeah, sure.”
He was quiet for a second before saying flatly, “You’re not ready.”
Irritation prickled my neck. “What do you mean I’m not ready?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, the silence making me nervous. Did he not want me?
“I think I misread the situation.” Hadn’t he pulled me between his legs in the kitchen, promising we could do more kissing later? Had I come on too strong? I stood, looking around for my purse.
“You don’t have to go.” His voice seemed like it was coming from far away through a tunnel.
“No. I should. It’s late.” My words were sharp.
His hand wrapped around my wrist, sending my heart rate into overdrive. “Don’t go. It’s not that I don’t want you.”
“Then what is it?” I couldn’t look at him while he gave me an excuse.
“Sit.” He lightly tugged on my wrist until my shaky legs collapsed on the couch.
“Look at me.” His tone was pleading.
I kept my eyes trained on the coffee table. “Please.”
I slowly moved from his gaze from the coffee table to his face but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, I focused on his lips moving.
“I do want you, but not like this.” His soft pink lips, the day-old scruff I wanted to run the palm of my hand across.
I blinked, trying to clear my head. “Not like what?”
“Like you’re checking off a to-do list.” His tone was irritated, cold, his fingers ticking off the words. “Dinner. Check. Sex. Check.”
“It’s not like that.” My voice was defeated, my shoulders slumped. It was exactly like that.
“Then what’s it like?”
“You seemed into it in the kitchen.” My face burned hotter than before. I sounded like a disappointed teenage boy, desperate for sex.
“I want you.” His hand pressed against my chest, over my rapidly beating heart.
The warmth seeped through my shirt. I wanted to cover his hand with mine, hold it there, until the warmth seeped into my heart.
He pushed his hand against my chest lightly emphasizing his words. “I want you, what’s inside. Not this persona you put on to get closer at the same time you’re pushing me away.”
“I’m not made for that.” I shook my head. I couldn’t even say the words. Intimacy. Closeness. Love.
“You may never have allowed yourself to go there with anyone. When you do, I hope that person is me. I want us to take the next step because you want to be with me, you want to take things deeper, not because it’s a move in a game you play to keep people at a distance.”