I tangle my fingers in his hair, and tug, forcing his head to the side and deepening the kiss of my own accord. Moments later he’s jerking me to my feet, shoving me against the wall of the elevator, and pinning me in, his hands on either side of my head as he gets as close to me as he can, every inch of him pressed up against me.
Holy crap he feels good. So, so good.
Everything about him. The warmth of him, the strength. That rock-hard ridge in his pants aching to be let loose.The thing is…even with all that urgency in him, he’s kissing me slowly. Gently. As if he’s using every second he has to explore me rather than coerce me. He’s probing my mouth softly with his tongue, his breath mingling with mine, his lips soft and pliant. And before long, we’re in a sort of give and take, a soothing, gorgeous push and pull that is at once too much and not enough.
We still have our clothes on, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my entire life. I’ve never been kissed like this. It feels like an explosion of the best flavors in the universe all at once mingling together and creating the best taste and sensation I’ve ever felt. It’s as if I’m his universe. The only thing he wants. The only person worth paying attention to, and he’s giving me every ounce of his being.
Before I know it, his hands are on my hips, slowly hiking my skirt up higher and higher. And though I know it won’t work that way—pencil skirts don’t—the friction of his palms against my skin, the knowledge that he could just reach around and unzip it if he wanted to, is driving me absolutely insane.
I gasp and pull his head closer to mine, begging for more, begging for him to rip my clothes right off and stop taking his time. But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s slow and teasing and intense. It’s the exact opposite of how it was in Vegas, and for the first time, I start to think that maybe that night meant more to him than I realized. Maybe it actually was the beginning of something.
Chapter 12
#ThatFeelingWhenYouDontEvenKnowWhatTheFuckYouAreFeeling
When the elevator finally starts again, we break apart, chests heaving and clothes askew. His hair is no longer so perfectly gelled, and my skirt is twisted sideways after the amount of yanking he did. I know my lipstick is completely gone, because it’s smeared over his face and down his neck—as well as along his collar. I’m soaking and throbbing and not even close to satisfied, and a quick glance down at his crotch shows me that his cock is hard and straining against his pants.
He watches my gaze dart down and then snap up to his, his own emerald eyes shifting into the color of the deep ocean shimmering in the moonlight.
“See something you like?” He shoves up against me again, his teeth on my lower lip and his hands tangled in my hair. A particularly hard part of his anatomy rubs against my lower stomach, his hips rocking back and forth silently letting me know what he wants.
The kiss catches fire and grips me with violent need. Lifting up on my toes, I attempt to adjust, to fit him right where I crave him the most, and I wish for about the millionth time that I didn’t have on this stupid skirt.
Making things difficult, indeed.
I moan out my frustration and tug at the lapels of his jacket as I lecture myself once more that I can’t actually unbutton his shirt or stick my hand down his pants. I want to feel him inside me, moving, pulsing, making my body scream in the grasp of ecstasy.
We’re already going to be in hot water, thanks to the security cameras I know must be in this elevator, and I don’t want to give them a better show than we already have. He’s supposedly a big deal in Manhattan.
I can’t even imagine what kind of damage we’re doing to his reputation.
Then again, I’m not sure he cares.
When the elevator dings at my floor, Griff exhales, then ever so slowly steps out of my reach, his lips swollen and his face flushed.
“Good distraction?” he asks, as the doors open, his voice thick and husky.
“The best,” I answer, my breaths coming fast and shaky.
Our gazes lock and hold. His eyes are liquid heat, his expression a heady mix of lust and confidence. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should ask him to come to my apartment, but then he moves forward and holds one of the opened doors for me. My gut twists in disappointment. Maybe this was just what he said it was: a distraction. Our heavy make out session meant nothing to him. Maybe I never meant anything to him. Maybe I’m wrong to think that what happened could be the beginning of something rather than just some random hookup.
“So, see you around?” I ask, forcing my skirt back to its correct position.
He smiles, that sexy smile that makes my knees quiver. “See you around.”
With those parting words, I walk off the elevator, confused, unfulfilled, and horny as I make my way toward my apartment. This time, it takes all of my will power not to look back at the man who just wound me up and then let me go, all to keep me from freaking out on the elevator.
Chapter 13
#SomePeopleAreWorthASecondChance
The next day, after a night of tossing, turning, and cursing myself for: 1) letting Griff get to me, and 2) walking away from him instead of dragging him back to my apartment; I head down to the lobby for my last day in New York. My schedule is simple. I just need some last master shots of the city. Stuff to put behind the credits. And since I’m right across the street from Central Park, I’m thinking that will be the ideal place to shoot.
I also have on more comfortable shoes than yesterday, and that alone puts me in a better mood. I hike my camera bag up on my shoulder, take a sip of my coffee, and step off the elevator with my eyes on the door to the outside world. I’m not hungover today, which should make it all easier, but I am a bit pressed for time. Especially, because I’m supposed to be having coffee with Sage before I go. My heart squeezes. I miss my friend already.
There’s another person I’m going to miss seeing.
Okay, not going there. I’m trying very hard not to think about Griff at all, mostly because I never heard from him again—even though he has my number, having taken it in Vegas before our little tiff—and I still don’t know what to think about what happened between us last night. Yeah, it was hot as hell…but he also didn’t ask me to go to his place, or even suggest that we meet up later. No, I didn’t either. But he could have, and he didn’t.
Besides, it’s not like anything could happen between us. I live in Raleigh. He lives in New York City. I travel all the time, and sometimes it’s to New York, but it’s often to somewhere else. He’s a lawyer who has almost no free time. So even if we did something together, it’s not like it could last. It’s not like it could be anything real.
And I’m just not interested in anything less. If I’m going to get into a relationship, I want it to be a real relationship, not some throwaway booty call. That might have been okay in Vegas. Everyone knows what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas for a reason…and I’m all for casual sex, but with Griff, it’s not okay in my everyday life.
So really, it’s better if I just forget about him. Go on with my life, thankful that he got me through the elevator situation, and let that be all there is to it. I take another sip of my coffee and stride forward to get those last shots before the light changes.