Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (20 page)

Soon, the kitchen is even more crowded and people press behind us who can’t fit in. The lights are dimmed and the flickering candles set an amber glow in the space.

“Ready . . .” Jamie waves his hands for everyone to start singing “Happy Birthday.”

And they do. Hailey’s sweet, clear voice is definitely the best of all of us, and Caleb’s attention is solely on her. Love is clear in both of their expressions.

I sigh and lean against Griff. I steal a glance at him and feel a jolt when I realize that Griff’s eyes are on me. Love beats in my body, and I wonder if he can see it in my eyes, my face, the way I lean on him. I’m not sure I can hide the fact that I’m falling in love with him. That I love him. I’ve never been good at schooling my emotions, and right now, I’m not even sure why I
should
hide what I feel. Except for the fact that it is way too soon and I don’t want to scare Griff off for good—I mean, there’s a big difference between
oh, it’s so awesome you’re in love with me
and
oh, crap, this girl has lost her marbles
.

The song comes to an end and Hailey says, “Make a wish,” and the room goes briefly dark as candles are blown out.

I blink when someone turns the kitchen lights back on. People move around us, and I swallow hard at Griff’s stillness. The quiet intensity. The calm before the storm.

I’m not sure how long we’re standing like that. How long we look at each other. All I know is that the naked longing must be plain in every line of my face and body.

It’s broken only when Daphne thrusts a piece of cake at me but doesn’t give Griff one since he shakes his head no. There’s not a chance that this cake is vegan friendly when it has milk chocolate. I take a bite and the creamy chocolate melts on my tongue.

I take one more bite before I put the cake on the nearby counter.

“You’re done?” Griff asks.

“I’m ready for something else.” I find his hand and interlace our fingers. “And I’m not willing to wait anymore.”

Without saying a word, Griff tugs on my hand and we leave the kitchen. We pass through the living room where I see Dylan making out with Katelyn—or Kate, I mean. Ahh, good, those two managed to get together! But my attention is drawn back to Griff as we hurry up the stairs and into his room.

He shuts the door behind us, and the music downstairs resumes playing. It’s loud enough that whatever happens in this room will be private.

Griff leans against the closed door, his eyes hot and heavy on me.

And then he opens his mouth and one word comes out.

“Strip.”

‡

I haven’t misheard him. I
don’t even need him to repeat “Strip” in that dark growl of his, the one that makes me want to do all sorts of wicked things with him.

I place my hands at the hem of my eyelet sweater and flirt with raising it. I notice that tick in Griff’s firm jaw, the way his brown eyes turn a heated black, and I know that he wants me to take this—and the tank and bra—off.

So I don’t.

Because I know a little something about . . .
anticipation
.

Instead I toe off my black strappy shoes, leaving my feet bare. But my feet won’t be bared for long. I have plans for those shoes. Devious, sexy plans.

I unsnap the top button of my jeans and unzip them very slowly. And then keeping my gaze on Griff, I push the denim down my hips, exposing my skimpy black panties, over my thighs, past my knees and calves until I’m able to step free. And then I reach in my sweater—and thanks to being flexible—I manage to get the tank and bra down my body and off.

So, there I stand, in my white eyelet sweater and black panties. My wild, untamed curls strewn across my shoulders and toward my back. I slide my heels back on and see Griff swallow hard.

And then I crook my finger at him.

He pushes off the door and stalks to me. And, despite all Griff’s steadiness, his calm, the determined way he moves, I know—I just know—that there’s a wildness, an untamed passion, in him, too. He’s not cold or removed—he burns for me.

He comes to me, not touching me, but close enough that if he reached out, his hands would land on my hips. Or, more preferably, cup my aching breasts.

I walk around him, trailing my hand from shoulder to shoulder. His muscles tighten and bunch under my light touch. I come around to face him, and I press my knees against his legs, press my index finger against his chest with the intention of pressing, pressing, pressing until he falls back to the bed.

But Griff doesn’t fall back to the bed.

Oh, no.

One hand reaches up and encircles my finger against his chest. His rough, callused fingers smooth over my knuckles, the skin of my hand, to the frantic pulse beating inside my wrist. He strokes back and forth, back and forth, and I sway on my feet, my body already moving toward him of its own accord.

He lets go of me long enough to cup my butt. I’m thinking he’s going to kiss me, and my eyes flutter closed, and . . .

In one quick motion, he brings us both to the floor. I gasp with surprise—and with how our positions bring us even closer. He’s on the floor below me, half sitting, while I straddle him. He still cups my butt, squeezing my cheeks through the thin material of my underwear.

His mouth half-opens, his eyes dark with pleasure. I push my fingers through his hair, disheveling the short brown strands completely. I dance my touch across the hard planes of his face, watch how he watches me. His lips are soft, and he draws my finger into his mouth. His tongue flicks around me, his teeth nip, and each touch echoes in me. Makes me pulse with need.

I’m tight. So tight and wet and
needy
.

And I need more.

I lower myself over him, placing myself fully on his hot erection. My finger pops free of his mouth, and I run my hands down his shirt-covered chest, irritated that he’s still wearing clothes.

He leans up far enough—causing him to rock against me and we both shudder with the new friction. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side.

His chest . . . his chest is a thing of masculine beauty. All hard and gorgeous, and I want to lick him all over. Kiss him. Taste him.

His abs clench when I graze him. His pectorals leap when I touch and linger.

“Give me that mouth of yours,” he says.

I can’t deny him. Don’t want to. His hand is already cupping the back of my head, bringing me to him. Our mouths meet halfway, the kiss hot and desperate and wet.

More.

Tongues tangle, and he makes a growly sound in the back of his throat, no doubt tasting the sweetness of the chocolate. And him? Griff tastes like everything I never knew I wanted but always needed.

He tastes like how a man should taste.

His mouth leaves mine and I tip my head back when he trails a path of hot, fervent kisses down my throat. I moan when his hands travel down my front, cupping my breasts. His fingers are too big for the keyholes, but with his pinky, he skims the tip of my nipples.

I let out another moan then straighten when he goes to my sweater.

Yes.
Yes.
I want this
off.

The sweater is tugged off of me, and he eats me up with those dark, dark eyes. I come even more alive under his gaze, my breasts grow heavier, my nipples tighten harder, and I’m soaking with need.

He lowers his head and blows on one nipple. It pebbles. Puckers. Begging for him.

But he doesn’t take me.

He goes to the other. Blows on this one slow, where I can feel the push of his exhaled whisper on me and how quickly I react. I spiral into a tight ball of unleashed passion.

I cry out. Needing him.

His features are tight and dark, the control barely held in check. I rock against him; I dig my fingers into his bared shoulders. Telling him without any words to suck me, take me.

But no, he looks at me. I can’t look away from the promise . . . the need . . . the
tenderness
. My heart turns and the love threatens to spill out of me. I manage to hold back
I love you
.

He moves to adjust his position and it sets a bolt of pleasure through my body.

“Touch me,” I say to him. “Touch me, Griff.”

His head lowers and his tongue flicks out against my nipple. Too short, too fast. I need more. I want more.

“Please,” I beg.

He kisses my tip, his tongue circling the tight bud. His eyes raise to mine, and . . .

He takes me fully into his mouth, and I let out a sound of pleasure because yes, this—
this
—is what I’ve been wanting and pleading for.

He plays with my other nipple. A light graze. A gentle tug. My free breast is molded in his hand, and my pulse sings with awareness. My heart answers in harmony, the blood rushing to my core. I feel so in tune to him. Everything in me answers him, wants to please him and get pleased in return.

He lets go of my breast to skim down my ribs. My breath sharpens as he skims over my stomach. He plays with the top of my panties. He slips inside, and the heat of him is delicious. I lift enough so he can slide deeper, to where we both want him to be.

He cups me there and lets out a grunt. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Griff.”

He rubs against me, his thumb brushing my clit. Nerves tremble, and I feel as if my body is beginning to break out of this cocoon.

Slow and steady, he touches me. Determined. Making sure that I’ll come with his name on my lips. This is not sex. Not a mere slake of lust between two people.

It’s so much more. So different than anything I’ve ever had.

I love him, and each time he touches me, my love shines through brighter and brighter.

I don’t say I love you out loud. I feel it. In every bone and fiber of my body. Every time he touches me, I think:
I love you, I love you, I love you.

Griff kisses me, and it feels like more to me than just an expression of
like
.

His kiss turns hotter. Wetter. And his hand resumes stroking my clit, making me ache with the need to be filled. But his fingers won’t be enough. I need his cock. I need him.

“Griff,” I moan. “Need—”

He takes his hand from me and goes to the sides of my panties. I shake my head no when he gestures for me to lift so I can remove them. I don’t want to get off him even for that. He kisses me, his teeth nipping my bottom lip, and I hear the slight tear of fabric. Feel the air on my now bared pussy.

He still has his jeans on, and I make a sound. I need him bare.

“Wait,” he says. “Hold on. Let me . . .”

He shoves his hips up, holding me in place, as he pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down far enough.

His unsheathed cock brushes against my folds. My eyes close in pleasure.

“Evie,” his voice strangles out. I open my eyes to see sweat bead along his brow, his lips tight.

He feels too good like this. Heated velvet steel. My wetness coats his long, thick cock, and his eyes almost roll back with pleasure. His fingers make crescent marks at my hips, as I keep rubbing his cock along my folds. He bumps against my clit and stars dance across my vision.

“Evie,” he says. “We need protection.”

I know we do. I know it. But I want to go bare with him. Want to feel his naked cock inside me. I’ve never gone there with a guy before, but I want to go there with him.

“I’m clean,” I say.

He goes stone-cold still. “What are you saying?”

I rock against him. “No condom.”

He swallows. Hard. “I’ve never—”

“Do you want to”—I stop before I say
make love
—” have sex without a condom?”

Desire wars with practicality in his expression. I can almost hear the arguments running through his head, mainly,
she could get pregnant.

“I’m not, like, at a pregnancy risk,” I say. And it’s true; I’m not in the danger zone of my cycle. Plus . . . “I’m on the Pill.”

Obviously there could still be a risk of getting pregnant, because nothing is ever foolproof, but it’s one I’m willing to take.

“Do you want to?” I ask since Griff hasn’t said anything since my last statement. “Because if you do . . .”

“I want to,” Griff says. “But . . .”

“You’ll pull out,” I say.

“You sure?”

“Positive. You?”

“Yeah.”

Our eyes meet as he resumes rubbing against me. I lean up a little and he grabs his cock. It’s wet from me and pulses hard in his grip. My whole body goes hot with the thought of him bare inside me. I’ll feel all of that. Every single ridge and velvet-steel glide.

He lets go as I begin to lower. He grabs my hips, my hands touch his shoulders, then glide down to his chest. His heart pounds against my palms and races faster when his cock breaches me.

Hot. Tight. Hard. Thick. So good. So so so so good. Oh, God. Oh. God.

Oh.

God.

He’s big and stretches me wide with his thick head. I widen to take more of him, feeling every part of him as he goes deeper and deeper in me. My breath hisses out of me, but not from pain. Never from pain. The pleasure is indescribable. The feel of him in me, so deep and full.

I can’t get enough.

“Evie?”