Page 90 of The Check Down
“Pissed off?”
“No. A tiny bit ridiculous.”
Teeth gritted, I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re calling me ridiculous?”
He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “A tiny bit.”
Huffing, I swivel back to the soybeans. As we drive through downtown Holly Holler on our way home, I will myself to think only of the wonderful memories we made here this weekend. It’s no use. All those beautiful moments keep getting interrupted by what transpired in the Laceys’ kitchen this morning.
More specifically, in their pantry.
After Donna made a huge breakfast, complete with Griffin’s favorite biscuits and gravy, as well as french toast—a gesture that made me tear up—everyone trekked out to the barn to check out a new litter of kittens. Griffin wanted to show me the horses next, but he wanted to give them peppermints, so he and I hiked back to the house alone.
What happened next will go down in history as Brynn’s Most Embarrassing Moment Ever, and despite my best efforts to block the scene out, my brain unspools the memories like a roll of film:
The unorganized walk-in pantry is stuffed to the gills. The cans of vegetables are distributed willy-nilly, and there are boxes of crackers stuck between containers of flour and sugar. Next to an unopened jar of olives, I find two bags of noodles and a pack of batteries.
“Do you see them?” I peer over my shoulder to check Griffin’s progress, only to find him staring at my ass with heated eyes.
“These jeans are fucking sexy.” He spins me around, pulls me to his torso, and slips his hands in my back pockets.
“They’re mom jeans,” I laugh. But the nearness of him, his intoxicating scent, and his broad palms cupping my backside are a heady combination.
“Mmm, I don’t care what kind they are. I want them shoved to your ankles so I can see how wet I can make you.” He nuzzles my neck, sucking that spot below my earlobe that drives me crazy.
Every word, every move, heats my body further. Somehow, though, I have the presence of mind to pull the door closed behind him.
Good thing, because the second his lips touch mine, we’re a perfect storm of hot kisses and sensual groping and heavy breathing.
Griffin backs me into the shelves with enough force to knock a small box off the top one, but we’re too occupied to care. We’re fused together, and his arousal is evident. He wedges a thigh between my legs to shift me higher and slips a hand under my sweater. Iloop my arms around his neck to give him better access, and when his thumb finds a nipple through the satin of my bra, and he circles it through the fabric, I nip at his bottom lip. With a grunt, he tucks the cup below my breast, and the skin-to-skin contact on the sensitive tip sends a rush of dampness to my panties.
He kisses his way along my jaw and down my neck, hot presses of his mouth that scorch my fevered flesh. When he squeezes my nipple between his fingers, I whimper and circle my hips, searching for friction, desperate to ease the ache between my legs.
Griffin releases a growl of frustration and jerks my sweater up, exposing the breast he’s been working over. And when his warm mouth latches on to it, I dig my fingers into his hair, holding him there, all while fighting the urge to push him away, because this is too much.
This is all too much.
Thoughts likethis is wrongandwe shouldn’t be doing this in his parents’ pantryandwhat if someone hears us?flash through my mind, but the quiver between my thighs forces them out as quick as they enter.
When he laves my nipple, I grope the ridge of hardness in his jeans, stroking the denim with enough pressure to make his grunts more frequent.
He releases my breast, and as he pants against it, his hot puffs cause goose bumps to pebble my skin. The intense blue of his irises and the gravel in his voice send me reeling. “Take it, baby,” he rasps, the demand impossible to ignore, so I increase my speed, riding his leg, rolling my hips. “Grind that sweet little pussy all over me until you get there.”
He resumes sensual pulls on my nipple, each tug making the pulse between my legs more intense.
“Oh, God, Griff…” I press my head back against the edge of a shelf and cling to his biceps, rocking faster. The seam of my jeans and his rock-hard thigh are the perfect combination against my clit. The tighteningand throb in my lower muscles prove that my release is so, so close.
He gives my nipple a final lick and brings his mouth back to mine, his lips demanding and unyielding as they take control.
I close my eyes as the waves begin. They’re shallow at first, but when he presses his lips to my ear and rumbles “Come,” I drown in pure ecstasy, and they crest over me, bursts of pleasure pulsing throughout my body.
When I come down, I open my eyes to find a smug smile gracing Griffin’s reddened lips. He holds my waist to keep me upright, and I tip my forehead to his chest to catch my breath.
“I’m the luckiest fucker on the planet to have a front-row seat tothat.” With a kiss to my hair, he lowers his thigh so my feet touch down. My legs are jelly, my boob is still out, and my cheeks and chin and chest are probably red from his beard, but all I can think about is returning the favor. I want—no,need—to make him come.
Orgasms clearly make me bold and reckless, because once I’ve straightened my bra and sweater, I lower to my knees, kiss the outline of his hard bulge, and pop open the button on his jeans.
“Fuck, baby—” Eyes wide, he braces a hand on a shelf.