His stare shot to my naked boobs.
I shrugged. I let him see how my eyes softened.
Eyes still glazed with surprise, I could tell he didn’t know what to think or do.
His throat bobbed but he nodded.
“We’d better go or we’re gonna be late for first period,” I said aloud, certain I couldn’t possibly care less about our pretend school.
“Okay,” he croaked.
His hands were still wrapped around my breasts. My nipples hadn’t gotten the memo that we had to play a part we had no interest in playing and continued to strain to reach his mouth.
With a mischievous smile, I ground along his hard-on for a few too-quick moments.
“You can’t do that and expect me to go anywhere but inside you,” Griff growled, all shock absent from his eyes, which were back to burning for me.
I groaned without meaning to. I ground along his dick again, and this time deposited a heavy boob in his mouth. Instantly he sucked on it.
My head fell back, my spine arched. I wanted to live in this moment for eternity.
Like a proper gentleman, he gave my other boob equal attention before asking me, “Which is it, baby? Tits or school? Making love or classes?”
“God, when you put it that way, is there even a question?”
“No. There isn’t.” He lowered his tongue to my breasts again, trailing his hands along my thighs.
“Fuck my life,” I grunted angrily. “We gotta get to school. But know that this is, like, the hardest fucking decision of my life.”
He pumped his erection up against me. “Hardest, no doubt about that.”
Cursing a furious string of expletives the entire time, I tucked away my tits—he groaned like it was one of the greatest losses of his life—and lifted off his lap. I slammed onto the passenger seat with a smack, as if it were its fault our parents and Magnum were the biggest dickwads in the entire universe. I crossed my arms over my chest, not bothering to smooth over my pout, and grumbled sullenly: “Drive.”
Griffin stared at me for several beats before adjusting himself. His dick bulged against his zipper, the straining fit looking painful.
I was staring at the hard dick I was missing out on when he growled out: “Fine. But be forewarned, I might just set the whole place on fire for making me miss out on you.”
“You and me both, buddy. I’m in a burn-it-all-down mood.”
Fuck, was I ever.
4
The Truman Show, Psycho Style, Baby
With his eyes darting toward me almost as often as to the road, Griffin zipped Clyde out of the Periwinkle Hill neighborhood without picking up Hunt. By the time the blaze of Griffin’s desire ebbed, and the crotch of his jeans loosened, his right hand wasn’t on the gearshift but was running through his hair, leaving the dark strands messy and mussed, a clear sign of his agitation—and an indication I was going to struggle to keep my hands off him. His hair standing up in all different directions was sexy as fuck, like we’d been pressed to the bed together all night.
A slight frown tugged at his mouth. He probably had a million questions but was heeding my warning, too confused, stunned, and cautious to ask any.
I should use the time to update him. I mean, obviously. There was so much to tell him! But all of it was as unpleasant as a surprise sucker punch to the gut on a full stomach. He’d startled so hard when he heard me speak into his mind.
But Griff was chill under pressure. He’d roll with things until he understood—and then he’d probably want to course correctand speed over to “Uncle Magnum’s” to murder the fucker while he sat at the breakfast table.
My stare hadn’t left Griffin since he’d rocketed up my driveway. I couldn’t stop admiring his every perfect detail. There wasn’t a single blemish on him that I could spot around his Thrasher t-shirt that exposed his arms. There was just smooth, tanned skin, sculpted by lean muscles and highlighted by the weaving bands and swirls of his tattoos.
