He’s right on the edge, his breath hitching in a way that says he’s done, but just when I think I’ve gotten my way, he grabs my waist and hauls me up until I’m straddling him.
He reaches between us, pulls my underwear aside with one hand, and guides himself in.
Thrusting up, he buries himself deep inside me in one sharp move. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance. He’s so hard, and he fucks me that way—rough, fast, and completely focused on the way our eyes are locked together.
It’s not the slow, testing rhythm from before. This is grounding and heavy. He pulls me down as he thrusts, meeting me halfway with a force that makes my vision go hazy at the edges.
“Griff,” I choke out, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” he mutters against my skin. “Just stay right there.”
I move with him, finding a rhythm that feels like a collision. Every time his hips hit mine, it’s a jolt of sensation that travels straight to my spine. He cups the back of my neck, pulling me down until my mouth is inches from his.
He’s watching me again. He’s always watching.
“Piper,” he says, his breath hot against my lips. “Tell me.”
“Everything,” I breathe. “I feel everything.”
He thrusts deeper, harder, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back. I can hear the festival outside—the distant bass, the voices—but they feel like they’re happening on a different planet. Here, in the dim light of the canvas, the only thing that exists is the way he’s filling me and the way my body is screaming for more.
The tension starts to coil again, tighter than before. It’s a sharp heat that builds with every slide of his skin against mine.
Griffin groans as his pace breaks. He loses the control he was clinging to and starts to drive into me with a frantic energy that tells me he’s right on the brink.
The world shatters into bright, white light. I bury my face in the crook of his neck to muffle a scream as the orgasm ripsthrough me, wave after wave of it, my body pulsing around him so hard it’s almost painful.
He pumps one last time, his whole body turning to stone underneath me as he goes over the edge. He holds me there, pinned against him, until the last of the tremors fade and we both collapse into a tangled heap on the floor of the tent.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Okay,” I whisper into his skin. “Maybe day two is better than day one.”
I feel the vibration of his laugh against my chest. He doesn’t say anything, but he pulls the discarded hoodie over us, tucking me in close.
Forty-One
The Savage Saints are the main headliner. When they hit the stage, the entire field's energy instantly changes.
I feel the collective pull of forty thousand people waiting for a single moment. The energy flows like a tide. Then the opening chord hits, and everyone erupts.
I lose my mind. Just a little.
I know every word to every song on every album. Now they’re forty meters away, and the sound hits me in the chest before it even reaches my ears.
I grab Griffin’s arm. “Oh my God.”
He gazes down at me. Whatever he notices on my face makes a full smile spread across his. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and we’re in it together. The crowd, the noise, the day. For a song and a half, it’s perfect.
Then the crowd surges.
I’m five-foot-four, while the person in front of me isn’t, and the person in front of them definitely isn’t either. Suddenly, the stage becomes something I can only hear. I’m stuck watching the back of a very tall stranger’s head during what might be the best live version ofGarden of EdenI’ll ever hear.
I try jumping. This helps for approximately two seconds.
“I can’t see anything,” I say.
Griffin looks at me for a long beat before he scans the crowd.
