Page 156 of Love Felt Like This

Too familiar.

Beau was always on top, hovering over me, looking at the wall behind my head or thrusting with eyes closed. Even if I found my pleasure, I hated the feeling of being trapped—crowded by another person’s weight.

“Just so you know,” I say. “I’ve only been with one person. So…I don’t know how good I’m gonna be.”

Griffin strokes the back of his knuckles over my cheek.

“I don’t care who you’ve been with and who you haven’t. I haven’t been with anyone since…Robin.” His words fade, almost like that fact hits him as well.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay?”

I nod. “I’m on birth control.”

I’ve never had to share that with someone before. Everything feels brand new with Griffin. New adventures. New possibilities.

And I don’t want to be on my back again. Not this time.

I push on Griffin’s chest. It doesn’t take any pressure for him to move. I shift from underneath him, crawling out until I’m on my knees.

“Sit,” I demand.

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he takes a seat, pushing until his back is against the wall. I swing my leg over him, sitting on his lap as he stares up at me with raised eyebrows.

“Okay” is all he says in response.

I smile and he returns it.

He adjusts himself underneath me, and I place my palms on his shoulders. After a moment, he settles his hand on my waist and guides me. Slowly, we sink together. I push down, inch by inch, moment by moment. His fingers shift my dress out of the way before steadying my hips, helping me lower farther, watching as I fall and rise again and again.

At some point our breathing picks up, our bodies roll faster, the whines of my old mattress begin to creak under our weight. I think I hear my notebook fall off the side table and snap to the floor. Griffin grips my waist tighter, supporting me as I ride. Eventually, his head falls back against the wall.

“Shit, B,” he groans, exhaling before leaning up and burying his mouth against my neck, placing a kiss in the dip of my collarbone. “I’m yours.” It’s a low murmur, but it’s just enough to make me go faster, only so I can hear this big man—tattoos and all—repeat against my collarbone, “Yours.”

I push up and down on my shins, letting the motion take us further, letting it sink into our bones and gather in our hands where we clutch each other’s hair and kiss each other’s temples.

Griffin buries himself inside me. Each stroke is intentional. Each whine and moan and sigh is in tune. He pushes my skirt to the outside of my thigh and rubs his thumb above where his pulsing cock slides in and out. A familiar feeling from earlier zips up my stomach again.

I’m tipping over the edge, spiraling to the other side.

Griffin wraps one arm like a vine around my waist, laying his forearm along my spine, splaying his hand over my shoulders, gripping and thrusting. He chokes out an exhale into my chest, releasing on a small moan.

I’m lightheaded, the type of cloudlike floating that feels like I’m on my back in a pool, blinking up at the sun.

Griffin strokes my cheek, directing my head down to look at him.

He kisses me, holding my face under shaking fingers.

And against his lips, I murmur, “How funny would it be if I used Bernie’s voice right now?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

I bust out laughing, and so does he. And then we descend into kisses again.

Soft.

Gentle.