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5
CLAIRE
If this fuckingclown puts his hands on me one more time, I’m going to give him a right hook to the gut like Lilith taught me. He’s going on and on about his—meaning his family’s—investment portfolio. I’m about to tell him my family could buy his five times over when an arm wraps possessively around my waist, and I’m pulled back against a familiar chest.
“Tsarina,” Griff says as his hand splays over my stomach, “are you ready to go home?” His other hand cups the opposite side of my face and turns my head so we’re nose to nose.
His eyes are an almost golden color, and in them I see every single thought and feeling I have for him reflected back at me. He wants me. He wants whatever this raging connection between us is. He is effectively claiming me here inside his club for all to see. His gaze stays steady on mine while he waits for my answer.
“Yes.”
His hands tighten on my body when he gets my answer, and for a split second, he seems to lean in toward me for a kiss. After a quick internal battle, he stops himself. Then his hand is gripping mine, and he’s dragging me toward the exit. I pull my phone out and text Friday, who is sitting in a booth with Donovan.
“Did you use your driver, or should I grab a taxi?” he asks once we’re out on the sidewalk.
“Marco is parked down the block,” I point in the direction.
“Let’s go.” He’s all but pulling me along behind him. “Your place is closer, and I know Con and Lilith are with your parents in Founder’s Ridge. You choose, your place or mine?”
“Yours. Who knows if Con is watching the security feeds,” I roll my eyes as I say it. It would not surprise me one bit if he was.
Griff smirks. “Probably.”
We get to the SUV, and he pulls the door open, helping me before sliding in next to me. Griff gives Marco his address and sets his hand high up on my thigh. Griff and Marco start up a conversation about the Yankees, I think, but I can only focus on the path of Griff’s fingers. Up and down my thigh in a torturously slow and soft rhythm, moving higher and higher until his hand is under the hem of my dress.
He’s still talking to Marco, completely unaffected as his fingers find their way to my core. I gasp as he teases me. His lips tilt upward in a half smirk as he works me into a needy mess, all while having a conversation about baseball statistics. I open my legs a bit wider, hoping he’ll get the message, but he continues to tease. I’m so wet that even though he hasn’t pushed inside me yet his finger is coated with my juices.
As soon as we pull up in front of Griff’s building, I’m pushing him out the door. It feels like he’s trying to torture me as he says goodbye to Marco and slowly strolls into the lobby hand in hand with me. The doorman nods at him as we pass. He leads me over to a bank of elevators and swipes a card to call the last one.
As soon as we’re on and the doors have closed, I’m pushed up against the wall. His mouth is on mine in a deep, passionate kiss. He presses one leg between mine, putting pressure right where I need it. He breaks our kiss and stares down at me with a look that manages to be both intense and playful. He lifts the finger he was teasing me with in the car to my lips.
“Open up, Tsarina, and taste what I can do to you with just the lightest touch.”
I open my mouth and let him slide his finger in. I wrap my lips around him and suck myself off his finger. I use my tongue to wrap around it and hollow out my cheeks while I stare up at him from under my lashes. I start pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants. I want to feel his hot skin under my fingers.
The elevator opens right in his foyer. Double height windows tower over us. I don’t even get a second to take everything in before I’m being dragged into a small kitchen on the opposite side of the open plan living space. He pulls a knife out of a butcher block on the counter.
“Do you trust me?” he asks with the knife hanging beside him.
“Yes,” I answer, “implicitly.”
“Good,” he purrs. He grabs the of the dress and slides the knife under the laces. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you tonight.” He cuts through the leather laces of the dress I’m wearing up to my ribs and then rips it over my head.
I’m left standing completely naked except for my stilettos in his kitchen.
“God, you are fucking exquisite.” He steps back and drags his eyes up and down my body. With the dull edge of the knife, he traces a path from my jaw, down my neck, over the swell of my breast and nipple before he sets it down on the counter. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. You are mine. My partner. My toy. Nothing comes between us.”
I grab his tie and pull him close to me. “And you are mine. I never did share well.”
“No one else,” he says as he lifts me and starts carrying me toward the stairs, which he takes two at a time.
“Am I going to need a safe word for this?” I joke in between kisses.
“No,” he answers seriously, “but we will have that conversation soon. Tonight we’re making up for lost time.”
He carries me into his room and sets me down on his bed. Everything is dark, the walls, the bedding. The only light comes from the open blinds letting light from the full moon in. He flips on a lamp, and I see the reason for the darkness—the walls are a dark gray, the bedding is black, and his bed is a black metal four-poster design. The lines are sleek, sexy, and masculine.
My eyes travel back to Griff as he strips his clothes off. First his tie, which he tosses on the nightstand. His shirt and pants are next, landing in a pile on the floor. My eyes travel over his tattooed arms and chest, down his lean and cut abs to the erection straining against his briefs. I reach out to touch him, but he grabs my wrist.
