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And the way he pulled my panties up and kissed me before I left. I close my eyes and replay the moment.
Griffin on his knees, his strong fingers pinching the delicate fabric of my underwear as he lifted them up my legs. The way he looked up at me as he placed a kiss against my center.
I might be able to orgasm again just thinking about it.
“What did all the guys think of the lap dances?” Jules asks.
“Barrett wanted to cancel the rest of the evening and take me home.” Chloe laughs. “He said it wasn’t nice of me to tease him like that.”
“Definitely the hottest foreplay,” Lindsay chimes in. “They won’t be able to think about anything else tonight.”
“Emma, how did it go?” Chloe asks.
“What?” I’ve caught the tail end of their conversation.
“The lap dance. What did Griffin think?” Jules asks.
“Oh, he liked it.”
“Yeah, he did. You two were in there for a long time.” Jules wiggles her eyebrows.
“Yeah, we were.” I press my lips together in a conspiratorial smile.
As I come down from the high of being with Griffin, I start to wonder if this changes things between us. Was it simply hormones combusting after the lap dance? The fact that we’ve been in each other’s personal space the past few days, the attraction between us building and it finally pushed us over the edge? What does it mean for the next week? After Griffin returns to Las Vegas? Is that still the plan? So many questions that I don’t have the answers to.
With the conversation continuing around me, I decide to not focus on Griffin right now. Tonight is about Chloe, so I shake off the residual effects of my orgasm and when we arrive at the restaurant, I turn on hostess mode.
I’m elated that everything is set exactly how I’d planned. Table settings and décor in Chloe’s cream and blush color palette. The food is delicious and the champagne flows easily. In the private lounge, Chloe opens her gifts, lingerie for her and Barrett’s honeymoon as instructed by the invitation I sent. My stomach twists with each newly revealed teddy, lace bodysuit or panties set. At first, I’m wondering if the champagne is making my stomach hurt, but as a blushing Chloe holds up a garter belt and crotchless panty set, I realize it’s envy.
Not for the lingerie she’s receiving. I can buy my own lingerie. It’s the look on her face. The love that she feels for Barrett and the excitement that their pending nuptials brings. The fact that they are truly in love, and while the parties and celebrations and gifts are nice, when everything is done, and Chloe and Barrett return to regular life, they’ll have each other. That’s what I’m jealous of.
“This one’s from Emma,” Chloe announces after reading the card taped to the rose gold box decorated with tissue flowers I made.
I smile, watching her open the box and pull out the delicate Italian white lace undergarments I made special to go under her wedding dress.
“They’re beautiful,” she exclaims, holding them up for everyone to see. “Did you make them?”
I nod. “They’re one of a kind, so be sure to let Barrett know he shouldn’t rip them off you if you want them as a keepsake.”
She sets the box aside and embraces me. “I love them. You’re the sweetest. Thank you, Emma.” She squeezes me tight. “I’m so glad you found Griffin. It makes me so happy to know that you’ve found your guy and we’re both happy and in love.”
“Me, too.” I force the smile to stick on my face.
Yes, I found Griffin, but that doesn’t mean I get to keep him. The ache in my stomach is back. I push it away, determined to celebrate Chloe and not let the mess I’m making of this thing with Griffin ruin her special night.
While the other ladies finish dessert, I settle the bill, and arrange for Chloe’s new underthings to be delivered to her and Barrett’s place.
We spend the rest of the night dancing at The Rumpus Room, an intimate dance club near the East Village.
When I finally get home, my feet ache and my head is fuzzy. My parents are still out of town, but I’m still trying to be quiet as I fill a glass of water before heading to my room.
I haven’t heard from Griffin, so I’m not sure if he’s home yet. If he’s asleep, I don’t want to wake him. In my attempt to turn on the flashlight on my phone, I tip my water glass and spill some on the carpet. I decide to give up on the flashlight and feel my way to my bed. I set the glass on the nightstand, then drop my shoes by the chair. I’m about to crawl into bed when big, strong hands reach out and pull me in.
I don’t mean to scream, it’s a reflex really. Like the urge to say ‘ow’ when I bump into something even if it doesn’t hurt.
“It’s me,” Griffin says from his new position on top of me. “You know you could turn the light on.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
