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Even though I felt the gentle pulsing of his cock touching my back.
There was no way he could hide that thing. Not unless he stood a mile away from me.
That thing knew how to grow, reach, touch, pleasure…
Riff’s hands touched my sides.
My back instinctively arched a little.
“You tickle me once and I kill you,” I warned.
I had to keep this thing casual. Like we agreed upon.
No need to let one argument turn into some cute paint apology and turn into…feelings.
What a terrible word that was.
His hands lingered at my sides for too long.
I gritted my teeth and reached for his huge hands.
I peeled them finger by finger off my skin.
He gripped tight and fought me on purpose.
Fucking dick.
I lifted his hands to where they belonged.
That firm grip of his hockey hands on my breasts.
Smothering my chest with his hands.
My nipples tight, hard, battling for space at the palms of his hands.
I looked down and shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.
Without trying, Riff had a way of making things ultra-hot.
I told myself it was simply comfort.
I had never been so comfortable with someone the way I was with Riff.
Our bodies were totally familiar to one another.
It was fun.
No worries.
No expectations other than toe-curling climaxes.
I felt his lips touch the back of my neck, just below my soaking wet hairline.
No. No, Griffin. You dumb asshole. You cannot kiss a woman there.
Not a woman like me.
That’s the spot where a woman’s heart somehow connects with their vagina and they feel… things. Feelings.
