Immortal Desire

The elevator stopped abruptly enough that they swayed into each other. Baily grabbed his biceps for support.

It was random, the way his body moved. He watched with detached amusement as one hand wound around her neck and fisted in the back of her hair. His free hand cupped her ass and drew her up his thigh. Breaths came hard and fast. Muscles twitched. His nostrils flared.

Color stole into her cheeks to create a pretty flush. Lips parted, she stared up at him.

The emptiness that ate at him with every faceless coupling pushed in. She deserved more than this, deserved more than he could ever offer her. “Won’t do this to you, too.”

“Do what to me?” Her hands rested against his chest, light but hot.

He closed his eyes and struggled to regain control of his traitorous emotions, particularly the one demanding he protect what was his. Bailey.

“Griff?”

Teeth grinding, he slowly opened his eyes and, with an intentionally sensuous smile, shrugged one shoulder. “Shame you’re only good for a preliminary attempt.”

She crossed her arms and glared up at him. “Wait a second. Are you insinuating that I’m a—”

“Lightweight, Bailey. And I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying.” He arched a brow.

“Screw you, Griff.”

“That’s what I thought we were doing. Guess I was wrong.”

Her lips thinned. “I’m not a lightweight, and for what it’s worth? Your reverse psychology bullshit doesn’t fly.”

He dragged the hand cupping her ass up, under her waistband and back down to cradle bare skin. “Whatever you need to believe, but trust me when I tell you I’m still the best person to solve your little problem.”

“So you said, but here I am in almost the same shape as when this, this—” she flapped one hand between them “—thing started.” She dropped her gaze and thumped her forehead against his chest once before resting it there. “Honestly? I’d hoped you were right.”

Griff pulled her into a tight embrace without thinking.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist in return.

They stood quietly, their heartbeats falling into a lethargic beat, counterbeat.

She buried her face in his bare chest and nuzzled.

Such a simple gesture of affection yet it catapulted him into near panic. Unable to stand the strange emotional onslaught, he pulled her head back and bent to nuzzle her neck.

* * *

Bailey couldn’t breathe. One minute she’d been sure the little interlude with Griff had ended, and the next second he was everywhere, all seeking hands and hungry mouth and hard body. He managed to peel the shirt—how did she end up in his shirt?—off before she hit the elevator wall.

A little huff of air escaped her.

She had spent so long wanting him on so many levels. Now she needed him to obliterate the tightness in her chest that accompanied the wanting. The urge to give in, to let him do what he would, pulled at her. Trust me, he’d said. She would. He had promised to fix this, to fix her. If anyone could, she wanted to believe it was him, that he wouldn’t ever give her that look, the one that said she was little more than a broken doll destined for the recycle bin. Glancing up, she licked her lips, her belly fluttering when blazing blue eyes zeroed in on the movement. He made her feel sensual and sexual, desired in a way no other man had. She rested a hand feather-light on his chest. “Griff.”

He caged her in with his arms. His mouth homed in on first one nipple and then the other as if they emitted sonar only he could hear.

She pressed deeper into his mouth, reveling in the wickedly talented tongue that flicked and laved, lips that suckled, teeth that scraped. The urge to give herself into his keeping grew painful but stronger, a new emotional muscle being stretched and pulled.

He shoved at her jeans. “Off,” he growled.

She wiggled free. “You do the same.”

“In a sec.” He ran his hands down her thighs and pressed her legs apart, kneeling before her. “Leg over my shoulder.” He punctuated the command by hooking an arm behind her knee and working it over his shoulder.

Her protest had barely formed when his mouth found her core. He latched onto her clit and flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

A half hungry, half crazed groan escaped her. She wound her hands through his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

Griff hummed his approval.

One part of her wanted to pull him closer. The other wanted to ride his face like a cowgirl on a mechanical bull. He made up her mind for her when he twisted around and positioned his free shoulder under her grounded leg. Shoving up, with his face buried between her legs, all she could do was hold on.

Skillful lips nibbled and teased, his tongue occasionally flicking the little nerve bundle. A stream of cool air whispered over the hypersensitive flesh, and she twitched like she’d been hooked up to a car battery. Pleasures stacked one atop another until they ran together like watercolors. His hedonistic assault drove her wild. Every calculated touch and measured stroke fed the burn beneath her skin like a well-aimed bellow.