Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (4 page)

This time when he pulls away, I don’t stop him. I let go and wait as Griff looks at me. He holds out his hand to me. I don’t hesitate for a second. I take it.

We stop long enough to gather my spilled things, but I don’t feel like putting on my heels. I’m not even sure I can walk.

Griff frowns, and then before I can say a word, he crouches with his back facing me. I hesitate for a brief moment, but then figure why not, and piggyback onto him. He straightens, and I tighten my grip around him and onto my shoes and clutch.

There aren’t any taxis around now, but we don’t need one as Griff brings us to a truck in the parking lot. He unlocks the vehicle with a beep and walks to the passenger side. He opens the door and then briefly turns around so I can slip inside. He’s not even out of breath. Just how strong is he? And how much stamina does he have?

He leans in, bracing his hands on the doorframe. There’s a question in his expression. If I say the word, I have an out, and he’ll give me a ride back to my place. And while I appreciate the thought, there’s no way in the world that I’m not having sex with Griff.

I run my palm along his cheek and look into his eyes. I don’t have to say it. He knows. He nods his head, then shuts the door and strides to the other side. I buckle myself in as he gets in and he does the same, then starts his truck.

And then we drive off into the night.

‡

We arrive at his place,
a cute yellow house, that has a dim porch light on. There are no other vehicles parked in the driveway. Once again, we’re completely alone. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for my door handle, but Griff lays a hand over my arm and gives me a look.

He doesn’t say anything but gets out and rounds the truck to my side. He opens the door and then turns around.

I gather my things and piggyback him like I did at the dock. Griff seems to like to carry me, and it’s kind of thrilling to be lifted so easily. I’m not a big girl, but I’m also not skin and bones—I might only be 5’4” but my muscles are toned due to years of ballet. The only other time I’ve been raised so effortlessly has been by a male dance partner.

But it’s different with Griff, because I don’t know him—not really—so the sensation of him carrying me makes my heart flip-flop in my chest. He’s big everywhere I touch him. My eyes close because soon I am going to see how big he is down there.

My breasts press tighter against his back, and I feel the instinctive flex of muscles in his arms that hold my legs. He’s not an overly hairy guy. The fine hairs on his forearms whisper along my smooth skin, tantalizing me. The back of his neck is just in front of me, smooth and strong.

I can’t resist pressing my lips there.

He pauses at the bottom of the porch steps, his grip tightening on my legs. He goes up a step, and I give his neck another kiss. His breath hitches, the rough sound carrying on the night air.

I slide my hands from his neck to his broad shoulders, feeling the hard corded lines, before holding onto them. My mouth lands partway on his neck and collar, leaving the faintest trace of a damp mark of my kiss. I dart my tongue out, tasting the slight salt of his skin and the inherent maleness of him.

He hurries up the rest of the remaining steps and unlocks the front door with ease. The door is shut and locked behind us. No lights get turned on.

He crouches down so I can climb off, and just as my feet touch the ground, he turns around. He grabs me, pushing me against the wall by the staircase leading upstairs. His hard body presses fully into mine, and he takes my hands, raising them above my head, holding me in place. My breath rasps in and out, my pulse jackhammering. And then he sets his mouth to mine.

No gentleness this time.

Strong lips slant over me. Hot, powerful flicks of tongue. Not demanding. A statement. Telling me with every kiss that he’s going to have me—and soon. That teasing time is just about over.

I whimper with need, arching my back, and move my arms, a soundless plea to him. I want to touch him. Feel him.

He lets go, then spins me around, my skirt flares out with the movement. My hands hit the wall, bracing my weight, and he sweeps my wild curls over my right shoulder. I glance at him, and there is enough light coming in from the windows that I can see him. And what I see?

This is one aroused male on the brink of ripping my dress off.

My body goes liquid hot. I stop thinking when Griff presses his lips to my neck, his mouth covering my skin and the thin straps of my dress tied in a small bow around my neck. I instantly recognize what this is.

Payback, pure and simple, for the kisses I gave his neck on the way into the house.

His mouth moves lower, his lips lightly touching a delicate spot on the top of my spine, just where the strings dangle against my skin. He bites one string, and my breath catches, expecting him to pull and undo the bow. But he merely lets go, and the damp string lands against me.

Another kiss.

And then another.

A slow, meandering path of kisses down the bumps of my spine. A press of lips. A touch of tongue. Teases. Torturing teases that stop when he reaches my mid-back. I guess he decided it was okay if
he
teased me some more—I absolutely love it. I don’t think he can make me want him more.

I’m so wrong.

Kisses back up. Just as unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world to spend on me. His mouth lands on my neck once more, and his fingers glide up my sides in a devastating caress. He moves away, and I blink my eyes open, staring at the wall before me.

He reaches for the strings securing my dress in place.

Anticipation pulls low in my belly, spooling out like a ball of thread unwinding down a staircase. Tumbling down, slowly at first, then picking up in speed. My pulse races, even as I draw in a tight breath of awareness.

A tug. Slight. Short. Sure. It’s enough, just enough, to undo one bow loop. Another tug of the other string. Harder. The other loop falls, the tie gaping open. He pushes the strings away, and they fall down my front. My top loosens.

Not enough, though.

I take a deep breath, holding my weight with one hand against the wall. It’s harder than I’d thought it would be to keep myself upright. Years of ballet training have fallen to the wayside with Griff’s kisses. I put my other hand to my right side, where the hidden zipper is.

Griff grabs my hand, puts it back against the wall, and then takes over the task. The zipper lowers. I exhale unsteadily. And then his strong hands turn me around.

I don’t break his gaze, as I place his hands to the top of my dress.

Silky fabric is pushed past my bared breasts. I’m not small, but I’m still pretty big for my size. A perfect handful. I’m soft, aching. My nipples are pink, hard, and greedy for his mouth.

He sharply inhales, his hands hovering, a whisper of a caress. He’s so close that I can
almost
feel him.

But
almost
isn’t good enough.

I step forward, pressing my breasts into his hands. Hot, massive masculine hands cup me whole. An expression that I can only define as wonder lights his eyes, and I get it. I totally get it, because I also wasn’t expecting this. His wonder is quickly swallowed by stark hunger. His features tighten, his gaze smolders.

His thumbs brush over my nipples. Just over the straining tips. I gasp. His smoldering gaze returns to me, his eyes glancing briefly on my mouth before returning to my breasts. His tongue wets his lips. His thumbs sweep back, and I can’t close my eyes, can’t shut him out.

He runs a circle over one nipple. Tracing the areola, then rubbing the tip. Watching how it puckers even more, observing my short breaths.

He’s studying me. Learning me. Discovering what makes me tick.

He does the same to my other nipple, flicking against the tip. I bite my lower lip, not quick enough to stop the small whimper of need. Griff lets go, then lowers, kneeling before me. I clutch his shoulders, pressing him to hurry.

He gives me a look. A slight raise of brows. He’s not going to be hurried.

He’s going to take his time.

He kisses my left nipple first. A butterfly kiss, a flutter that echoes deep in me. He stays. Kisses me again. Not so much a butterfly, but like a dandelion blowing in the wind. Breezy. Gentle. His mouth opens on the next kiss, taking me in slowly. His tongue rubs against me, licking, tasting, then sucks me deep.

I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.

I’m dimly aware of digging my fingers into his shoulders, of his mouth tugging me, and him stroking my other nipple. Of how his hot kiss leaves me one second, only to switch places in the next. A light scrape of teeth, enough to cause me to jolt, my body snapping with the onslaught of pleasure.

He plays with my other breast, his lips hot and greedy on my nipple. I cry out in the darkness. My nipple pops free, red and wet, and he skims his lips down my torso, dipping his tongue in my bellybutton.

He glances up at me and our eyes cling. He runs his hand down my left leg to my ankle, then repeats the motion on my right. He moves both up to right above my kneecaps; his thumbs caress the soft underside. He presses a little harder, and I widen my stance and step back to the wall. He takes my left leg, lifting it over his shoulder, the bottom of my dress flutters over his wide shoulders.

I’m expecting nothing more, and then he lifts me. My stomach dips, the air whooshes out of me, as my heart stills then jumps with flight. But I’m not scared that he will drop me. He’s strong. Hulk strong. Thrill and lust slam into me, and I have enough sense left in me that I grab my dress to raise it, exposing me fully to his gaze.

He makes an inarticulate sound, his eyes hungry. He licks his lips, that plush, pink, thick, and long tongue darting out. I can picture him lapping me up, flicking against my clit, then thrusting inside me.

He leans in, licking me from thigh to pussy. One hand leaves my waist to go to the front, and his fingers run down my seam. He dips in, tracing the inner lips, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. Thick and hot. I moan, pushing into him, and he growls.

I want to beg him with words, but I’m afraid to speak and break this spell cast over us. He circles my clit, light and sure, before suckling it into his mouth.

Yes.

That.

There.

My vision blurs, my body tightens. He lifts his mouth away, only to replace it with his thumb. He rubs it, and he lowers his head back to me. His tongue tests my opening with a shallow push. So thick, and it’s just his tongue. He thrusts in and presses hard on my clit. My orgasm rushes over me.

But I want to feel
him
inside me.

He lifts his head, his mouth wet from me. He licks himself clean and heat rushes straight to my core. I don’t even know how he does it, but he stands and lowers me at the same time until my legs wrap around his waist. He turns toward the stairs, and I squeeze his shoulders, then nod to my clutch and shoes on the floor. He doesn’t sigh in annoyance, doesn’t let me go. He merely bends and grabs them, then faces the stairs once more.

I hold on as he climbs the steps, pressing my lips in desperate kisses along his neck. He quickly reaches the top and strides into his room. He pushes me against the door, effectively closing it. My stuff falls to the floor.

His mouth seeks mine, his kiss just as desperate for me. I push my fingers through his hair, holding him tight to me, as I suck his tongue into my mouth. He draws us away to his bed where he carefully sets me down, covering me with his body. I skim my hands down his front, tugging his shirt free from his pants. He lifts up enough so he can take it off, and I get my first good look at Griff halfway undressed.

Rippling, firm muscles. Thick arms with bulging biceps and strong forearms. His chest is a work of art in itself, his nipples a dusky brown. His abs—oh God, his abs—should be the Eighth Wonder of the World, and that V-line of his hips that draws down to his pelvis is absolutely mouthwatering.

I need to see
all
of him.

I reach for his belt, hurriedly undoing it, then slide it free. I like that he lets me do this—and I like it even more when his abs tense when my fingers graze and linger. I lean up and kiss him, as I undo the button and carefully lower the zipper over his straining erection. Griff stands to remove his pants, only remaining in his tight, white boxer briefs.

I swallow. Hard.

Kneeling on the mattress, I push my dress down over my slim hips. The green silky material pools on the bed, and I stand up long enough to step free of it. I settle back down and meet his eyes.

Except for my jewelry, I’m naked as the day I was born.

Griff lets out a low breath, the muscles in his arms and abs rippling with tension.

I slowly take off my earrings, necklace, three rings, and my row of bracelets with charms before setting them on the nightstand. I point to my clutch on the floor.

Griff grabs it and hands it to me. He takes my dress from the bed and lays it over a chair by his small desk. My heart melts a little at the kind gesture. When he comes back to me, I reach for him, pulling his head down to mine and kiss him. I open my clutch, digging out the condom. From his erection straining against his boxer briefs, I’m not sure this average size will fit him. I glance questioningly at him, and he shakes his head.