Neanderthal by Avery Flynn
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kinsey
The air in the car as they went over the Harbor Bridge was thick with tension. Kinsey hadn’t said anything after leaving Griff to follow her at Paint and Sip. She’d waited by the car, scrolling through social media, while he strode across the parking lot, his jaw set in a hard line and his body rigid.
Someone who didn’t know better might think he was pissed. She, however, did know better. She’d unwound the Griff Beckett knot, and the truth of it was the man who seemed not to have a single solitary emotion had so many of them that he had them on lockdown, unable to escape and mess with his orderly life.
All that effort expended on control had her itching to peel back the layers and see what was underneath. All that natural curiosity of hers was bound to get her into trouble one of these days, and if she had anything to say about it—and she did—then it would be today.
On the drive home from Waterbury, she sat there, quiet, and watched him. The sinewy muscles in his forearms as he wrapped his long fingers around the steering wheel at ten and two. The tension in his jaw when he cut a glance over and accidentally on purpose caught her toying with the necklace that slipped down between her breasts. The low grumble he made, which she didn’t quite catch the words of, but she understood all the same and it had her wet enough that she was a little worried about her panties.
They made it back to the city in half the time it had taken them to get to Paint and Sip. Sure, maybe the traffic gods had smiled down on them or maybe, probably, definitely it was the way he swerved around slower-moving vehicles, took several cut-through shortcuts, and treated the speed limit like a just-in-case-you-want-to suggestion. By the time they pulled into the building’s parking garage, she was practically electric with want. Every nerve ending was primed, pumped, and ready for action.
She’d barely stepped out of the car before Griff was on her side, a wall of lust, determination, and promise. He glowered down at her, and her breath caught. The scientific literature had documented spontaneous orgasms in women for decades, and a Rutgers University brain scan study found that the pleasure centers of participants’ brains lit up in ways indistinguishable from normal orgasm when they were enjoying the erotic fantasy of their choice. Still, Kinsey had never experienced that pulsating ache right on the edge of coming without even being touched…until now.
Griff didn’t say anything. He just cupped her ass and lifted her up as his mouth came crashing down on hers.
Fuck me. Literally.
She wanted to scream the words as she wrapped her legs around his hips and ground against him, but to do so would have meant cutting off this kiss, and it was more likely she’d put six sugar packets in her grits than do that.
This was like being in the front car of a roller coaster climbing that first big peak. It was all excitement and adrenaline and scream-worthy anticipation and the knowledge that whatever was gonna happen next, it was gonna blow her hair back.
He squeezed her ass cheeks, using those big hands of his to hold her against him. The length of his cock fitting against her core was enough to make her doubt her plan. Fucking Griff out of her system so that they could go back to achieving their respective and nonconnected goals seemed like a great idea at Paint and Sip. Now, when she could feel just how hard he was, the possibility that once wouldn’t be enough loomed larger—but not enough to make her change her mind.
This was too good, too much, too everything.
He broke the kiss, his hungry lips moving across her jawline and to her neck as he backed her up so she was against the car. She tightened her legs as he freed one of his hands, using it to tug her T-shirt free and slip underneath. How he managed to get a hand between them considering she was all but literally glued to him, she had no clue, but there he was, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her still-bra-covered nipple. She wasn’t sure she could get any more sensitive or desperate for his touch, but she did.
He nipped at her neck, kissed the delicate skin better, and then continued on. Kinsey’s fingers were tangled in his dark hair, anchoring herself before she just flew away or exploded or got a look at another dimension as she ground against him, so frantic to feel him, to get to that place where she’d find relief that dry humping him seemed a valid option.
She was close, so fucking close, and they both still had all their clothes on.
He sat her down and nudged her feet shoulder-width apart while she was still too dazed to even think to question it. One of his hands went to her hip while the other stayed under her shirt, trailing down from her rock-hard nipples and over her stomach, sending sizzles of desire in its wake.
“Kinsey, I’m gonna make you come here, and then I’m gonna take you upstairs and fuck you until neither of us can lift our heads off the pillows.” He ran his fingertips across her bare skin above the waistband of her shorts. “Does that sound good to you?”
Fuck yesroared through her head, but already dick drunk without even touching it, the best she could do was nod.
He flicked his thumb across the button of her shorts, popping it open. “Words finally escaping you?” he teased.
The big, hot jerk picked this moment to tease her for being silent for once? He’d pay for that. Later. Now she just wanted—needed to get off.
“It sounds,” she said, as out of breath as if she’d done laps around Meemaw’s ten acres, “very, very good.”
Eyes dark with lust, he slid his hands south, forcing her zipper down as he did so. Two long fingers glided over her hard, aching clit swollen with desire.
“Later, I’m gonna eat this pussy, just bury my face in it, and lick and suck and taste until you’re right on the edge, and then I’m gonna back off before taking you right there again.” He bracketed her clit with the length of his fingers and slid them up and down her slick slit. “My face is gonna be so wet from you and my tongue’s gonna get tired and that’s when I’m gonna use my fingers.”
He squeezed his fingers together, increasing the pressure on her sensitive flesh. “Trace that opening. Dip inside. Stretch you, play you, make you want it so bad that it wipes out every other thought but me in your head, just like I can’t think of anything else when I think of you.” Up and down he stroked, gliding over her clit, demanding her response. “You take up all the space. You quiet everything else. It’s just you, Kinsey.”
He paused, his breath coming in nearly as fast and hard as hers. “And when you’re there, twisting on my bed, begging me not to stop, not to make you wait, I’m gonna slide my dick home, balls deep, so you come all over me and with me and we are both absolutely fucking wrecked for anyone but each other.”
Her breath caught and her thighs started to shake. This was what happened when Mr. Silent started talking? Good gravy.
“Griff.”
“Yeah, baby? You want more?” he asked, increasing the speed of his fingers because he obviously knew damn well the answer to that question.
“Yes,” she said anyway, fighting to keep her eyes open against the onslaught of pleasure. “I want all of that.”
He caught her gaze, his so intense, his eyes had gone dark with it, and then leaned forward, his breath coming in hot pants against her temple. “Fuck, Kinsey.”
The yearning. The need. The bone-deep promise in those words. It was all there. All for her.
Her incoming orgasm pulled back as if someone was pulling on the strings of a slingshot. Pulling it back farther and farther until it seemed like it would break and then letting go so all of that pleasure was flying forward, through her, over her, in her, and washing over her as she climaxed hard enough that her groan of pleasure echoed in the parking garage.
Some part of her realized what she’d done and where she’d done it, but it was a small part. The rest of her felt too fucking good to care. She let out a shaky breath and opened her eyes to see Griff sucking her juices off his fingers, a possessive look on his face that should probably worry her but didn’t—not even the littlest, tiniest bit.
“We’re not done,” she said, needing him to confirm what he’d said—that all of it had been real, that she hadn’t just dreamed it up.
“Not even close.” He buttoned her shorts, pulled up the zipper, and let out a groan that sounded a lot like a growl and a pledge as he patted the crotch of her shorts. “Not even a little bit.”
Thank God.
