The setting sun has most of the mourners leaving. Erin’s parents pack up their car as her sisters and nieces help clean up, sealing the leftover food in freezer containers that will feed Griffin for a month. Everyone says a tearful goodbye as we promise to get together soon. Even though the bean is not their blood relative, it has never crossed their minds not to treat him as such. They’ve taken me on as a daughter, an aunt, a sister. They’ve become my second family and one more support system for Aaron.
I close the front door after the last of her family leave. Suddenly, the house feels huge. I have no idea where Griffin is. Back in his bedroom I presume. Being here by myself feels wrong. I’ve never needed another person as much as I do now. I’ve never felt so utterly alone in my entire life. I touch my growing belly and remind myself that I’m not.
I make my way up to my bedroom and pack up my belongings. I put my suitcases by the front door and go in search of Griffin to tell him I’m leaving. His bedroom door is cracked open. “Griffin?” I gently push the door open wider. I let my eyes wander over the room. The suit he had on at the funeral is crumpled in a pile on the floor. There are pillows and a blanket on the couch in their sitting area and I realize that’s where he’s probably been sleeping as my eyes find the perfectly-made bed. He couldn’t get himself to sleep there without her. I wonder if he’s slept on the couch since she moved downstairs. Maybe now that everyone is gone, he can sleep in a guest room instead. Part of me hopes he chooses the room I was in. Part of me hopes he will lie on the same pillow I did and inhale my scent. All of me hopes Erin isn’t damning me from heaven for wanting these things.
I pass by the nursery and wonder for the hundredth time if this is where Aaron will grow up. Erin didn’t leave out a single detail. She had a mural painted on the wall. A baseball mural. She hated baseball. Another selfless move on her part. Knowing the sport is very near and dear to Griffin and me, she probably hoped that we would share our love of it with Aaron. She conspicuously left any specific team names out of the decorating and it’s obvious to me Griffin doesn’t visit this room or he’d have noticed the array of tiny Yankees outfits I had already purchased.
I descend the stairs and look out on the back porch to find it empty. I sadly think how maybe Griffin won’t frequent Erin’s favorite spot anymore. There’s only one other place he could be. I make my way down to his studio. He doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway so I silently watch him. He’s holding a picture in one hand. And a bottle of Jack in the other.
He stares at a picture of Erin on the display board. He yells, “What the fuck do you want from me?”
I turn to walk away, but my heel catches the doorway and he turns, seeing me before I can escape. “I wasn’t yelling at you, Skylar.”
“I know. I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m moving back to my apartment.” I walk away.
“Wait,” he calls after me. “You have every right to stay here. It’s your house, too.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“Yes you do.” He walks towards me. “We both do. But what I want to know is how the hell she left us that generic letter. A fucking business deal. Did she have no parting words for us?” He takes a swig of Jack and I’m pleased to see the bottle is still mostly full. He paces around the room. The tension rolling off him is palpable. “Split my fucking ashes. Split my fucking house. That’s it?”
I’ve never seen him so mad before. Except maybe the time he hit that guy at the baseball game. No, this is worse. He’s mad at Erin and she’s not here to defend herself. “That’s not fair, Griffin. She spent the last month giving us her parting words. You know how much she loved you. You know what you meant to her. Did you really need to see it spelled out in some letter rather than remember the words that came directly from her lips?”
“Yes!” he shouts. He points his fingers between us. “You and me, we poured our hearts out to her that last day. We didn’t want her to leave without knowing everything we felt.” He takes another drink. “What if she changed her mind? How am I supposed to know what to do? Where the hell do we go from here? Why the fuck did she think it was okay to leave us without telling us what she wanted? How could she be so selfish?”
I walk over and slap his face. For the second time in my life, I slap him. How dare he?
The picture he was holding flutters to the ground when his hand comes up to feel the reddened flesh of his cheek. I follow the picture to where it settles on the floor only to see it’s a picture of me. The one from Central Park. The one he said was his favorite.
“Selfish?” I shout at him. “You think she was selfish? I’ve never met a less selfish person in my entire life. She gave me her baby. She gave me her fucking husband. Who does that? She’s a goddamn saint. I swear to God if you ever call her selfish again, I will knock a hole in your fucking teeth.”
I’ve never been so mad and upset at the same time. Tears run down my cheeks, yet I’m too pissed off to wipe them. Through my blurry vision, I’m positive I see him experiencing the same two emotions.
He throws the bottle against the wall, shattering it and sending liquid spreading across the tiled floor. “Goddammit, Sky. Quit saying fuck!”
“Why, Griffin?” I draw my eyebrows at him. “Why do you always have such an issue with me saying fuck? What’s your problem?”
He blows out a long breath. “My problem is that it makes me want you, okay? When you talk like that, all I want to do is throw you down and screw the hell out of you.”
My jaw drops. I’m stunned into silence. We stare at each other for about two seconds before our feet propel us forward and our bodies crash into each other right before our lips do.
When our lips meet, I could swear we both cry out in pain. Pain because we hurt that Erin is gone. Pain because we worry that we are hurting her. We pull back slightly and our glistening eyes meet. I can tell he needs this. I need this. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to happen. Rip off the bandage.
He cups my face in his hands and brings his mouth back to mine. Our lips mold together in a perfect, albeit hesitant, sensual dance. But once we allow our tongues to mingle, I lose myself in him. I know our mutual grief is driving this. I know the alcohol he consumed is allowing this. I know my heart craves this. I permit myself, in this moment, to let go of the pain and I hand myself over to him completely.
He picks me up and wraps my legs around him. With our lips still together, he carries me up the two flights of stairs to my bedroom. When he sets me down, we tear at each other’s clothing as if the world is about to end and we have one last chance at being together.
He pulls my shirt up and over my head. His large hands cup my breasts and I moan at the feel of a man’s hands on my body after all this time. Did it ever feel this good to have a man’s hands on my bare flesh? I tremble as he removes my bra and stares at my breasts as his fingers work over each of my nipples. Oh, God. They are so sensitive. I can’t keep my pleasurable groans to myself as I feel my entire body respond to his touch.
I tug on the button of his jeans and he removes his hands from my body only long enough for us to rid ourselves of our remaining clothes.
We stand naked, our eyes wandering over each other. His heated gaze goes cold when it stops on my belly. He briefly closes his eyes when he sees my bump that is now protruding enough to let the world know our secret. Did he forget about it, I wonder? Is he about to stop whatever it is that we’re doing?
Almost immediately he resumes the assault on my nipples, only with his mouth this time. He walks me backward towards the bed and lowers me down, never breaking contact with my breast. At the same time, a hand finds its way to my throbbing clit and I cry out, “Oh, God, yes!”
My pleas make him work harder. His tongue swirls around my nipple. He licks, sucks and nips at it. He inserts a finger inside me and murmurs something about how wet I am. The sensation of his fingers inside me drives me higher. His hot breath against my breast
as he speaks deliciously dirty words, telling me what he wants to do to me, makes my insides start to quiver as I ride his fingers, his mouth, his words to an earth-shattering orgasm.
When my eyes are capable of focusing again, I find him staring at me in complete awe. “Shit, Sky. I have to see that again.”
I smile and then find my way to his hard-as-steel length. How can something so soft be so incredibly rigid at the same time? I yearn to put my mouth on him. It’s something I’ve never been a fan of, but the thought of tasting him makes me burn with desire. I rub my hand up and down, taking time to pay attention to his tightening balls as his fingers resume exploration of my well-pronounced curves. I climb down his taut body, making my intention clear while enjoying my tactile perusal of each ripple on his torso. When I glance up at him, I see that his eyes are lidded and full of carnal need.
I take him in my mouth and he shouts my name. My nickname. As I pleasure him he shifts me around so he can fondle my heavy breasts. I work my tongue around the tip of him, then I sink my mouth over him and take him in as far as I can without gagging. My fingers play with his balls and the silky-soft skin of his perineum. He lets out the hottest groan I’ve ever heard. “I’m gonna come in your mouth if you don’t stop.”
His words incent me to work harder. I pump my mouth around him. And in a bold move, I allow my fingertip to press against the pucker of his ass. He bucks his hips, shouting out as powerful shots of semen flood my throat.
I lay my head down on his thigh, watching him recover. His chest rises and falls with such intensity you’d think he’d just run a marathon. He throws his arm over his head and takes some deep breaths. Then he locks eyes with me, his rough voice strained and taut with need. “My turn,” he says.
My insides quiver at his proclamation. He plants his mouth on my breast and I revel in the sensation radiating from my over-sensitive nipple. Every flick of his tongue sends a shot of electricity to my needy clit. He works his way down my body, kissing along my protruding belly as he goes.
When his mouth meets my pulsating bundle of nerves, my body shudders. I feel him smile against me. His tongue finds my opening and he tastes me before returning to the very spot I need him most. His fingers slide effortlessly in and out of my slick walls. My insides are coiled so tight, I feel I will explode if I don’t orgasm this very second. As if hearing my silent plea, he brings his free hand up to pinch my nipple, sending me over the cliff and falling into a fit of spasms as I pulsate around his fingers. “Griffin! Oh, yes!” A stream of tangled, incoherent words come out of me as I try to express what he’s doing to my body.
“Holy fuck, Sky. I have to be inside you. Now.” Before my body has even recovered, he’s pushing his cock inside me, filling me up so completely. When he hits the end of me, we both gasp. He stills. “Don’t move. I need a minute.”
I press my lips together and try not to laugh. He doesn’t want to come yet. I bask in the knowledge that he is so turned on that he has to will himself to stop. That even after coming not ten minutes ago, he’s almost there again. After a long pause, I can’t help but move my hands over him. I explore the ridges of his back with my fingers. I take the globes of his ass into my hands and knead the soft skin over the strong muscles underneath. I work my way up and over his shoulders and finally into his glorious hair.
God, I love his hair. It’s so inherently Griffin. It speaks to everything about him. Unruly, yet in a perfectly kept way. I never realized until now how much I love his hair. I wonder if I could orgasm again merely by running my fingers through it.
“You’re killing me, Skylar,” he breathes into the crook of my neck as he begins to move his hips up and down, back and forth in a slow and controlled motion that has me slowly building up yet again.
I can feel beads of sweat trickle down his back. He’s doing his best not to put his weight on me and squish my tummy. His thrusts become more demanding and he grabs my wandering hands, putting them beside my head as he takes control of me completely. I look into his eyes and we share a moment. A moment of pain. A moment of sadness. A moment of pure unadulterated elation. A moment of emotions so mixed I’m not sure we can fully understand them.
“I’m gonna come,” he says, squeezing a tear from his now-closed eyes. He puts his weight on one elbow and reaches a hand between us to stroke my clit. “I need you. You feel so damn good. Come with me. I need this. God, Sky, I need you.”
His words push me over the edge once again as he stakes claim on my third orgasm. I milk him with my pulsations as we groan into each other’s shoulders. Our groans turn into mutual sobs and we grip each other as if we will slip away if we part. I don’t even know how long we cry in each other’s arms before we both fall asleep out of exhaustion.
~ ~ ~
Light dancing through a seam in the curtains wakes me. Not ready to get up yet, I roll over and bury my head into the pillow. When I take a breath, I immediately stiffen. The undeniable smell of sex permeates the pillow, sending flashbacks of last night through my sleepy head. I had sex with Griffin last night. I had earth-shattering, no-holds-barred, life-altering sex with my best friend’s husband.
On the day of her funeral.
My heart sinks into my stomach and I wonder if I will need to run to the toilet. Nothing has changed. I haven’t changed. I took the first opportunity I saw to jump into bed with him. I cry into my pillow that still smells of him as I silently beg my friend for forgiveness.
I lie in bed for hours, listening for any noises coming from outside my room. What must Griffin think of me now? He’d been drinking. He was clearly upset. He was grieving. I took advantage of that. I became the exact person I was trying to leave in the past.
I get up and throw on my robe, going in search of him so we can fix this. I open my bedroom door and almost trip over my suitcases. I could have sworn I put these by the front door last night. Upon further inspection, I see a key and a note perched on top of them. As my heart races, I open the folded paper and read it.
Skylar,
I’m sorry I took advantage of you. It was a mistake. Stay here—the place is yours. I can’t do this.
Griffin
chapter twenty
It’s been two weeks now. Two weeks since Erin died. Two weeks since Griffin left. Two weeks since I’ve set foot outside the townhouse. Two weeks and I’ve not breathed a word to anyone about what I did with Griffin.
I haven’t heard from him. Complete radio silence. Nobody knows where he is. Not even Mason. He didn’t take his phone. He didn’t take any clothes. He didn’t even take his camera bag. Griffin never goes anywhere without his camera bag.
I can’t do this. His words echo the way I feel. I’m still mourning Erin. I don’t know if I can mourn Griffin, too. But every time the phone rings, my heart stops. Will this be the call where they tell me his body washed ashore after he jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge?
My only hope is that he simply needed time away to deal with Erin’s death. I just wonder how much worse I made things by sleeping with him. I can’t say how many times I’ve re-read the note he left. A mistake. Making love to me was a mistake.
No—not making love. Fucking. That’s what it was. There was no exchange of feelings, no real emotion on his part, other than the obvious grief. Let’s at least call it what it was.
The phone rings and I jump. Then I see it’s just Baylor’s daily phone call. It’s always the same thing. She’ll try to get me to go back to work. She’ll say it will help. But all I want to do is sit in Griffin’s studio and stare at the walls and think of how I can’t do this. I can’t be a mom. What kind of mother will I be if I can’t even resist my best friend’s husband long enough for us to properly mourn her? I screwed up. I ruined everything. And now he’s gone and I’m alone.
“Not today,” I say in lieu of hello.
“Why not today?” she asks. “Do you really think tomorrow will be any better than today for you to go back to work?” I hear baby noises in the background, remind
ing me of tough decisions ahead. “Listen, Skylar. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but you had six weeks before that to prepare for Erin’s death. We all grieve in our own way, and I’m willing to respect that, but you need to realize you didn’t die with her. Do you think Erin would want you to sit there wallowing in tears over her?”
I shake my head and before I can stop it, it comes out. I blurt it out like a volcano percolates and boils to the point of eruption and then spews all over everything in its path. “Erin wouldn’t give a shit. She would hate me. I slept with him. I slept with Griffin. I couldn’t even wait until the day after her funeral, Baylor. Who does that? You know who—me. Because I never fucking changed. I tried to. But a leopard never changes its spots. I’m a leopard, Bay. Face it. I couldn’t even help myself. I have no self-control. And now I ruined everything. For a quick lay.”
My throat is thick with unshed tears. I swallow the gigantic lump and continue before she can get a word in. “But the thing is, that wasn’t what it was for me. It was the best sex of my life. Nothing has ever come close to what I experienced that night with Griffin. I dream of it every night. I think of it every day. I will compare every future encounter to it, already knowing how disappointed I’ll be. What would even be the point of being with anyone else ever again?”
More damn baby noises on her end of the phone. “And what the hell am I supposed to do about Bean? I thought I could do it. I thought it might be possible. With Griffin. With the two of us trying to figure it out together. But now it’s just me. He could be dead for all I know. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Aaron.” I take a breath and say the words that utterly destroy me. “He doesn’t want me.”
I close my eyes as guilt consumes me. “I don’t think I can do it, Baylor. I don’t think I can raise a baby. I’m going to have to find someone to adopt him.”
White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) Page 17