Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

  I didn’t want him to change in another room. I wanted him to strip in front of me, exposing himself physically the same way I would be exposing myself emotionally. There was a strong possibility that I would not make it through the night without incident. The reality was easier to accept when imagining he too had taken a risk. And, yes—I wanted to see more of his impeccable body, a fringe benefit.

  “Wait!” I said, louder than was necessary in the quiet room. “You can change here…please.”

  “Do you promise to close your eyes?” he teased.

  “Hell no.”

  He chuckled before muttering something that sounded an awful lot like, ”Glad I didn’t go commando.” Well, that made one of us.

  “You really want me to strip for you?”

  I nodded.

  “Will it make tonight easier for you?”

  I nodded again, although I was sure having a half-naked Griffin in my bed would be a double-edged sword.

  He said nothing more. Holding my gaze, he raised his hands to the first button on his shirt and slowly pushed it through the hole. He continued releasing every button slowly, revealing more of his muscular chest with each liberation. His eyes never left me, but mine drifted lower with each newly displayed inch. When the final button was undone, he flicked the sides of his shirt so it parted widely, bearing his entire upper body for my inspection. After allowing me several vertical passes, he unrolled each cuff before permitting the shirt to fall down his arms, pooling on the floor. He stood perfectly still, letting me look my fill and assessing my reaction. If he was concerned the sight of his shirtless body would be a trigger, he was dead wrong. The only thing he was triggering currently was my libido.

  I realized he was putting on a show for me, pushing himself to disrobe in a way that was enticing and uncharacteristic of a man. It was my own personal strip show. No music or cheesy dancing, no gyrations or hip rolls, but it was a performance nonetheless—all to give me what I needed.

  His fingers grasped the waist of his suit pants and slowly slid along the top until they met in the middle where he flicked the hidden clasp open. Unable to feign nonchalance any longer, I trained my stare to his fingers with intense scrutiny. It’s a wonder his pants didn’t burst into flames.

  His fingers pinched the tab of the zipper and he waited…and waited…and waited. My eyes flew to his, prepared to demand he continue, but my protest died when I saw his knowing smirk. I heard the first click of the zipper’s teeth. Bastard! I was missing it. Visually swan diving back to the action, I tracked the painfully slow descent of the slider. He then moved his hands to his hips, allowing his pants to gape open, offering only a hint of black cotton. This must be how men felt in Regency England when catching a glimpse of ankle. What was before me was significantly less than a bathing suit would expose, but it felt scandalous. I nodded to him, hoping to prompt action without shifting my gaze one millimeter. Finally, his thumbs hooked into the waistband and shoved. Like magic, the pants were gone and Griffin stepped out of them, freeing his feet.

  He stilled for my inspection, God bless him. Black boxer briefs molded to his hard thighs and lean waist, revealing an astonishing bulge. Oh my!

  He tried to stifle a laugh but failed. Oops. Guess I had said that aloud.

  I raised a finger in the air and twirled it, indicating my desire to review his backside.

  He complied immediately, presenting himself shamelessly. His back was a sight to behold, the breadth of his shoulders greater than the span of my arms elbow to elbow, tapering down to a trim waist. The highlight—by far—was his glorious ass, twin globes of firm muscle that reminded me of ripe honeydew melon halves, and I loved honeydew.

  Compelled by a longing stronger than any I’d ever experienced, I walked to him silently. I skimmed the tips of my fingers across his shoulders, between his shoulder blades, down his middle back, and over the diamond indent of his lower back until I reached the waistband of his boxer briefs. I followed their path horizontally across his body, around his sides, and across his ripped abdomen, stopping when my fingertips touched and my arms were wrapped around him. I flattened my palms against his stomach and slid them upward, settling them beneath his pecs, over his heart. I laid my head against his back and listened to his ragged breaths. His hands rose to cover my own, warmth seeping into my body at every point we touched. Something was happening that I couldn’t explain. We were communicating without words, connecting on the deepest level possible—soul deep, heart deep. We stood like that for long minutes, unmoving.

  I was preparing myself to release him when he turned and swept an arm beneath my knees, lifting me off my feet. My arms automatically ringed his neck as he carried me to the bed and laid me down gently, tucking my legs beneath the comforter before pulling it up to cover my shoulders. He then walked toward my door and shut off the light before returning to the side of the bed. After a deep breath, he slipped in, close enough that I could feel his body heat, but not touching. I knew this was for my benefit, but it hurt—I wanted him to touch me without concern plaguing him. I wanted to feel his bare flesh against mine. I craved this man, a growing need that teetered on the edge of irrational.

  I rolled toward him, landing with my leg draped over his and snuggled myself into his side with my hand on his chest. I tilted my head back to look at him, his masculine beauty stark in the soft moonlight.

  I moistened my lips and watched as he unconsciously did the same.

  “Kiss me,” I invited softly.

  He curled his arm, raising me partially onto his chest and guided my lips to his. This kiss was different than any we had shared before. It was passionate and seductive. Griffin had been holding out on me, and I would have to remember to be peeved about that tomorrow because I was entirely too busy to be concerned about it in the present. His lips and tongue explored mine with expertise. The man didn’t kiss, he possessed and devoured.

  I entwined my tiny fingers with his as my leg twisted around him, trapping him. I wanted more contact; I was quickly becoming addicted to his taste and touch. His muffled groan was the first clue of what I was doing. Self-awareness dawned slowly—I was languidly rocking myself against him, my body instinctively seeking stimulus. I gasped, shocked by my mindless actions and impulse to continue. And living in the moment, I did. I rotated and rocked my hips against him until I was panting, so close but not able to fall over the edge. He never stopped kissing me or caressing my back, but his hands remained in the ‘safe’ zone—not where I needed them.

  I pulled back enough to catch his eye, knowing he would need to see my sincerity.

  “Touch me, please. I can’t…I need you to get there, I can’t do it on my own.”

  He read the truth in my eyes, in my body. Without further discussion, he rolled us so I was on my back pressed against him while he lay on his side, his elbow cradling my head. His fingers traced my face tenderly before continuing to follow the outline of my lips. The calloused tips blazed a trail down my neck and between my breasts, where they paused as if debating an unplanned visit. I raised my hips, telling him wordlessly where I needed him.

  The journey resumed, making a loop around my bellybutton before stopping an inch above where I wanted him. My chemise and panties diluted the potency of his touch as he teased me, drawing shapes and tracing the line of my pantie. Growing restless, I spread my thighs further apart, the equivalent of a written invitation by bedroom standards.

  “Patience, Lo,” he whispered into my ear as he nibbled the sensitive lobe.

  He was asking for something I could no longer give. Desperate to spur him onward, I grabbed his wrist and forced his hand lower. Ah, yes, there…I needed him there. His skilled fingers strummed me like a guitar, causing me to moan appreciatively. I rocked with his rhythm seeking more pressure, which he immediately granted. He took my mouth, demanding everything, giving the same in return. I was so damn close, but the thin barrier of silk was in the way. I pulled my hands from his hair and grabbed the thin lace at
my hips, pulling until a tear echoed through the room. Skin met skin and I sighed happily. He proceeded to prove that his skills with a guitar translated to other more carnal pursuits and I loved every minute of it—but still I couldn’t get there.

  “More. I need more,” I said in frustration.

  “Lo baby, relax. It’ll happen, just let it be.”

  “More…please,” I begged pitifully, desperate for release and proof I was not permanently broken.

  He captured my mouth with unparalleled seduction as he slid his fingers lower and entered me easily. I moaned loudly, lucky his mouth trapped the sound.

  Within seconds I was skating on the razor thin edge, my hips moving erratically, controlled only by the pressure of his palm against my clit and his fingers exploring me. And then it happened…I fell over the edge, plummeting into a sea of electricity, wave after wave crashing over me. The release was as emotional as it was physical. Tears of joy and relief coursed down my cheeks as sounds of pleasure slipped from my lips. He coaxed every last wave of bliss from me until every muscle in my body had contracted countless times.

  When I was spent and limp, he rolled to his back, taking me with him and settling me on his chest. His arms wrapped around me, cuddling tenderly. He kissed the top of my head repeatedly while stroking my back soothingly.

  “You,” I said, suddenly aware of what must be a very painful situation.

  “Are content to hold you like this for the rest of the night,” he said.

  “But—”

  “No, I’m good. Watching you find it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. To be the one who brought you there was fucking amazing.”

  I was ready…I wanted to touch him, to see him lose himself the way I had. I made several attempts to reciprocate, but the wily fox would break out a new trick to distract me until I could no longer think, only feel, leaving him forgotten. But I was determined to take the next step—it was time for me to make a new friend and offer a hands-on ‘how do ya do.’

  I kissed him while stroking his chest, shoulders, face—anywhere I could get my hands except my ultimate goal—until he was lost in my ministrations. I could taste victory.

  Not giving him time to think, I snaked my hand beneath the elastic waistband that served as the boundary to our previous no-go zone and took hold of my target. Mother of…I couldn’t wrap my tiny hand all the way around him. I’ll give him this, the man was proportional; huge in every sense of the word. Undeterred, I firmed my grip and stroked him purposefully, causing him to groan into my mouth. He pressed his head further into the mattress to gain the space necessary to speak.

  “Lo baby, you don’t have to—”

  I ignored him, continuing my up-down slide, increasing the speed and pressure based on his response to find the perfect stroke. My mouth traveled to his ear, a spot I discovered drove him wild, and sucked his lobe between my lips, gently biting and teasing.

  “But I want to. Give me what I want, Griff,” I whispered into his ear seductively.

  His entire body shuddered, his response unintelligible thanks to the addition of my free hand.

  Within minutes the last thread of his control broke, his hips joining my motion. With a final groan, his body tensed and my name slipped from his lips.

  When he was once again coherent, he kissed me softly, and I could feel his grin against my lips.

  “Awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, humor in his voice.

  “Hell yeah. I earned this smile.”

  “You did.”

  We fell silent as the weight of sleep pressed down upon me. My eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep as Griffin hummed me a lullaby.

  "Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them." -Oscar Wilde

  I woke slowly, sunlight making the inside of my eyelids glow. I was incredibly comfortable and didn’t want to get up—and warm, I was exceptionally warm. I curled the fingers of my right hand into my bed, but my bed was not a bed, it was a person. Griffin.

  I gasped loudly, and the warm chest beneath me rumbled with laughter.

  “You…you’re still here,” I exclaimed, crossing my hands on his chest before resting my chin on top, a huge smile painted across my face.

  “I am. Good morning, beautiful,” he said with humor.

  “Holy shit! I slept all freaking night,” I said in stunned appreciation, “and I didn’t have a nightmare. Not. A. One.”

  “Nope. You slept like a baby, even drooled a little.”

  “I did not,” I said, trying to subtly check his chest for wet spots.

  He wiped the corner of my lips with his thumb. I launched myself at him, kissing him like he was mine, which of course he was—morning breath be damned. When we finally broke apart, wicked thoughts filled my mind.

  “Oh no you don’t. I know that look. As tempting as you are, I don’t need Hunter barging in with the safety off.”

  “I can be quiet,” I said, as I slid his thigh between my legs, getting started without him.

  In the end, I got my way and I was quiet—it was an extra happy wake-up call for us both. Afterward, I left Griffin in my room to dress and headed to the kitchen with a goofy smile on my face to pour a cup of coffee. I popped as many Eggos in the toaster oven as I could fit before joining Huntleigh at the dining table.

  “Good morning,” Ev said, eyeing me suspiciously, unable to discern the source of my Disney-level good mood.

  “I slept amazing last night, best sleep I’ve ever had,” I answered her unspoken question.

  “That’s fantast—”

  “And I had an orgasm!” I said, entirely too loudly. “Actually, scratch that…I had two orgasms!”

  Hunter choked on his sip of coffee and Ev pounded on his back casually, accustomed to my unexpected overshares.

  “I’m not going to ‘too much information’ you this time because I know what a big deal this is. Was it as good as you remembered?”

  “Better… I swear I couldn’t feel my toes for like ten minutes.”

  “Holy hell, I’m still here,” Hunter objected.

  Ev and I both waved him off.

  “I’m so happy for you. You must be relieved. You didn’t say much, but I knew you were really worried,” Ev said.

  “I was terrified I would never get it back. I swear when G—”

  “Morning, everybody,” Griffin said as he entered, completely unaware of what he had just walked into.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hunter lamented. “I don’t need to know this shit.”

  “Griffin, I don’t know if I should punch you or kiss you,” Ev said.

  Griffin looked completely lost.

  “He’s getting punched if you kiss him,” Hunter cautioned.

  “Oh, by the way, Griff stayed over last night,” I stated the obvious.

  “Yeah, got that,” Hunter grumbled, clearly wishing he was elsewhere.

  I moved to my man’s side and quickly explained his less-than-ideal timing. He shrugged before kissing my lips and heading toward the kitchen. “Need coffee, Lo?” Griffin asked solicitously, unfazed.

  “No thanks, I’ve got one but you can check the toaster oven. I threw some Eggos in there for us.”

  “Mmm… breakfast too. Just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any better.”

  Griff emerged from the kitchen with a heaping plate of waffles, which he rested carefully on the table before sitting down. I moved to sit next to him, but he pulled me onto his lap—a much better seat, in my opinion. I had just taken my first bite when there was a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” I said with a mouth full of food.

  I looked through the peephole to find a uniformed officer on the other side of the door. Shit! What now? I released the security chain and opened the door.

  “Samantha Whitney?” he asked formally.

  Griffin was at my back and Hunter at my side before I could respond.

  “Spe
cial Agent Hunter Charles, FBI. How can I help you, officer?”

  The young policeman looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning, sir. I’m Deputy Sherriff Lienmieter from the Suffolk County Sherriff’s office. I’m afraid I have to serve Miss Whitney with a Warrant of Eviction. She has until Wednesday to appeal the judgment or vacate the premises.”

  Hunter snatched the paperwork from the man’s hands and scanned it.

  “This states that Miss Whitney failed to appear at her eviction hearing, but she was never informed of any such hearing.”

  “Then she has grounds for appeal. I suggest she obtains an Order to Show Cause, which will stay the eviction until a hearing takes place. I’m sorry, Special Agent Charles. If there was anything I could do…this came from the top.”

  Hunter nodded as the Deputy Sherriff left us. When the door was firmly closed, I walked to the couch dazed and threw myself down in a heap. Griffin followed, sitting beside me. I wasn’t falling apart, but I was definitely in shock. Hunter and Ev joined us and we sat in silence as Hunter read the details of the warrant. Before speaking a word to any of us, he flipped open his phone and sent a text message.

  “Okay, here’s the situation,” he began calmly, obviously in professional-Hunter mode. “Your parents managed to schedule an eviction hearing without your knowledge and won by default when you didn’t show. You can appeal the eviction if you have grounds. Is your name on the deed?”

  “I assumed so. I am positive it’s on the title to the car because I saw it when I renewed the registration and updated my address. I don’t recall ever seeing the deed for the apartment, but it was given to me as a gift more than four years ago. I recall them saying something about write-offs and tax benefits once I graduated college. Maybe they hadn’t transferred the actual deed to me. Can they really do this?”

  “They never actually gave you the gift if your name isn’t on the deed. You’ll have to get an attorney to represent you and request a copy, but I’m not optimistic.” Hunter sighed. “Sam, it took a lot of clout to pull this off. The Sherriff’s Department doesn’t usually handle eviction warrants on the weekends. You should fight this, but I think you need to prepare yourself for the prospect of losing. At the very least, you can delay the eviction for a few weeks.”