by Gemma Weir
I don’t correct Kent’s assumption about ‘the club’ being a country club. Yet another lie of omission. What’s one more on the ever-growing pile? A clawing feeling of guilt flares to life in my stomach. I’m not ashamed of my heritage, my family or the Sinners; it’s just that Kent isn’t the type of guy who would understand and take it in his stride, or at least I don’t think he is.
Not five minutes earlier I was mouthing off to Van, Zeke, and Griff about coming from a family of badasses, yet here I am letting Kent believe that my family are members of a country club. I’m so confused, so at odds with myself.
Maybe just staying away from boys like I did in high school might be the smarter option. I need to spend some time figuring out who I am, perhaps then I might be able to make sense of all these guys who have suddenly burst into my life.
Something touches my arm and I look down to find Nova pushing my now full glass toward me. She winks again and I smile back, lifting the glass and taking a healthy pull from it. “Let go pick our songs,” I announce, pushing Griff in the ribs to get him to move.
Hours later, I step through the bar’s door and out into the evening air. Goose bumps pebble across my skin and I wrap my arms around myself trying to stay warm. Kent steps out behind me, a sway in his step as he traverses the sidewalk to move to my side.
“Emmy,” he slurs. “I like Karaoke.”
I giggle, although I’m not sure why it’s funny. Kent must think it’s funny too, because he starts to laugh and Nova quickly joins in, shoving me in the shoulder playfully.
“Purple drinks are fun,” she whispers, lifting her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she says, then breaks into another bout of giggles.
“I gotta go,” Kent says, spinning on his heel and pointing back toward campus.
“Nooo,” I whine.
“Yep, gotta go to class,” he mumbles.
Pushing out my bottom lip, I pout at him. “You’re so different. I thought different was good. It is good. Come back to ours, different boy,” I slur.
“Come on, drunk girl,” Griff says, scooping me off the floor and into his arms. “Say goodnight to Kent.”
“Goodnight, Kent,” I call, laughing and waving.
Kent’s eyebrows furrow together as if he intends to say something, then he blinks slowly, lifts his hand into the air and points at me.
“You gonna be alright getting back to the dorms?” Zeke asks, stepping in front of Kent.
Kent nods, but then his head keeps nodding, like it’s moving of its own accord. “I’ll be f- fine.”
Zeke laughs, then turns to us. “I’ll make sure he gets back okay; I’ll see you guys at home.” Turning back to Kent, he slings his arm over his shoulder and guides him in the direction of campus. “Come on, big guy, let’s get you home.”
I open my mouth, intent on saying something, but Griff spins us around and walks in the opposite direction. I blink, hoping to clear my vision, but instead, as my eyes shut, I struggle to open them again. Sighing, I rest my head against Griff’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin and his delicious Griff smell.
“It’s a good job you’re such a tiny little thing, shortcake,” he whispers.
“Uh huh,” I mumble, sighing again, then yawning.
“You okay carrying her?” I hear Valentine ask.
“Yeah, she’s light as a feather. You good with Nova?” Griff asks, his voice rumbling through his chest where my head is rested.
“I wanna piggyback,” Nova giggles.
“Princess, you’re a pain in the ass,” Valentine moans playfully.
“Good job you love me,” Nova singsongs.
“Good job I do,” he replies.
Griff hoists me higher into his arms and I wrap myself tighter around his neck, clinging to him.
“You doing okay, Em?” He asks.
“Yep,” I say popping the p. “I gotta tell Kent I’m too drunk to do poetry with him tonight,” I slur.
“Okay, shortcake, whatever you want,” he laughs.
I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I can feel the cotton of my comforter beneath me. “Griff,” I call, disoriented.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, come snuggle with me,” I say, lifting my arms into the air, my eyes still closed.
“I thought I got to ask you for snuggles, not the other way around?” He laughs.
“Griff,” I whine, wiggling my fingers until I feel the bed depress at my side and Griff’s big, warm body move next to me.
“Come here, shortcake,” he says, indulgently.
I roll into his chest as he slides his arm beneath my neck, wrapping it around my back and pulling me closer. His lips press against the top of my head and he exhales softly against my hair.
“Griff,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
The words come before I even think about what I’m saying, “Kiss me.”
His body stiffens. “You’re drunk.”
“I still want you to kiss me,” I say, pressing my lips against the warm, soft skin just above the collar of his t-shirt.
His fingers hook under my chin and he tilts my face back. “Open your eyes,” he demands.
Forcing my eyes open, I look up into his stormy, conflicted depths. Then he lowers his face and presses his lips against mine in a gentle barely there kiss.
He pulls back a second later and I suck in a gasp. “Kiss me again,” I whisper.
“Why?” he growls, his voice so gravelly I barely recognize the sound.
“Because I need my roots right now more than I need wings and because I want you to.”
As I watch, something flashes across his face a second before his lips meet mine again. Only this time our kiss isn’t sweet and gentle. His lips dominate mine, claiming me like I’m his and this kiss is his brand. I kiss him back just as passionately, parting his lips with my tongue and deepening the kiss until I’m unsure where I end and he begins.
My fingers find their way into his hair, pulling at the strands as he drags me even closer to him, until I’m half draped across him, my breasts pressed against his heaving chest.
We kiss as if we’ll never have another chance, as if we’ll never see each other again, and I feel desperate with need, want, and desire. I’m not sure how I recognize the feelings, having never felt them before, but something old and instinctive has me clawing to be closer to him, willing this to never end.
Griffin pulls away first, tearing his lips from mine and turning his face until it’s buried in my neck. “Fuck.” The single word is an angry snarl.
“Griff?”
“Fuck,” he snarls again. “We need to stop. Not now, not like this.”
He pushes me gently off his chest, but I reach out and grab his arm. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re drunk, Emmy.”
“So? You’re drunk too.”
“No, I’m not. I had three beers, I’m not even slightly drunk. I haven’t been all night,” he says, sitting on the side of my bed, his feet on the floor, his hands scrubbing at his face.
“Griff,” I say, his name a desperate moan as I move beside him.
“You should go to sleep.”
Sliding my hand along his chest, I lift it until it’s cupping his jaw and he turns into my touch. Pushing up onto my knees, I move closer and press my lips to his. For a moment he freezes and I wait for him to push me off, but instead he wraps an arm around my back and pulls me off the bed and into his lap, my hips straddling his waist, my core pressed against his.
Something hard rubs against my sex and a cry falls from my mouth. His hands grip my waist, but he doesn’t stop me from moving as I tentatively roll my hips. A needy pulse blooms to life in my stomach as I move against what I think is his hard cock and I feel a gasp form on his lips that are still pressed against mine.
He inhales deeply as I move again, grinding a little harder into his lap, then his lips press against mine, kissing me punishingly hard for a split second before I’m lifted
from his lap and dropped to my feet in front of him.
Inhaling sharply, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Not like this, fuck, not like this,” he whispers.
Shuffling forward, I try to get closer to him, but his hands on my waist stop me. “You should go to sleep,” he orders, his voice raspy.
“Stay with me,” I say, exhaustion settling over me now he’s mentioned sleep.
“Emmy.”
He says my name, like a warning, but I don’t heed it, or understand it. “Griff, please,” I beg.
“Get into bed,” he demands and I do as he says without question, turning and crawling onto the bed, sliding beneath the comforter. For a long, painful moment I think he’s going to leave, but then the mattress dips and he cautiously climbs onto my bed, settling himself behind me.
The moment he’s beside me, my eyes close without permission. The last thing I remember before sleep consumes me are Griffin’s arms wrapping around me from behind and his lips pressing against the back of my neck.
I’m a fucking idiot. A stupid, fucking idiot, but when it comes to her I just don’t seem to be able to help myself.
The sun rose over an hour ago, and every single bit of self-preservation in me has been telling me to get the hell out of her bed since the sun pushed its way into the sky. But I’m still here, wrapped around her, spooning her tiny body from behind as she clings to my arms, holding me in place.
Last night was one of the best and worst nights of my life. I watched her own who she is, embrace her heritage and show the world and that guy who’s sniffing around her how much of a Sinner she really is. Then I spent the rest of the night watching her share her smiles and her laughs with another dude. I hate Kent with every cell in my body, just because she was looking at him and not at me.
I want all of her smiles, all of her laughs, all of her attention, and last night she was his, at least as far as the outside world thinks.
Kent isn’t a bad guy; he’s just not one of us and he never will be. Emmy wants something different and she thinks he’s it, but I can guarantee he’s not enough for her. She’s built up the image of a new life in her head, but when it comes down to it, she’ll be miserable with someone who doesn’t challenge her, and Kent doesn’t have enough conviction to challenge anything.
A small sigh escapes her lips and I hold my breath. I can still taste her kisses on my lips, and I want to cling to this feeling, her in my arms, her wanting me, needing me for as long as possible. But it’s not real, it’s just a drunken fantasy and with every minute that passes I get closer and closer to her waking up and telling me we shouldn’t have touched, that she was drunk, that she didn’t know what she was saying, what she was asking me for.
Or worse, she won’t remember it at all.
I want to freeze time, to stay in this limbo forever, but I know I can’t. Real life wins over fantasy every time, so I silently slide my arm from beneath her and roll out of her bed. Slowly, I back away from the tiny sleeping body of the woman I am heartbreakingly in love with and leave her room before she wakes up and tells me the best night of my life was all just a mistake.
I hear the soft click of the door and roll toward the noise. My bed is empty, but the warmth of the sheets where Griffin was until a moment ago makes my heart ache.
We kissed again last night. Worse than that, I begged him to kiss me. Heat coats my skin as I remember the way I clung to him, how I practically climbed on top of him, how he kissed me back.
Licking my lips, I can almost taste him on my skin and a pang of something that feels a lot like desire pulses through me. I want Griffin.
The thought makes my heart pound in my chest and my breath shorten until I’m gasping with the knowledge. I wanted him last night and I still want him now.
Kent is nice, sweet, and different, but as much as I like him, I don’t want him. Not like I want Griffin.
Griffin, my best friend, and the boy I grew up with. My family.
A sob forms unbidden on my lips, breaking free and soundlessly bursting from me. I want Griffin. I’ve never wanted a guy before and now I want Griffin, someone I can’t have, someone who doesn’t feel the same.
My dad would never allow it and he’d punish Griff for it. He’d stop him from prospecting, he’d ruin his future. Another sob bursts from me and I slap my hand over my lips to stifle any sound that tries to break free.
I’m the daughter of the president of the Doomsday Sinners MC, my father’s baby girl, untouchable, forbidden.
A tide of nausea rises in my throat and I dash from my bed, barely making it to the bathroom, before I vomit purple and pink cocktails until there’s nothing left in my body. Crawling to the basin, I wash my face and swill my mouth out with water. My bladder takes that moment to remind me that it still exists and I use the bathroom, wash my hands, then drag myself back to my bed.
I lie back down and Griffin’s achingly familiar scent surrounds me. How did I go from no guys, to three guys, only to realize that the one I can’t have is the one I want?
Tears fill my eyes, but I bury my face into the pillow that smells like my best friend and eventually fall asleep, dreaming about kissing Griff, imagining that he was still here with me and that everything was going to be okay.
As my eyes flutter open, I’m filled with memories of the night before. For a moment I’m jealous of those people who don’t remember all the things they do when they’ve had too much to drink, because apparently I remember every single embarrassing moment.
Visions of singing Karaoke, drinking far too many candy flavored drinks, and then letting Griffin carry my drunk ass home assault me.
Griffin.
A pain lances through my chest as I think about my best friend, my anchor, my roots. We kissed again, only this time it was me that instigated it not him. The pain in my heart is replaced with a pulse of desire so strong I actually flinch. I want him, I want to be his.
Lust, desire, call it whatever you want, crashes over me so violently that even lying down I feel knocked off my feet. I’ve felt childish crushes in the past, but I’ve never experienced the longing that crashes into my body as I think about the way he felt beneath me, the way his lips tasted, how I felt wrapped in his arms.
If this were a book, he’d feel the same way. We’d wake up in each other’s arms, confess our feelings for each other and live happily ever after; but this isn’t a story and I don’t think there’s a happy ending in store for us.
Griffin’s gone, having skulked from my room just after the sun came up, and now I’m alone, rejected and foolish. Apparently drunk me is a lot bolder than sober me, because in the cold light of day my first instinct is to pretend last night didn’t happen. To write off the way it felt to be close to him as just a by-product of the alcohol.
Only I know that would be a lie. The moment I woke up with him laying me down on my bed I’d felt sober again. I’d wanted him to touch me, to kiss me. Just him, just Griffin. Neither Kent nor Van had even entered my mind. I’d just wanted the boy who carried me home, who brought me to bed, who protected me, cared for me. The boy I’ve known almost my whole life.
For the first time ever, I wanted to be loved by him, worshipped by him, owned by him.
Closing my eyes, I bask in the memory of our kiss and for a moment I feel whole, centered and complete, then I allow my eyelids to flutter open and I remember that he left. He left me and now I have no idea what any of this means.
Did he just kiss me because I begged him to?
Was it just a drunken, indulgent kiss between friends?
Was Griffin just reminding me again what a taste of home felt like?
Confusion swirls with disbelief, leaving me sad and confused. If he were any other boy this would be so much simpler. If Kent had brought me home last night, I’d know how to process everything that’s happened. If Kent had fled from my bed before I woke up, I’d know it was the rejection this feels like. But Kent and I are dating, and Griffin and I are family.
&
nbsp; I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. My dad would decimate Griff if he found out we kissed. He’d rip him limb from limb if he knew Griff slept in my bed. Our families just wouldn’t be okay with us being more than family.
Our parents refer to us all like we’re siblings and here I am lusting over my pseudo brother. Groaning, I roll onto my stomach, burying my face into the comforter. I thought I had all of this figured out. I wanted something more, something different from the men I grew up around. I thought I wanted Kent, or at least someone like Kent, only when I was drunk and needy it wasn’t Kent I was begging to kiss me and stay with me, it was Griff.
Embarrassment washes over me and my cheeks heat. Last night I practically begged Griffin, then I molested him, kissing him like he was my man and I was his woman. Or maybe I just looked like one of the girls who hang out at the club, desperately clinging to any Sinner who will let them.
Jesus, how the hell am I going to face him?
I attacked him like some horny club slut, then begged him to stay the night. No wonder he sloped out of my room before it was even light this morning, he probably didn’t want to face me.
But then he’d touched me like I was his in the bar. He’d been possessive, touching me as if he had the right to. Maybe my drunk brain was playing tricks on me? Maybe his lips on mine didn’t make me crave more from him in a way I’ve never experienced before. Maybe it was all just a dream, but if that were true, I wouldn’t be wishing he was still here.
I’ve spent my entire life wanting something different, only to realize that when I’m completely honest and raw, I want a Sinner. I want a guy who carries my drunk ass home from the bar after buying my drinks all night and keeping me safe from sleazy guys. I want a man who kisses me until no other guy in the world exists but him. I want a guy who holds me in his arms and shelters me from the world.
I want a Sinner. More than that, I want Griffin.
I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve walked past her bedroom door, tempting myself with pushing it open and crawling back into her bed.