Page 17 of How to Date a Younger Man
I don’t care if he’s too young.
I don’t care if he’s in college.
I don’t care that he’s my best friends little brother.
Right now, in this moment, there’s only one thing I can think.
More.
I want more.
6
* * *
GRIFFIN
Have you ever wanted something for so long, and when you get it, it’s even better than you could have imagined?
Yeah. That’s exactly how it feels to finally have Layne in my lap, grinding against me like her life depends on it. Our mouths are fused together in a hungry kiss, and her full, soft lips coax my tongue into her mouth and I’m more than happy to oblige.
She moves to kiss along my neck, her lips moving over the stubble of my jaw and then back down. I groan at the feel of her mouth on my skin. How did she know my neck is my secret weak spot?
As she runs a hand up my chest, I pull her hips, bringing her closer against my erection, and she inhales sharply as my full length presses into her. She leans into me, grabbing my shoulders, and uses the leverage to grind against me, giving me a small smirk before kissing my lips again, gently biting my lower lip.
Clearly, she likes to be in charge in the bedroom as much as she does in real life, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to complain. The little moaning sounds she’s making as she writhes against me are about to completely push me over the edge.
A year of wanting her and running through every possible fantasy is finally paying off—I know exactly what I want to do with her. I can’t help but touch her, and my hands explore her curves, lingering on her full breasts. Thrilled to learn she’s not wearing a bra beneath her sweatshirt, I run a thumb firmly across her nipple, eliciting a needy whimper that nearly makes me come in my jeans. Fuuck.
She feels so perfect in my arms, and the pressure of her rocking against me is heaven. This is everything I’ve ever wanted, but an annoying little voice in the back of my mind is telling me the timing isn’t right.
“Layne,” I say quietly, pulling back. “Wait.”
Still straddling me, she sits up, her lips parted in confusion. We’re both breathing heavily, and the sight of her chest rising and falling sends an ache to my groin that makes what I’m about to do all that much harder.
“Was I doing something wrong?” she asks, her emerald eyes glittering with desire.
“No, you’re perfect,” I say, using all my willpower to lift her off my lap. There’s still a pulsing between my legs, but I swallow hard and keep my resolve. “But you’re drunk. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the morning. Fuck it’d kill me if you regretted anything you experience with me.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Come on, I’m an adult. I can handle my liquor. I’m not going to regret it,” she says, reaching for the button of my jeans again.
“Layne, I’m serious.” I grab her hand and meet her eyes with a serious expression, hoping I’m not ruining the already very slight chance I have of being with Layne in the future.
“Seriously? You hit on me for over a year, and now you decide to be a Boy Scout?” Frowning, she slumps back on the couch. “Weren’t you offering me your sperm, like, thirty minutes ago?”
I stay silent, watching her. Even in an old sweatshirt, her eyes puffy from crying, Layne looks beautiful. Her dark hair is swept up in a ponytail that highlights her high cheekbones, which are flushed from our kiss.
She glances at me again, and her face softens. “I guess I did drink half a bottle of tequila. You’re probably right,” she says with a sigh, then gives me a sly look. “For once.”
I laugh, rising to my feet in front of her, and take a deep breath to try to cool off. “Let’s get you to bed,” I say, holding out a hand to help her off the couch.
She leans on me as we walk to her room, and I can’t help but smile. Confident, capable Layne is relying on me for once. And it feels pretty damn good. Like she trusts me. Maybe even needs me. When we get into the bedroom, she pulls out a white tank top and a pair of boy shorts, and I raise an eyebrow at her.
“What?” she asks, her face composed into a look of mock innocence. “In case you didn’t notice, I spilled half of my last margarita down my sweatshirt. I can’t sleep in wet clothes. Now turn around.”
I turn so I’m facing the doorway and listen as Layne pulls off her yoga pants and sweatshirt. Jesus. She’s less than ten feet away from me, almost completely naked. The universe is really testing me right now. But I know that she’s only coming on to me like this because she’s drunk, and the only thing worse than not being with Layne at all would be for her to regret it or feel taken advantage of. Breath, Griff. You’ve got this.
