Page 44 of How to Date a Younger Man
I turn it over to find a text from Griffin.
Hey chica.
I smile and shake my head.
Hey stud. What’s up?
Flirting with him this way is entirely new and unexpected and a big piece of me absolutely loves it. I guess some part of me really took my therapist’s comments to heart. I’m definitely putting myself out there and having more fun. And while it won’t lead to anything serious, she was right—it’s surprisingly freeing to give in to temptation. Especially when that temptation is six feet of virile masculinity with a wide, firm chest and jaw-dropping good looks.
His reply comes seconds later.
I’m horny.
Those two little words are followed by a photo of his junk. His white boxer-clad junk, that looks halfway to erect, and a portion of his firm, chiseled abs.
A hot current of desire flashes through me.
Come over, I type out.
Yeah?
Yes, I write back.
His isn’t the most romantic proposition, but after the last time he was here, I haven’t stopped thinking about what we did right here in this very bed.
Bring condoms, I add on hoping I don’t sound like some desperate horny college co-ed.
Just as my mind is beginning to spin, wondering exactly how Griffin views me, he replies with a thumbs-up emoji and I dissolve into a fit of laughter.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve poured two glasses of wine and lowered the lights in my living room. But the moment Griffin lets himself in, the air around us changes. He crosses the room in three easy strides and then he’s pulling me into his arms. When his mouth lowers to mine, I part my lips and tease his tongue with my own.
A rough groan escapes the back of his throat. “Missed you,” he murmurs.
“Bedroom,” I pant as his lips travel down my neck, stopping at my collarbone.
The wine sits forgotten on the coffee table and we make our way down the hall, unable to keep our hands to ourselves.
Once inside my room, Griffin stands in front of me, and lifts my chin toward his. His mouth covers mine in a hot, urgent kiss, his tongue moving in confident strokes until I’m practically squirming with desire.
When I drop to my knees on the floor in front of him, it’s not some well-thought out plan, it’s just need. I need my mouth on him. Need to touch and tease and taste him.
”Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he admits as I lower his zipper and draw his thick cock from his jeans.
He caresses my hair and gazes down at me with an adoring expression as I welcome the first few inches of him into my mouth. I don’t go slow, I’m so needy for him.
“Layne, fuck,” he groans, burying his hand in my hair.
I can’t resist bringing one hand between my legs to touch myself as I pleasure him, but when Griffin notices, he growls and pulls away, hauling me to my feet.
“Need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I groan, body already clenching with anticipation.
We fall onto the bed together, tugging each other free of every stitch of clothing that remains. Griffin removes a condom from the pocket of his jeans and puts it on while I trace the grooves in his abs with my fingertips.
Once he’s suited up, he moves on top of me, nuzzling my throat with hot kisses while the blunt head of him presses between my legs.
“You sure?” he asks on a shaky exhale. “We don’t have to…”
Reaching between us, I find the right spot and moan when Griffin finally sinks inside.
He fills me completely and it’s almost too much, but then he slowly withdraws as a deep gasp pushes past his parted lips.
“Holy shit, Layne. Baby,” he rasps out the words like he’s just as shocked as I am.
I never expected sex between us to feel like this. I thought it would be like scratching an itch, or like coming in out of the rain—I didn’t think it would feel like getting thrown overboard into a tidal wave with no hope for survival. Because I’m sinking, falling … and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it but make needy inarticulate sounds and grasp his muscles as I hold on.
“Fuck,” he groans again, finding a rhythm that makes us both shudder and moan.
Seeing this side of Griffin is almost mind-blowing. He’s so sexy and masculine and tempting … I don’t know how I’ll ever look at him the same way ever again. I’m pretty sure I’m always going to see him like this—long after he’s gone—whenever I close my eyes—which is a dangerous thought. But I know I’ll picture his wide shoulders holding his weight over me, his broad chest rising with each shuttered breath, his trim hips moving in deep, steady thrusts.
He lasts much longer than I expect—then again, I have no idea what I was expecting, because sex with Kristen’s brother isn’t something I ever envisioned happening.
