Page 36 of The Rookie

The music fades behind us as we slip through the open doors into the slightly cooler night air. The patio is mostly empty, lit only by dim string lights overhead, the faint sounds of the city humming beyond the club’s walls.

“Needed some air?” I ask, my voice lighter than I feel.

Griffin doesn’t answer.

Instead, he moves.

One second, I’m standing there, heart still pounding from the dance floor.

The next, my back hits the brick wall, warm hands caging me in, the rough texture pressing through the thin fabric ofmy dress. Griffin presses my hands above my head, leaving me defenseless.

I suck in a breath.

Oh.

Griffin’s gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes. Hesitating. Waiting.

Like he’s giving me one last chance to stop him.

I don’t take it.

He leans in, and then—God help me—he kisses me.

And it’s not soft or careful or questioning.

It’s deep. Sure. Like he already knows what I taste like and is just claiming it again.

The brick scrapes against my bare shoulders as I sink into it, as his hands skim my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me against him.

My fingers curl into his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto because—holy hell—my knees are actually weak.

It’s too much and not enough.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, drinking me in like he’s been waiting for this, like he knew we’d end up here the moment our bodies collided on that dance floor. His lips are soft but demanding, his stubble grazing my skin, a delicious contrast to the smooth heat of his tongue.

And I—I can’t think.

All I know is his hands, his mouth, the way his body feels pressed against mine. The way his heat consumes me, chasing away every rational thought.

But he’s not done.

He lifts me up effortlessly, his strength making me gasp as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. The rough scrape of the wall digs into my back, but I don’t care. I grind against him, the friction sending a shockwave through my entire bodyas his huge hands grip my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh through the thin fabric of my dress.

One hand trails up, splaying across my lower back, pulling me impossibly closer, while the other stays on my thigh, his thumb brushing maddeningly slow circles along the sensitive skin. My dress rides up higher, the cool night air contrasting with the burning heat of where our bodies meet.

His mouth leaves mine, dragging along my jaw, my neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver. He presses a kiss just below my ear, the soft sound of his breath making my head spin.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my chest rising and falling too fast, my head too foggy to form a coherent thought.

Griffin leans in just a little more, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, his voice rough, low enough that it’s barely a whisper.

“Still think this isn’t a thing?”

I don’t have an answer.

Because I have a feeling I just lost whatever game we were playing.

Griffin watches me for another second, his breath still warm against my lips, his body still so close, and when I don’t answer—when I can’t—he grins.

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