Page 93 of The Rookie

"Faster," I gasp against his lips. "Please, Griffin."

His growl vibrates against my mouth, and then—he gives me exactly what I beg for.

His pace turns brutal, relentless, his hips snapping into mine with enough force to make the shower tiles rattle.

The **sound of water, skin, breathy moans, deep groans—**it’s all a symphony of everything filthy, everything unhinged, everything I never knew I needed.

"Fuck, Avery—" his voice breaks, raw and wrecked, and I can tell—he’s close, so close.

And so am I.

The pleasure builds like wildfire, licking up my spine, pooling between my legs, curling so hot and tight and overwhelming that I can barely breathe, let alone think.

"Griffin—" I cry out, my fingers clawing into his back, my body trembling as the pressure finally shatters.

I clench around him, hard, pulsing, pulling him under with me.

His thrusts stutter, his breath shaky, his body tensing as he follows, spilling deep, groaning my name like it’s the only thing he knows.

We stay like that, panting, tangled, ruined, our bodies still pressed together, steam curling around us, water dripping down our skin.

His forehead rests against mine, his hand cradling the back of my neck, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.

Neither of us speaks.

Neither of us moves.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

And we both know it.

The only sound is the steady rush of water as it cascades down our bodies, running over every place he’s touched me, every place he’s claimed.

Griffin exhales, his breath warm and uneven against my lips, and when he finally speaks, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

"You okay?"

I almost laugh at the simplicity of it—like what just happened wasn’t life-altering, like I’m not already ruined for anyone else.

Instead, I nod. "Yeah."

He studies me, his eyes searching, like he’s waiting for me to say more. But I don’t, because I don’t knowhow.

I just know I don’t want to move.

I don’t want to lose this warmth, don’t want to step out of this space where everything feels softer, quieter, more real than it should.

Griffin seems to understand.

His fingers trail slowly down my spine, a light, absentminded touch, like he just wants to keep feeling me, keep grounding himself in me.

I press my forehead fully against his, my hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

And he lets me.

He lets me breathe him in, sink into the moment, hold onto something that neither of us is quite ready to name.

I feel his lips brush against my hairline, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Then another, this time on my temple.

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