Page 87 of Gross Misconduct

“Ringer,” he says, a deep well of hope in his voice, as he pulls me into a delicate kiss.

I throw my head back, falling into ecstasy as he fills me up. When I pick my head up, he’s still staring at me. He hasn’t looked away.

I dip my head down, then to the side. The intensity of his stare is almost too much. He stares at me like I’m…like I’m valuable.

“Jack,” he groans. My name on his lips. Nothing better.

He takes my chin and forces me to lock eyes with him. Instinctively, I try to pull away, but he won’t let me. We are connected. I bounce up and down, fucking him harder, hoping that I can fuck him into such bliss that he has to look away.

Why won’t he look away? What does he see in me?

Each second more is like stripping away another layer that I don’t want him to see. I’m turned on and I’m terrified.

“Jack,” he utters again.

“Griffin. I…”

I lean down and press my forehead against his. He tips my chin up so our eyes can meet. Our lips connect as he grabs my ass and jackhammers into me, grunting with each thrust.

I push back so I can better meet his gaze. In between our eyes, there is nothing. No universe. No real world. Just us two.

Griffin keeps looking at me like I could be somebody. I want to believe it. And in this moment, I do.

I squeeze my fingernails into his back as I shoot my load. Come hits his furry stomach. He grunts his approval and smiles. His strong hand massages my neck, then sinks to my chest. I lean back and hump against his dick as the last drops of orgasm empty out of me.

“I’m so close, baby,” he says.

I’m baby now? I should hate that, but I don’t.

I assume Griffin needs to close his eyes to get into the zone to come. But no. He keeps staring at me, as if my face is the Mona Lisa meets the hottest gay porn in existence.

I nod, silently telling him how bad I want it.

He contorts as he empties himself inside me.

I fall into his chest, and we kiss again, each of us still catching our breath.

It’s not the juju.

It’s him.

It’s always been him.

28

GRIFFIN

My phone alarm jolts me out of a deep sleep. Jack whips his head up from my chest, his bedhead sprouting in all directions. He wipes the sleep from his eyes. Somehow, with the help of some warm blankets, we drifted to sleep in the truck bed. Whatever discomfort I felt laying on an unforgiving surface was canceled out by having Jack’s body against mine.

I shut off the alarm and rub a hand through his hair.

“What time is it?” he peeks through the garage window, where moonlight and streetlights illuminate the darkness.

“Three-thirty.”

“In the morning?”

“Uh huh. I wanted to make sure I’m up before them.”

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