Page 68 of Under One Roof

I force a smile as my eyes sting with tears. “I’m happy for her. So happy.”

“But…?”

“But I feel like I missed my shot, you know? I went to LA for a purpose. To be a songwriter. To have a career with Grammys and money, and now…” I stare down at the striations in the marble top, unable to meet his gaze. “I never did it. I’m not going to do it. I’m just a nanny.”

“Come here.” He pulls on my hand, towing me around the island and into his body. I go willingly, burying my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around him. His heart beats steadily against my ear, a comforting rhythm. “You’re not just a nanny. You’re so much more than that. To me, to the kids.”

“I know. And that’s what makes it so confusing. I’m devastated about my career, but at the same time, I love being here and taking care of the kids. I love living in this town, and I can see myself being here long-term.” I lean my chin on his breastbone, looking up at him. “Last night, the kids told me they love me, and I…” I bite my lip as my eyes sting. “It felt better than anything else in life.”

He blinks slowly, though he doesn’t seem as surprised that his kids told me they loved me. The worried crease between his eyebrows eases, and he sweeps his hands up to my face, holding my cheeks between his palms, burying his fingertips in my hair. Then he simply stares at me. For a long time.

His eyes drift between mine then down to my lips, where he glides his thumbs over my mouth. He studies me like one might study a painting, perhaps looking for imperfections or elements that make it unique. But he is the one with enigmatic features, near impossible to understand how he’s feeling.

His mysterious smile flattens when I place my hands on his wrists, nudging his hands away from me. “Tell me about their mom.”

Griffin’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods and takes a step back, busying himself with cleaning up our plates as he starts. “Her name was Beth. We met at a bar while I was on leave and in a really dark place.” He shuts the dishwasher then pivots to lean against it, his arms crossed, gaze cast down. “My team had been on a mission, and one of my best friends died.”

I don’t dare reach for him, even though I want to. I don’t want him to stop talking to me, explaining his past. It’s good for him and for us.

“I got caught up and wanted to forget, I guess.” He stops to clear his throat. “We found out she was pregnant right before I was deployed again, and we decided to get married before I left. We weren’t even together four months, but I wanted to do right by her. I promised myself I wasn’t going to be like my dad. I wouldn’t leave or let her or my children down. I couldn’t do that to her or them.”

He clears his throat again, this proud man visibly uncomfortable at whatever he perceives he did wrong, and I hate that for him, but I wait for him to finish his story. “She went into labor while I was away. By the time I got there, she was already gone. Complications of eclampsia.” He swipes his hand over his mouth. “I had two babies and no idea what to do. So, I left the service and came home.”

After a minute, I move to him, placing my hands on his shoulders, squeezing until he loosens his crossed arms to hold on to my waist. “I’m sorry for your losses—for your mom and Beth. It’s a lot to carry.”

I stand up on my toes to place a chaste kiss on his mouth, but he doesn’t let me back away. He keeps me close, one hand twisting the fabric of my T-shirt at my waist and the other around my neck. His exhale is shuddering, and I know he must feel wrung out, how much it takes for him to open up like that. It’s not natural for him, and I couldn’t love him more for offering it up to me. Letting me inside his heart to all the shadowy places.

“I could use a shower,” I say, with a nod toward the staircase. “And I’d like to see just how big yours is.”

I take his hand, leading the way upstairs to his bedroom and through to the en suite, where I start the shower then strip off my T-shirt and shorts. Griffin’s gaze is hot on my skin, blazing a trail over my shoulders, breasts, and stomach before settling between my thighs. I squeeze my legs together, impatient for him to take off his clothes, although he’s in no rush as the steam begins to swirl around us.

So, I do it for him.

Griffin fights a smile, his mouth pressing into a line that reluctantly twists up when I push his arms toward the ceiling, only to struggle lifting his T-shirt up his long torso and over his head. He’s over a full foot taller than I am, and I have to shove him down to get it off, earning a quiet snicker. When he stands up straight again, he pulls his shoulders back like a soldier, allowing me to fully take in the planes of his muscles and the tattoos decorating them. I trace the lines on his left arm, up to his bicep with a pyramid and other Egyptian symbols—because he apparently used to be obsessed with ancient Egypt as a kid, a self-proclaimed nerd when he was younger—then over to the tiger—“I thought I was a tough guy and wanted people to know it” on his pec—where I flick my thumbnail over his nipple. In response, he grips my hip hard but otherwise stays still, his liquid gaze on me as I explore the thick ropes of his arms and the lines of his abdomen.

Hooking my fingers around the elastic of his athletic shorts, I pull them down and sink to the bath mat, kneeling between his feet. From this position, I tilt my head up, finding him breathing hard. Every exhale sounds pained, but I keep going, peeling his boxer briefs down his thick legs and tossing them to the side before curling my hands around the backs of his thighs.

His cock is hard and heavy, leaning out toward me, and while Griffin has never made me feel like I owed him anything, I do want to show him how I can make him feel as good as he makes me feel. I want to taste him, see him come undone because of me.

“Andi,” he rasps, and I slide my hands up to his butt, squeezing lightly as I shuffle forward on my knees, close enough that the tip of his length touches my mouth, and his jaw goes tight, his words barely audible. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” I tentatively wrap my hand around him, the soft skin over hard steel, and look up at him. His eyes are so dark they appear black, and he’s watching me with an intensity that makes me shiver. I experimentally drag my fist up and down, from root to tip, thinking about the last time I tried to do this, and it took so long, the guy actually sighed, like he was bored. Not great for my self-esteem.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what to do,” I say and press a kiss to the head, right over the slit, then lick my lips, sampling the salt pearling there again already. I flatten my tongue and lick that up as well before growing a bit bolder to take more of him in my mouth.

Above me, Griffin groans, his fingers digging into my hair. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart.”

I do, shifting so I can stare up at him even as my eyes water when I take him a little too deep. He’s gentle when he curves his palm over my jaw and throat, even as he tells me, “Do that again.”

I inhale through my nose and draw him to the back of my throat, more prepared this time, but it’s not like it helps. I haven’t been with a lot of guys, and Griffin’s big, long and thick, and I have trouble being as ladylike as I want to be. When spit slips out of the side of my mouth, he nods, color rising high in his cheeks.

He likes it.

He likes me being messy.

And the idea is as freeing as it is empowering.

I think merely having my mouth on him would make him happy, but me letting go is what makes him feral. The gagging sounds and slippery mess are what makes him breathe faster and harder. It makes his grip tighten on me. It makes him thrust his hips ever so slightly, like he just can’t not move.

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