Page 71 of Mess With Me

Not that I’d say no.

Cold water drips across my legs, moving up my ass and lower back. I gasp at the sensation, but force myself to stay where I am, lying down with my eyes closed, even as my skin rushes with heat as I sense him drawing closer.

Then I realize what he’s doing. He’s holding his whole body over me. I feel him everywhere, like his entire length grazing my back. I open my eyes to see his arm braced beside mine.

This is what it would look like if he took me like this.

Suddenly, every sassy word I was racking up to tease him with lodges in my throat. Blood rushes from my brain to the tiniest parts of my skin that are almost making contact with him.

“I don’t think the world would fall apart if I relaxed, Sasha.” Griffin’s voice is an electric rumble at my ear. “But if I let myself do what I want with you, I might. And I don’t like falling apart.”

Then, as quickly as I felt him over me, he’s gone. A moment later, there’s the plunking sound—the sound an Olympic diver makes—so little splash that when I peer over my shoulder, the water’s barely rippling. I sense more than see the dark shape under the water as he cuts across to the other side, toward the soft water tumbling over the edge of the rocks.

I want to beg him to come back. I want him to turn around and slide that one little piece of cloth between us away so he can do whatever he wants to my body. So he can make me forget everything else that’s happening and I can melt into the one person who doesn’t just make me feel completely safe but makes me feel everything at full fucking throttle.

But I don’t turn around; I just watch his back, slick with water and edged with muscle, pop from the water as he deftly leaps out and stands under the spattering waterfall, his back to me.

Then I grip the towel in my fists, trying to swallow the fact that the one place I had control; the one place I had the upper hand over Griffin Kelly, I just lost.

And I don’t even care.

CHAPTER20

Griffin

Imake up the couch again for bed. Last night it was easy, as she passed out right away, taking more of the sleep she so desperately needed.

Though she’s hinted all day that she’s fine with me sleeping in the bedroom with her, I practically swan dive onto the sofa the minute we’re done with dinner.

There’s no fucking chance I’m going near that bedroom.

Ever since I got the idea in my head to fake marry her, it’s been pure torture trying to exist in Sasha’s presence. First it was knowing she’ll finally have the additional layer of protection I need to give her—and her not immediately jumping at that opportunity. I know it’s not real, but fuck if my ego isn’t a bruised-up, pulpy mess.

But now? Jesus.

Now that nagging knowledge that I like this woman and find her deeply fucking attractive has risen to the forefront like an oversized ocean buoy. I was barely able to keep a handle on my feelings before, but since spending the weekend with her?

Fuck me straight to hell. She’s smart and funny, and yes, she’s goddamned beautiful.

And she knows I’m attracted to her. I’ve done a poor-ass job of hiding it. I’ve never not been able to keep that shit together before. Never. I don’t show people what I want. This is a skill that I’ve honed to a razor-sharp point. But Sasha Macklin has me blowing my walls down like a hurricane on a straw house.

But she still hasn’t given me an answer about getting married, and I haven’t asked. I’ve decided to let her sleep, knowing marriage is the best option, but also knowing now that for her, specifically, it’s not as easy as heading over to city hall and signing up.

I watch her just like that first night, buzzing around my place in the dark for “just one more thing” as I lie on the couch, the sheet pulled up to my chin, my eyes screwed shut like my life depends on it.

Seeing her braless and in my T-shirt, which barely covers her ass, has me on my last shred of self-control.

Finally her footfalls stop, and I dare open my eyes a crack. Her door is closed, and I’m pissed at myself for how that sparks a tiny pang of disappointment in me.

All right, not a tiny pang.

I flip over on my side and stare out into the dark living room. It’s good. It’s what I wanted. But some idiot part of me obviously likes the torture of being able to see her only a few feet away from me.

A bang sounds from inside the room. I sit up. There’s a thin line of light under the door—she’s still awake. I grumble, flopping back down and throwing a pillow over my head.

“Griff?”

Her voice is muffled under the pillow. But my stomach jolts just the same.

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