Page 26 of Bound to the Griffin
The kettle slipped from my fingers onto the counter with a hollow clatter. His hands were already on the hem of my sweater, tugging it upward, and I lifted my arms without thought. The air was cool, but his gaze—hungry, adoring, fierce—burned hotter than the fire. He stripped me bare, piece by piece, every touch lingering, every inch of skin worshipped.
When he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the couch, I felt less like a woman being undressed and more like something sacred being unveiled. His mouth found mine, and then everything blurred, heat, rhythm, the fire’s crackle, the storm’s howl outside. That kiss drew out, long, wild, and passionate. It was a reminder of that claim he’d staked in front of Evan, and it sent thrill after sharp lance of pleasure through my veins. I could not recall ever being with a man who so blatantly wanted to show everyone, especially unpleasant ex-fiancés, that I was his.
I arched into his touch when he stroked my belly, the curve of my ribs, right through the fabric of my long-sleeved thermal shirt. It peeled off me slowly, crackling with static as it slid over my hair. Then Jackson distracted me from the tangle of fabric around my wrists by dipping down to lick along the edges of my lacy bra. “So pretty, like a present waiting for me to unwrap,” he murmured.
He slipped the bra off, and it too tangled somewhere above my head, around my arms. I thought he might free me, but he studied the knot for a moment with that half-grin. Smug, satisfied; his eyes gleamed with fire, not merely a reflection from the flames in the hearth. Then his mouth was on me, teasing my breasts, the taut nipples. I moaned, thrashing beneath him, my head tossing as the sensations almost became too much. I might have begged him, asked him for what? I was beyond words with just a few simple touches.
He took mercy on me just as I felt I was hovering at the edge of a precipice. Or maybe it wasn’t mercy, maybe he was teasing me even more. Rising above me, I could see from his face that he knew exactly what he’d done, what state he’d left me in. I couldn’t complain when he rose from the couch and began unbuttoning his uniform. The belt thudded heavily on his worn coffee table, his boots disappearing beneath it. Then his hands dropped to his waistband, and my breath stalled in my chest as he flicked open the top button. There he stopped, eyes flicking to mine, a smile curling at his mouth—one that held all kinds of sensual promises.
“Your turn,” he said, and he bent down to slide my pants from my hips. I felt the brush of his calloused fingers along every inch of flesh he slowly exposed. It was foreplay, and it was working. I wanted him so badly, needed him to remind me that I was witha good guy now, the right guy. I wanted him to make me forget Evan ever existed.
When he spread my thighs and pressed his face between them, he did exactly that. There was only him and me then, and each hot flick of his tongue and mouth against my most sensitive flesh. The brush of his fingers into my core, curling just right until stars exploded behind my eyelids, his name tumbling from my lips. I was so deep into my body, into all the feelings he’d pulled from me, that I barely registered he’d freed his cock—not until the heated, thick tip of him pressed into me. And then I spiraled all over again, shuddering, clenching, and drawing him in even as my body grew tight. My pleasure was accompanied by his muffled cursing: “Fuck, so tight, honey. So perfect!”
I struggled against the clothing tangled around my wrists, and finally, Jackson reached down to push it off and free me. He had not bothered to take off his own pants; I could feel the texture of the fabric press against my thighs. But his chest was bare, and once freed, I reached up to stroke the smooth planes of muscle, the ridges of his abs, his pecs, the sexy curve of his biceps. He was beautiful, sweat slicking down his spine in the heat of the fire, his hips pinning me to the couch, pressing into me with firm, precise thrusts. Every stroke along my G-spot prolonged my orgasm, then blended into the next.
When I clenched down hard, shouting his name, he came with me. A growl ripped from his chest, his hands clenching the couch so fiercely that the old leather groaned and creaked. I felt his cock grow thicker, kicking inside of me, and after a last few thrusts, he stilled. Golden eyes gleamed in his face, brushing heat along my cheeks, my throat, and my bare breasts. It was perfect. I felt so admired, so beautiful beneath that gaze.
Afterward, he pulled a faded quilt over me, the fabric soft with age, the kind of thing that held stories in its stitching. He brushed a hand down my hair, tender now, his golden eyes softer in the firelight. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, and rose, the quilt slipping as my gaze followed him.
God help me, I nearly forgot to breathe. His body in the firelight was all power and devotion, every line, scar, and muscle a testament to the life he’d lived and the life he was offering me. He was gorgeous, and he did not even seem to be aware of how much appeal he held in that powerful body of his.
He came back with a small box, setting it gently in my lap. My fingers trembled as I lifted the lid. Inside were two delicate teacups, green porcelain patterned with faint feathers, each handle curved into the shape of a wing. My throat tightened. “Jackson…” They were the exact same shade as the favorite pair that had been shattered by the burglar. A pair of teacups I’d lamented but had not dared complain about, not out loud. How had he known?
He leaned down, kissing me slowly, as though there were no storm outside, no danger, no past to haunt either of us. Just this moment. Just us. He couldn’t know how much this gift meant to me, but his mouth, as he kissed me, said that he did. It was so tender, so reverent, and I knew then and there that I’d lost my heart to him. To my golden sheriff, the griffin, the wild man who kept his beastly side hidden beneath charm and discipline.
The cups were set aside, safe on the table. Then we were tangled together again beneath the quilt, heat blooming between us, while outside, the wind raged against walls that—like us—refused to break.
Chapter 22
Jackson
The storm had quieted, but the cabin still groaned like an old ship on dark waters. The wind whistled against the eaves, and now and then, ice slid from the roof with a crack that rattled my nerves. My griffin stirred in my chest, restless, every sound an itch beneath the skin, every silence a warning.
The phone buzzed against the side table, sharp in the hush. I snatched it up before the second ring could wake Gwen, who was curled warmly against me, tangled in quilts and firelight. She murmured in her sleep, cheek against my chest, and I held still until her breathing steadied again.
“Jackson?” The voice was tinny, uncertain. It was Liz’s niece. She was a young wolf, still green enough to get turned around by her own instincts. And though this wasn’t widely known, she’d only recently come here after losing her entire pack, including her parents. She was fragile, which was why I sent Drew so often to check on her. I didn’t agree with Liz’s decision to assign the young woman to guard our human, even if it was a relatively safe job.
“What is it?” I kept my voice low, edged with command. It helped to be steady with her, to have that calm center her, anchor her. Though the truth was, a hint of frustration clung to the back of my mind, which I tried to hide. Thankfully, this was a phone call, and she could not use her nose to suss out what I was feeling.
“I—I’m so sorry. I thought he was still in the cabin. I had eyes on it the whole time, but…” A breathless pause. “He must’ve slipped out under the storm.” She whimpered, then held her breath as she waited for my answer. I tried to reel it in. I really did.
Cold anger clawed through me, sharper than the winter air. “You lost him,” I snapped at her, then made myself take a deep breath. Gwen stirred against my chest, and I did not want to wake her.
“I...yes. I’m sorry.” She sounded close to tears. “The wind was so bad. I stayed out there all night, I swear…” She trailed off, as if uncertain how to finish that sentence. I did not doubt that she’d done her very best. What foolish human would brave a snowstorm, anyway?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing my voice level. Yelling at her wouldn’t change the fact that the bastard was gone. And she had braved the storm—a young wolf, half-frozen out there in the woods—trying her best to please her alpha and the sheriff. I could not forget that she was not a soldier, not trained for this the way Drew and I were, or uniquely fixated on hunting the way Kai was. “All right. All right. Go home. Warm up. You did what you could.”
She sniffled her thanks before the line went dead. I sat in the dark, fire low and smoldering, my griffin prowling behind my ribs, demanding I act. Pawns or not, this one was mine to keep eyes on, and I’d let him slip. He was more determined and more conniving than I’d given him credit for, if he’d gone out in this weather. I had to consider what it meant, had he known he was under watch?
I eased myself free of Gwen, hating the loss of her warmth, and dressed quickly. Then I bent to wake her, though the last thing I wanted was to disturb her slumber and share this unfortunate news. She blinked up at me, hair tousled, eyes soft with sleep. “Jackson?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep, reminding me of the sensual things we’d gotten up to under the cover of the storm.
“I’ve got to go,” I murmured. “I need to check in with the others.” Though I wanted to go out and track the burglar again, duty called first. Now that the storm had faded, there were roads to check and homes to inspect. I needed to make sure that each remotely living inhabitant of the Hollow had made it out safely. Most of us were very self-reliant and capable of taking care of anything ourselves. Some of the shifters who made the Hollow their home were not, though—like Mrs. Winters, who was a deer and easily startled, or Peters, who kept to himself and his goats, an ancient satyr with hardly any sight left in his old age. He might need help if any of his herd wandered off.
“I’m coming with you.” Her voice sharpened in an instant, and her eyes grew flinty with determination. That look was a warning, telling me not to shut her out.
“I’ll be flying hard and fast,” I tried anyway, but that did not deter her. I would have smiled if that wouldn’t have encouraged her. She was so bold, so brave, and always ready to do exactly the opposite of what would be considered safe or smart. Not that I’d ever tell her it had been a stupid idea to buy a B&B sight unseen, that one I was going to chalk up to fate.
“Then I’ll dress warmly.” She pushed the quilt back, already moving. Yup, I knew it, stubborn woman. Stubborn, and godshelp me, I loved her for it. The rush of emotions washed over me like a tidal wave, catching in my chest until it felt too small to hold all of it.
