Page 83 of The Goat in the Bedroom
Slowly, I slipped my finger back in, and stroked in and out, matching the motion with flicks of my tongue. Her thighs started to tremble, and I looked up at her.
“Look at me,” I commanded gently. “I want to see you when you let go.”
“Gryff, I can't?—“
“Yes you can. I've got you. Let go for me.”
I eased a second finger in and curled my fingers, looking for just the right spot to push her over the edge.
She let out a low moan, and for the first time with another person, she let go completely. Her back arched, my name on her lips, her thighs tightening around my head, and fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing I'd ever experienced. I worked her through it, licking and stroking, holding her steady, watching her face as she came apart.
It was the best thing I'd ever witnessed in my life. And the worst, because I'd never get to see it again.
She finally collapsed back, breathing hard, and I moved back up to hold her.
“Oh my god,” she gasped. “That was... I didn't know...”
“That's how it should always be,” I said, pulling her against my chest. “Someone who sees you, really sees you, and gives you what you need.”
Someone who loves you like I do.
Overwhelmed by the intensity, a couple of soft tears pooled in her lashes, and I held her tighter, stroking her hair the way I knew she liked. “You're okay. You're perfect. That was perfect.”
“I didn't know it could be like that,” she whispered against my neck.
“That's how it should be. Someone who makes you feel worthy of being cared for.”
“Thank you,” she said, so quietly I almost missed it.
“For what?”
“For making me feel... needed. Beautiful, worthy. Like I'm enough.”
You're everything. You're my everything.
“You're worthy of everything,” I said instead. “The right person is going to worship you.”
And it was going to kill me that I couldn't be that person for her.
“Like you did?”
“Better,” I lied, the word bitter on my tongue. “So much better.”
She was getting sleepy now, the emotional and physical intensity catching up with her. As she drifted off in my arms, she murmured, “I don't think anyone could be better than you.”
I held her while she slept, memorizing everything. The weight of her against me. The way her hair smelled like strawberries even after a night in Vegas. The little sounds she made in her sleep. The way she'd said my name when she came.
This was it. My one night. Tomorrow we'd go back to being friends. Tomorrow I'd help her with Tyson, watch her fall in love with someone else, pretend this meant nothing more than practice.
But tonight, just tonight, I got to pretend she was mine.
“I love you,” I whispered into the darkness, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you so fucking much it's killing me.”
She stirred slightly, murmuring something that might have been my name, and I froze. But she just curled closer, still asleep, trusting me to hold her.
So I did. I held her through the night, watching the Vegas lights paint patterns on the ceiling, counting her breaths, storing up every second of this feeling.
Because tomorrow, I'd have to let her go.
