Page 98 of The Goat in the Bedroom
We know, Chris. We know.
“Your family is insane,” I said, watching the text continue to fly.
“Our family,” Gryff corrected, reading over my shoulder, his chin hooked over my shoulder. “And yes, they're completely insane.”
We'd have to deal with all of that eventually, but right now I just wanted to stay in this bubble where Gryff's hands were allowed to wander under my shirt, where I could kiss him whenever I wanted.
“Want to be idiots in the shower?” he asked, his voice low and promising.
“Together?”
“I'm never showering alone again if I can help it.”
“Hmm.” I crawled out of bed, and headed for the bathroom, dropping my shorts and then my shirt along the way. I was going to have so much fun teasing and flirting with him in every way I possibly could. Just in the doorway to the bathroom, I turned, standing there only in my bra and panties. “I thought you wanted to take things slow, do boyfriend and girlfriend things first.”
“Uh… did I say that?” He sat there in bed looking dumb-founded, and also very turned on. “I don’t remember saying that. But I also can’t remember my own name right now either, so…”
“Don’t boyfriends and girlfriends wash each other’s backs, or hair, or something?”
He jumped out of the bed and was half naked before I even took another breath. “Yes, they definitely do.”
I'd never let myself look at Gryff before. Not really. Now I could catalog every detail. I loved the way water ran down the muscles of his back, how his eyes went dark when I pressed him against the tile wall, the sound he made when I dropped to my knees.
To be fair, it was his turn.
Also, god bless whoever had the foresight to install the tile bench seat and that fancy-ass eight-jet-plus handheld sprayer.
“How,” I gasped later as Gryff hung that sprayer back on its hook, after giving me the cleanest pussy on the planet, andtwo, count them, two more orgasms, “did we do this for months without jumping each other?”
“No idea,” he said against my neck, sucking another mark that I'd have to cover for work. “I wanted to do this every single time.”
“The practice sessions were torture.”
“Torture,” he agreed, his hands skimming down my sides, learning every sensitive spot. “Sweet, perfect torture. Do you know how many cold showers I took?”
“Not as many as me.”
“Want to bet?”
I traced the muscles of his back, the ones I'd been wanting to touch freely for so long. “We're going to be so late.”
“Don't care.”
“Flynn's coming to pick you up for practice.”
“Really don't care.”
But eventually we had to get out, mostly because the hot water ran out and partly because my legs were shaking too much to stand.
We stumbled into the kitchen, me in his robe that smelled like him, Gryff in boxers and nothing else, looking edible.
That's how Flynn found us when he walked in, negotiating bed arrangements, which was headed toward combined mega-bed for us and room for the goats, while Gryff remained plastered to my back like an oversized koala.
“Oh good, you're both alive,” Flynn said, taking in our disheveled appearance, the visible marks on my neck, Gryff's refusal to stop touching me. “I was worried you'd died of sexual frustration. Finally.”
After they left for practice, I tried to focus on getting ready for work, but everything felt different. The house looked the same but felt transformed. This wasn't just where we lived anymore, it was our home in a new way. Our towels hanging side byside in the bathroom meant something different now. The way Gryff's clothes mixed with mine in the laundry suddenly seemed romantic instead of practical.
At work, I was useless. Completely, utterly useless.
