He kisses me so full and sweet that it takes me by total surprise when his cock sinks deep into my pussy. My mouth gapes, but he doesn’t draw away. He continues kissing, allowing my body to adjust to his massive size. And when I relax, I swear it is so fucking perfect.

Just what I wanted.

With deep, easy strokes, Griffin runs in and out of me, and I keep my hips in position for him, because I want to savor it all, each thick, valuable inch.

Not once does his mouth pull away from mine. I expect him to speak, to get me to talk, but he doesn’t. He’s wanted this badly—for days—and he’s proving it with this magical cock of his.

In and out, deep and long, body tensing above me, grip tighter around my throat. It’s so amazing—I can hardly breathe, I feel so smothered, so bombarded, and yet… I can still breathe. I still feel free.

He finally releases my throat, but it’s only to cup the right side of my face, fingers resting behind my ear. He turns my face in the direction of his, and kisses me.

Sweetly.

Wholly.

Passionately.

I quake when his body locks up behind me, and when he grunts, a mixture of a sigh and a moan spills through my lips because he’s close. And knowing he’s so close—knowing that my pussy is wringing him dry—I drop my head, clenching harder as his thick arm comes around my body and his fingers circle my swelling clit.

After the slow, torturous circles get me to breaking point, finally, I cum.

And he releases a small but heavy grunt. It’s deep, triggering constant spasms out of me. He keeps me as still as possible, making sure every single drop of his release shoots deep inside me.

I pulsate around his throbbing cock, his mouth catching mine again, and when he finally lets my face go, I drop my head, panting wildly, whimpering from the aftermath.

Not once did Griffin speak.

Not once did he demand anything out of me.

He took care of me.

It just… happened.

I promise you this time was even greater than the first. And all along I thought that the first time could never be outdone. Boy, was I wrong.

Now, all I can wonder is what the future will bring us. I can’t say I’m not further intrigued. After all, incredible sex will leave you no choice but to think that way.

I’m not sure when we fell asleep.

I want to say about three hours or so ago. Griffin’s arm is sprawled across my stomach, the right side of his face buried into one of the fluffy white pillows. My eyes are heavy—not much sleep happened for me—but I can’t help but admire his beauty.

There is a bit of stubble forming around his mouth and along his chiseled jawline. It makes him look more rugged. Sexier. As he breathes deeply, I have the sudden urge to touch it.

He’s so beautiful.

So handsome.

How can anyone not love him?

I mean, there must be a flaw. There has to be.

Though Griffin can be a little overconfident and more on the serious side than content (which is probably because of his personal life and the stress from his job), he is every woman’s dream. I have caught myself laughing at some of the things he’s said.

I’ve admired his beauty from up close and afar.

He has a body to die for, abs for days, slender, and not too bulky. Bare chest, strong legs, and a really, really nice cock. Long and surprisingly thick, actually. What woman can go wrong with that?

My finger traces the light stubble, the graininess treading along my soft fingertip. It feels nice. It’s been a while since I’ve been this close to a man. Like, right with him in the bed. With him right beside me, breathing on my skin, taking up my space.

I rather enjoy my space, but with Griffin Boyd I don’t mind sharing it at all.

Thinking of this makes me remember the reason I held off on dating—why I gave it all up—and immediately I jerk my hand away from Griffin’s face, slapping some sense into myself.

I can’t get caught up. I can’t do this with him. Nothing good will come out of this anyway—relationship-wise, that is.

It’s wrong, I know, but I’m not sleeping with Griffin for the fun of it. I’m not sleeping with him because I just couldn’t control myself anymore.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t control my urges much longer. I didn’t think he would be this damn gorgeous in person or this damn honest and respectful towards me.

I feel bad, but this has to be done.

This was the plan, after all.

Getting him into my hotel bed.

Getting him to fall for me.

Getting him to trust me.

The trust especially. That is key.

I stare up at the ceiling, resting the back of my hand on my forehead. Now that I’m getting to know him I feel awful. Really, really awful.

Neil and especially Scott made him seem like such an asshole—like a complete jerk… but I don’t think he is. He is far from it, actually. I can tell he cares. He respects me, and if his wife actually loved him he would respect her too.

Just like me, his life is a little confusing and little discombobulated but, in a way, I can’t help but think that’s not such a bad thing.

There are fucked up people in this world—people that want so much out of life and when they finally achieve it, it blows up right in their face. You think all is perfect, but then you get people who hate you. People who despise every cell in your body. People that just don’t understand…

It can be depressing. Ugly.

Money shouldn’t be the motive for me, but it is.

And it’s too late to turn back now.

It’s already started. I have to finish the job. I have to get this done.

I think of Dad, and I know. I know I owe him this at least.

EIGHTEEN

Colette

I don’t believe Griffin went to work.

Actually, I know he didn’t because when I called his office last night, he didn’t pick up.

I don’t know what I wanted. I guess I just wanted to prove myself right. And I was.

He wasn’t there. I know for sure because I called Kelly, his assistant, and as he stumbled over his bumbling mess of excuses to cover up for his lying boss, I hung up with the dissatisfying fact that I was right.

I called Griffin’s cell phone a little over an hour ago. No answer.

This has been happening for days now, and I hate to say it but I’m worried. First he hate fucks me for the first time ever. He glowers at me, and looks down upon me as if he is truly fed up with me and my shit.

Has it really come to this?

To ultimate hate between us?

One of us has always been the better one—the one to try, and it’s always been Griffin, and deep down I always I found comfort in that… only a little. Because it means he still cares. Even though I don’t want him to care anymore… but then again I do.

Fuck, I’m so backwards.

Something just doesn’t feel right. Is there something I don’t know? Has his mother finally died from her money-sucking disease and I don’t know about it? Has his brother gotten AIDS? Or has my father, the cheating, lying, gluttonous bastard, gotten into his head?

Griffin… he wouldn’t dare. Not if he knows what’s good for him. Not when he knows I’m a psycho bitch hidden beneath beautiful layers.

God, I hate thinking about him like this.

I hate feeling insecure. I hate when he isn’t begging me. I hate that I now know that he’s given up on me. I guess I should have seen this day coming sooner or later. Why am I complaining now?

Ten Years Ago