“What’s that?” His gaze keeps bouncing between my face and where he’s holding onto my shorts. “I think we should talk about them now.” He shifts his grip on the crotch of my shorts-he’s still fisting them-putting pressure right where I want it. He lets me get within an inch of his lips before he jerks his head back. “Let’s talk about my shorts later.” I try to pull his mouth to mine. “Denim underwear would be uncomfortable.” I’m all breathy and needy-sounding. He curls his fingers, making a fist and his knuckles press against sensitive skin. Sadly, he doesn’t go under my panties as well. There isn’t much fabric, considering how short they are. He slips all four fingers under the hem until they come out the other side-through one leg hole to the other. That means I can wear them for another three years.” “Everyone wears them,” I argue, even though they’re ridiculously short. I can see my panties through the gap, on both sides, so I assume his view is even better than mine. Griffin’s volatile, hot gaze dips down, and he slides his fingers closer to the hem of my shorts. “Your hands are already in the general vicinity of good.” I spread my legs as wide as I can, to be helpful. “And where would somewhere good be, Cosy?” “Please, Griffin.” The politeness is a complete afterthought. Maybe it’s the fact that he flew me out here into one of the wonders of the world as a freaking surprise, so I’d like to make this a highly memorable event. Now, I’ve never been demanding when it comes to anything sexual.
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