“Aaahhh…” She jerked at the foreign and incredibly naughty sensation, causing the vibrator to dislodge. Griff reinserted it, his tongue never losing its wicked rhythm. The noises pouring from her throat were downright embarrassing, but she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Just when she swore her esophagus would be scratched raw from the excessive moaning, Griff let up. She quickly discovered the reprieve was to be short lived. A click sounded, followed by a cold squirt of lube dribbling into her crack. The tip of one of Griff’s fingers pressed into her puckered opening, working with the silky lubricant. Applying more pressure, he sank deeper, up to his middle knuckle. She sucked in a breath.
“Everything okay?”
Gulping, she nodded. Griff added another finger. He scissored the two digits and massaged the swell of her buttocks with his other hand. His deft stroking—both inside and out—brought her to a place she’d never known existed, one filled with forbidden needs and divine pleasures. A greedy murmur spilled from between her lips, and Griff slid his fingers free. He patted her ass. “Lift your hips.”
She did as directed and he wedged the large bolster pillow beneath her, positioning it so it both supported her weight and kept the vibrator securely anchored in her pussy. A moment later she detected the slick, succulent sound of him lubing his cock. She desperately wished she could see that sexy and decadent sight but knew she’d only end up with a wrenched neck if she attempted to score a peek. Griff’s thighs butted up against her haunches and the thick head of his cock prodded her opening. His thumbs spread her further, assisting access. Up to a point. He notched just to the band of tight, protesting muscle when the burn erupted.
Holy hell, it hurt like a mother.
“Try not to clench.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have a five-pound kielbasa attempting to force its way up his rear loading dock. “I don’t know if I can—” The remainder of her protest trickled into a gasp when Griff reached under her and strummed her clit. She bucked, inadvertently aiding his entry.
“Good girl.” Griff thrust deeper, popping past the barrier. He stopped, his hoarse groan filling the air and the hand on her hip tensing. “Fuck. You’re pulsing all around me.”
The overwhelming feeling of fullness had her perched on the precipice, but it was his observation that sent her soaring over the edge. “Griff!”
“I’ve got you.” Sinking forward, he slid an arm around her waist, snuggling her close as she shuddered and came.
And came.
And came.
Just when she thought the orgasm would finally peter off, Griff started moving again. The double penetration of his fat cock and the throbbing vibe swept her into an endless spiral of dark pleasure.
Griff’s sweat-drenched chest teased her back as he pumped in slow, shallow strokes. Sexy purrs continuously rumbled from his throat.
Wait a minute. Purrs? Oh jeez, why hadn’t she gotten the connection before? And how much of a freakin’ weirdo did it make her that his cat noises still turned her on like nobody’s business? He rotated his hips and she stopped thinking about anything else as the motion drew another orgasm from her.
“That’s it, baby. Keep milking us both.”
There he went with the us again—almost as if he wanted to implant the idea that the vibrator was a real cock rather than lifeless rubber. Rather than weird her out, Griff’s fantasy-building ignited every last one of her fuses. Behind her closed eyelids she indulged in the sinful image of Logan grinding into her from below while Griff fucked her ass. She cried out, her body quaking under the fierce tempest of the biggest orgasm of her life. Dimly, she heard Griff’s strangled shout. He swelled inside her, his seed jetting deep.
Once the waves ebbed to ripples and Griff’s shaft began to soften, he extracted the vibrator and eased out of her. He gently cleaned her up with the edge of the towel before rolling onto his side and hugging her against him. The tender kisses he sprinkled across her shoulder blade filled her with a warm glow.
And incredible shame. She just came like crazy to the fantasy of Griff and Logan fucking her—the man she loved and the enemy he hated.
There wasn’t enough therapy in the world to cure her guilt.
Chapter Nine
Griffin didn’t know how long he snoozed, but he awoke to the best sensation ever—Jemma cuddled in his arms, all warm and snuggly. Her dusky eyelashes fluttered and she murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Oh, Kermie. Choking back a laugh, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She sighed in her sleep, and he smoothed a finger along the blonde strand curled across her cheek. The emotions she whipped up inside him were fierce and frightening. What good could come of wanting someone who could never be his?
As if she’d been waiting for the precise moment that disheartening thought sprang into his mind, Clarissa’s nagging mental energy rapped impatiently against his consciousness. Unfortunately, their physical proximity made tuning out his killjoy boss impossible. Gritting his teeth, he untangled his limbs from Jemma’s and yanked on his jeans. He journeyed into the hall and stalked toward the stairway just as the grandfather clock in the foyer started chiming. The twelfth gong tolled ominously the exact moment his bare foot hit the bottom stair. Midnight. The witching hour. How fucking appropriate.
Clarissa’s psychic summons led him to the library. She was parked behind the mahogany desk situated in front of the large, shuttered windows. Without looking up from the book spread in front of her, she flicked a hand in the direction of the adjacent seating, where Logan already sat sprawled in one of the armchairs. Responding to the werewolf’s smirk with a low growl, he towed the twin armchair a good three feet away from Logan and sank into the seat. He waited for Clarissa to lift her attention from the leather-bound tome, his impatience spiking. His temper reached its breaking point when he detected Logan’s unsubtle snuffing noises. He knew damn well what the fucking pervert was sniffing at, and he refused to rise to the bait.
Finally Clarissa deigned to tear her rapt scrutiny from the book. “I trust you’ve taken the first step of planting the seed with Jemma?”
A lecherous chuckle rumbled from Logan, making Griffin long to punch him in the nose—and throttle Clarissa for her unfortunate choice of words. “Yes.”
“How did it go?”
He clenched the striped twill covering the chair’s armrests. “Fine.”
“Did she enjoy it?” Ignoring his glare, Clarissa rested her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers. “I’m not asking because I’m nosy. If this plan didn’t work, we’ll have to figure out another.”
He mentally tracked back to the litany of feminine cries that had tumbled from Jemma as he and the vibrator fucked her in tandem. She’d loved the hell out of it. So much so, he hadn’t been able to resist merging into her thoughts—something he never did outside the occasions when he’d sensed her distress. Guilt had immediately smacked him for invading her privacy and he’d quickly shut the link. But not before he’d glimpsed the vision that’d thrown her into that last doozy of an orgasm.
The damning part that left him shaken was how he’d responded to Jemma’s fantasy. Even while he’d been torn apart by Logan’s phantom participation in their lovemaking, he’d also been turned on to the point of nuclear orgasm witnessing Jemma’s intense pleasure as she’d visualized the illicit act.
Clarissa cleared her throat, and he noticed she was eyeing him, her blunt, crimson-painted nails drumming the desktop.
“No, she enjoyed it.” Understatement of the year. He expected to hear a lewd snicker from Logan. When not even a peep came from the werewolf, he turned his head to see what act of God—or Clarissa—had managed to muzzle Logan. The man didn’t seem to be under the influence of a spell or anything else. Instead, his consuming focus appeared to be riveted on Clarissa. No doubt he was distracted by his own raunchy fantasies regarding the coven’s mistress. Griffin grimaced. Jesus, there was a mental link he was thankful he didn’t share. Peeking into the degenerate state of Logan Scott’s mind would be akin to being locked in a room with a floor-to-ceiling stack of Penthouse and Hustlers. Sure, it’d be entertaining at first, until the insanity and blindness set in.