Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(73)

Griffin and I went into the first room. They were suite-style dorms—with a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and two bedrooms all in one unit. I remembered the set up from the Halloween party we’d gone to. We stepped into the kitchen. Griffin turned on the light.

The suite was illuminated. The walls were bright white, the floor a bland tan tile. Everything was institutional and blank.

He cleared his throat. “You want the first shower?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s fine. You have all that dried blood on you. And after what they did to you, I’m sure you feel—”

He snatched up a towel so sharply that I stopped talking.

I swallowed as he slammed himself inside the bathroom.

I sank to the floor. Oh God.

I wanted to cry again. But I couldn’t for some reason. Maybe I’d used up my allotted amount of tears for the month. Maybe my body was simply shutting down. Things could get worse, but I wouldn’t be able to react to it, because I couldn’t process anything else. I was done.

Griffin took a long shower. I curled up on the college-issue tan couch in the living room. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I didn’t care. It was better than the basement I’d spent the last few days in.

When he emerged, he came out with a swirl of steam. Just the feel of it was luxurious.

“It’s all yours,” he said. “I found some stuff in a drawer in there. It’s on the sink.” He had a towel wrapped around his waist. Water was still clinging to his eyelashes and nose. Droplets of it beaded up on his perfect chest. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. And he still wouldn’t look me in the eye.

I got the other towel and went into the bathroom.

I was glad that the college had an unlimited supply of hot water, because I think the shower I took was just as long as Griffin’s. What he’d left on the sink was some shampoo and a box of condoms. I guessed that some college kid had forgotten to take that with him when he left. I was pretty sure that it was a guy, because it was male shampoo.

I used it all over, anyway—scrubbed myself from head to toe. It was wonderful to feel clean, even if I didn’t smell particularly feminine.

Griffin wasn’t dressed when I came out, clean and wrapped in my towel. He’d gotten clothes out of the laundry basket and laid them out on a chair in the living room. But he was lounging on the couch still only wearing his towel.

“Don’t they fit?” I said.

He stood up. “I don’t know. I didn’t...”

I wanted to be dressed. We hadn’t been dressed in so long. I couldn’t believe he didn’t want to as well.

He crossed to me. He reached out and caressed my cheek. But he still didn’t meet my gaze. He was staring at my mouth instead.

“Griffin...” I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said. “But I need...” He licked his lips. And then he was kissing me again.

His tongue moved in my mouth desperately, and I grabbed onto his shoulders, kissing him back. He was tempting and arousing, and my body was awakening under his touch. But my head told me that this didn’t make any sense. And I was still confused by what had happened between us in the woods. I drew away from him. “Look, you can’t just—”

He propelled me backwards, pressing me into the smooth, white wall across from the open bathroom. Steam rolled out onto our bodies.

His mouth was on mine again, fervid, vigorous. Between kisses, he was speaking. “I know I shouldn’t have done it like that.” He kissed my neck. “I’ll be gentler. Slower. I swear.”

He kissed my jaw.

But he wasn’t slow or gentle. His hands had already pulled the towel from my body. He was pawing at my breasts, his touch fierce and pitiless.

I struggled to catch my breath, to collect my thoughts. I couldn’t. He was hurting me, twisting and pinching and clutching. But he was inciting me too, rousing desire in me. It felt good. I moaned.

He seemed to take it as assent. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands still at my breasts. He put his mouth against the inside of my thigh.

“Griffin.” Was I urging him on or asking him to stop?

His lips traveled higher.

I cried out. My knees buckled, but he grabbed my hips, bracing me against the wall, keeping me upright.

And his mouth attacked me in my most vulnerable place. He was anything but delicate, but there was something in the intensity of his actions that drove me to the brink. He barraged me, bombarded me. His mouth overwhelmed me, his tongue ruthless—ferocious.

I panted, writhed against him. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to get away or if I was trying to get more of what he was doing.

It didn’t matter. His fingers bit into the skin at my hips. I was pinned down, unable to move, and I couldn’t even think because of the sensations that were racking my body.

He made me come again, goading me until the waves of delight surged over me.

I felt destroyed by it, moaning and thrashing against the wall, unable to think or breathe.

On his feet, he kissed me again, harsh and urgent. I could taste myself on him.

I choked, struggling for air.

He wasn’t holding me up anymore.

I stumbled, clutched the wall, pulled myself upright. “Griffin.”

He had a condom from the bathroom. I heard him tear apart the foil wrapper.