Forever an Eaton. Rochelle Alers
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Griffin’s heart slammed against his ribs when he showered kisses around Belinda’s lips and along her jaw. Lowering his head, he fastened his mouth along the column of her velvety, scented neck, nipping, suckling, licking her as if she were a frothy confection.
“You taste and smell so good,” he mumbled over and over.
Baring her throat, Belinda closed her eyes. She wanted to tell Griffin that he felt and smelled good, too, but the words were locked in her throat when a longing she’d never known seized her mind and body, refusing to let her go.
Without warning the spell shattered when his hands moved under her pajama top and cupped her breasts. “Griffin, no! We can’t!”
“I know, baby,” he gasped near her ear. He couldn’t make love to Belinda while the girls were in the house, and not when he couldn’t protect her against an unplanned pregnancy.
Her breathing coming in uneven pants, Belinda moaned softly. “Go to bed, Griffin.”
He smiled. “I’m already in bed.”
“Your bed,” she ordered softly. “Good night, Griffin.”
Burying his face between Belinda’s breasts, Griffin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to let her go, but he had to. Reluctantly, he moved off the bed. “Good night, Belinda.”
It took a long time after Griffin left her bedroom for Belinda to fall asleep. The thrumming in the lower part of her body had become a reminder of what she’d missed and needed.
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