Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,156

Breaches me and retreats, a rough repetition that soaks his hand and makes my thighs tremble. Holy hell, I may not want to be bossed around, but Grip is Commander-In- Clit. He can get it anytime he wants.

The unapologetic possession in his eyes as he watches me unraveling, my knees weakening so badly I have to hang on to his shoulders, tells me he knows it. I can’t even care. If he does this to me when no other man has been able to, he gets to be smug about it. He’s earned that shit.

The orgasm propels harsh breaths from my mouth. I come hard and with a crash, landing limply against his chest. The pleasure so overwhelms me that tears christen the corners of my eyes.

“That’s right. That’s my girl.” He licks at the tears as if they’re an offering, like they’re his due. He palms the small of my back, and the possessive weight of his hand alone has my most hidden, private muscles clenching again. He holds complete sway over my body.

“You’re right, Bristol,” he whispers into my hair, humor rich in his voice. “You’re the boss.”

Chapter 26

GRIP

GROWING UP, DRIVING a Range Rover like this one—overloaded, latest model, and just over two hundred thousand dollars—seemed about as likely as scoring a ride in Cinderella’s pumpkin. But here I am.

Or rather here we are.

“This car’s gorgeous.” Bristol caresses the stitch pattern perforated leather seats. “I didn’t even know you were in the market for one. You’ve never cared much about cars before.”

“True.” I merge onto the 5, shrug, and shoot her a quick grin. “I’m good with my Harley and my six four.”

“And what’s so great about the six four?” Bristol laughs when I look at her like this should be self-evident.

“They don’t make ’em like the ’64 Impala anymore,” I say. “That’s when American cars were the bomb. It takes more than money to appreciate them. You gotta maintain and know your way around that beautiful body. She won’t purr for just any dude.”

“Why am I not surprised this became a thinly veiled conversation about sex?” Bristol laughs, opening the bag in her lap and finishing her makeup since I rushed her out of the loft.

“What can I say?” I grin. “Amir rolled through to drop it off.”

“It’s yours?”

“I’m test driving it.”

“Hmmm.” She flips down the visor mirror and applies lipstick. “I’d never picture you with this car, I guess.”

“Maybe I’m full of surprises.”

She’ll soon see that for herself. I know she’s gonna kill me for what I’m doing today, but she loves me. They say love covers a multitude of sins. We’ll see. In the words of that great comedic philosopher Kevin Hart, “We gon’ learn today!”

“And what is this surprise?” Bristol follows up predictably.

I only give her a shrug and grin in response. If she weren't distracted, she'd probably pay closer attention to the route we're taking.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

She rolls her eyes and takes off her seatbelt to reach her purse on the floor, putting the makeup bag away.

The loud “whoop” from behind freezes my blood, and for a second, my heart isn’t sure it’s safe to beat. The flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror confirm what my body has already warned me of. Growing up in Compton, guys like me have an almost Pavlovian response to cops. Instead of salivating, we auto-perspire and run through the mantra our mothers drilled in our heads before we could even drive.

Keep your hands where they can see them.

Never make sudden movements.

Have license and registration already out so you don’t have to reach into any pockets or compartments.

Always answer with respect. And most important.

Do whatever it takes to make it home.

“Put your seatbelt back on.” I slap my license on the dashboard. “Now, babe."

I feel her eyes boring into me, but I’m too focused on getting through these next few minutes to address her questions. It feels like the gun I stowed in the glove compartment, the one I carry for my own safety, just turned its barrel on me, adding a complication to a situation I always hate finding myself in.

I resent the sheen of sweat covering my skin. Adrenaline pours through my system, spiking my blood, crashing my heart behind my ribs. No matter how much I remind myself that I’ve done nothing wrong, that I have the number one album in the country, and that I could afford to buy this car several times over and not even dent my bank