Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,211

a no on the session.

“You go to the studio.” I pull away, narrowing my eyes at him so he knows I have his number. “I’ll close things out with Kevin.”

A quick frown clouds his expression. Joke or no joke, he doesn’t want to leave me with some guy who was hitting on me just a few minutes ago.

“I can probably skip it.” Grip’s smile settles into an unyielding line.

“No need.” I turn to Kevin. “I’m just gonna walk Grip out. I’ll be back to discuss alternate dates.”

“Sounds good. Great meeting you, Grip.” Kevin picks up the menu and offers a quick smile. “I’ll look at dessert.”

Grip doesn’t move, just keeps staring at Kevin, so I hook my arm through his and lead him out of the restaurant and to the parking lot. Once we reach the spot where his motorcycle is parked, Grip’s hands settle on my hips and he pulls me into his chest, locking us together.

“What’s up, little shawty?” he teases, running his nose along my neck. “What’s your name? You got a man?”

“I do,” I answer huskily. “But I could be persuaded. He’ll never know.”

“The hell.” Grip chuckles, nipping my ear and sliding his hand to the small of my back.

“You don’t really have a session, do you?” I ask abruptly, breaking the spell he’s trying to weave.

“I’m not dealing with this guy, Bris.” He pulls back to peer down at my face. “And neither are you. He’s trying to have dinner with you? I’m not doing business with that—”

“In his defense,” I cut in before he works himself into a lather. “He didn’t know I’m taken.”

Something flares behind his eyes when I use the word that says I’m his. I knew he’d like that; I’m nothing if not deliberate.

He leans down the few inches separating us until his lips are at my ear. His hands inch up to span my waist, his thumbs subtly, secretively brushing the underside of my breast. My breath hovers in my throat, suspended, and my mouth waters as I remember the taste of him this morning. Me on my knees in the shower, water beating on my shoulders, the long, rigid length of him hitting the back of my throat. His fingers screwed into my hair, holding my head still while he pumped over my tongue, scraped against my lips.

“So you’re taken, huh?” He breathes against my neck. As calm as he looks from the outside, I hear the hitch in his breath, feel him hard and pressed into my belly. “I don’t see a ring.”

I shoot him a sharp glance. We haven’t talked about rings and proposals in a while—it hasn’t mattered. We practically live together, though we both still have our own places. Anything other than together isn’t an option, but his teasing statement makes me wonder if he’s started to think about it the way I have. I find myself holding out my hand a few times a day, studying my ring finger, wondering what he would choose for it . . . wondering when he’ll ask.

Wondering when it started to matter so much to me. The last thing I want is to make him feel pressured. We’ve loved each other for years, true, but we haven’t been official for long at all.

“Grip, I’m not—”

He palms my throat, thumb on one side of my face, fingers on the other, commanding me, coaxing my mouth open. His tongue sweeps the sensitive lining inside my jaw, over my teeth, around my lips. The sun is high in the sky. Patrons walk past us, coming to and leaving the restaurant. A few gawk. I’m not sure if they recognize Grip or if our PDA al fresco just disconcerts them. The kiss slows to mere brushes of our mouths, my lips pulled between his with tiny tugs and hungry bites. The firm hold he has on my chin softens, and his fingers slide into the hair falling around my neck.

“I had to shut you up because every time I mention rings you start stuttering and saying stupid shit.” His eyes smile down at me. “And your mouth kind of hangs open. It’s not a good look for you.”

A laugh breaks free from me. It’s a happy sound, like a caged bird free and singing. That’s how I feel sometimes, like for years I walked around locked up, guarding my heart against this man, and now I’ve been let loose, liberated, kissing in broad daylight on the street and spilling laughter that sounds