Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,311

back door.” His hand works down my spine, over the curve of my ass, his middle finger slipping into the divide down the middle of my butt. “This month gave us lemons. I’m just making lemonade.”

“In my ass? You’re making lemonade in my ass? That’s your metaphor?”

“More like a segue. I think your period is a great segue into anal. Lots of people do it as a monthly alternative.”

“Um . . . that’s above my lay grade,” I joke. “We’re not doing that.”

“Like never? You don’t want to do anal ever?” Horrified panic extinguishes the teasing light in his eyes. “But I’ve put my thumb in your ass.”

“So?”

“So that was a step to ease you in. Step one, thumb. Step two, cock. My thumb in your ass is like one hard sneeze away from anal.”

I snort, skeptical and unladylike.

“It would take more than a sneeze to get your dick in there.” “Bris,” he says, patience in his tone and expression. “What’s the difference between my thumb and my dick?”

“Um . . . several inches in sheer girth actually. You are not putting that thing in my ass. You like anal that much?”

“That’s like asking do I like cherry Kool-Aid.”

“Ew! You like cherry Kool-Aid?”

“Okay, it’s like asking if you like cookie dough ice cream.”

I would have cookie dough ice cream delivered in crates if I could. My anus clenches in protest.

“Oh, God,” I whisper. “You love it.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“I didn’t say I haven’t tried it.”

“You’ve done anal?” Displeasure darkens his eyes. “Who the hell’d you do anal with?”

“Excuse me.” I tilt my head and rest a fist on my hip. “Did I ask who you’ve done anal with?”

“You’re right, we don’t wanna go there.” He shakes his head and turns his lips down at the corners. “You didn’t like it?”

“It was messy and it hurt.”

“Well, yeah, it can be messy, but he probably didn’t do it right.”

“He definitely didn’t do something right.”

“I promise you I’ll do it right.” He cups my ass and squeezes, his pinky fingers delving into the slit of space separating the cheeks. “Can I tell you how I would make it better for you?”

Resist. Resist. Resist.

The chant in my head grows fainter the more his hands explore my body, seeking all my needy places. It’s not just the curve of my breast or the plane of my belly where he’s seducing butterflies, but my heart still feels unreasonably bruised by something as silly as menses.

“Not that I’m open to it,” I say, my voice slightly lust-rough. “But if I were to—”

“First I’d get you really wet,” he cuts in, eyes and voice a little too eager to be merely hypothetical.

If he continues, I will be ass-full of Grip by the end of the night.

“Um, forget I asked.” I laugh when his face falls. “I’m just saying . . . what about the game?”

“Game? There’s a game?” His lips ghost the ink on my shoulder, licking at the delicately sketched letters. “Do you bathe in sugar? Damn, you always taste good.”

“I can’t get through a shower without you barging in and violating me against the wall, so I think you would know if I bathed in sugar.”

“Is that a complaint?” He steps back like he’s abandoning the hunt, and I’m not quite ready to end the chase. I pull him back to me, slipping my arms up and over his shoulders, linking my wrists behind his neck to caress the smooth skin there.

“Definitely not.” I kiss his chin. “I personally can’t think of a better way to start the day than wet sex against a wall.”

“Mmmmmmm.” The hungry rumble vibrates into my chest. “Keep it up and I’m knocking on that back door tonight.”

We laugh into a kiss that starts soft and sweet, surges to hot and urgent, and settles into tender longing. He always knows how to get me back, how to pull me back from the brink, and I hope I do the same for him.

“Better?” he asks in between nips of my lips.

“Much.” I rest my forehead against his chin. “I’m sorry about the bitchiness earlier.”

“Don’t even think about it. We both know I can be an asshole,” he says, a rueful twist to his lips. “I’m sorry I called the poetry deal stupid.”

“I can change the dates with Barrow.” I look up to meet his eyes. “Can we chock it all up to the hormones?”

“Sure, but what’s your excuse the other three weeks of the month?” The twinkle in his