Griffin’s breath fans across my neck. “Tell me,” he grinds out.

“It makes me hot.” I drag my nails down the back of his neck. “And wet.” I bite the edge of his jaw. “And so fucking needy.”

Griffin’s palm clamps around the nape of my neck, and he leans back enough to meet my gaze. His eyes are lit up with desire, and his lips crash down on mine, tongue sweeping my mouth. That powerful feeling turns into liquid desire. I open for him, wanting more contact. More of him. Less fabric getting in the way.

And suddenly I realize that this is what real attraction is. This level of need. When wanting shreds civility, and the urge to strip naked in a public place seems totally reasonable.

Griffin’s fingers dig into my thighs, his thumbs gliding back and forth under the hem of my shorts.

“Touch me,” I beg.

He bites my bottom lip. “Not here.”

“Griffin, please,” I moan and roll my hips again, rubbing against his super obvious erection.

All of a sudden we’re in motion. It’s disorienting, especially when I’m expected to stand and hold my own weight. Thankfully that lasts for all of a second.

Griffin’s arm comes around my waist, pulling my body against his as he shuffles a few steps to the right. My butt hits something hard.

“Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

He lifts me up and sets me on top of the picnic table. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” Okay, I’m a little drunk. I immediately try to lie back and spread my legs. Maybe I am an exhibitionist after all.

Griffin’s palm wraps around the back of my neck; it’s firm but gentle, also keeping me upright. “Hold this, please.” He hands me a bottle of water, which he uncaps. “Now drink, please.”

“I don’t want water.” It’s not nearly as delicious as the champagne, which is what I would like more of.

“And I’m not touching you where you want me to until at least half the bottle is gone, so chug.”

Well, then. Chug it is. The whole damn thing. I even crush the plastic in my fist when I’m done. “Happy?”

“Very.” And we’re back to trying to consume each other via kissing.

I attempt to wrap my legs around his waist, but Griffin makes that impossible.

“Touch me somewhere good,” I order.

Now, I’ve never been demanding when it comes to anything sexual. In fact, usually I’m on the shy side. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the fact that he flew me out here into one of the wonders of the world as a freaking surprise, so I’d like to make this a highly memorable event.

“Please, Griffin.” The politeness is a complete afterthought.

He squeezes my thighs. “And where would somewhere good be, Cosy?”

“Your hands are already in the general vicinity of good.” I spread my legs as wide as I can, to be helpful.

Griffin’s volatile, hot gaze dips down, and he slides his fingers closer to the hem of my shorts. I can see my panties through the gap, on both sides, so I assume his view is even better than mine.

His lips brush over mine. “These shorts are obscene.”

“Everyone wears them,” I argue, even though they’re ridiculously short.

“Everyone under twenty-five.”

“Awesome. That means I can wear them for another three years.”

He slips all four fingers under the hem until they come out the other side—through one leg hole to the other. There isn’t much fabric, considering how short they are.

Sadly, he doesn’t go under my panties as well. He curls his fingers, making a fist, and his knuckles press against sensitive skin. “These could almost be underwear.”

“Denim underwear would be uncomfortable.” I’m all breathy and needy-sounding. “Let’s talk about my shorts later.” I try to pull his mouth to mine. He lets me get within an inch of his lips before he jerks his head back.

“I think we should talk about them now.” He shifts his grip on the crotch of my shorts—he’s still fisting them—putting pressure right where I want it.

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that?” His gaze keeps bouncing between my face and where he’s holding onto my shorts. It’s so hot. And the way he keeps subtly shifting his hand means he keeps rubbing over my orgasm button.

“I think you should make this a memorable experience for both of us by making me come on this picnic table instead of getting on me about how short my short shorts are.”

“Do you, now?” Griffin smirks, but keeps up with subtle movement.

I don’t know if it’s the environment, the possibility of getting caught, or that we’re out in the open and I’m fully dressed with his hand sort of where I want it, but this is probably the hottest foreplay I’ve ever had. “When else will I have the opportunity to have an orgasm in the Grand Canyon? I can even give you one at the same time.” I glance down to where his erection pushes against his fly. I reach for his belt, but Griffin shakes his head.