But he doesn’t take the bait. It’s clear he wants to take his time. Savor every touch, every kiss, every sweet slide of his thick cock into my wet heat.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, sinking deeper until his firm, flat stomach is resting on my softer, rounder one. His eyes are inches from mine, his nose practically touching my own and our breath commingling in the small space between us.
“Yes.” Without a condom, each sensation is a little warmer, a little more intense. And a lot more pleasurable. Which is really saying something, because it was pretty damn pleasurable before. “You feel fantastic.”
He nuzzles my ear. “So do you.”
His twines his fingers with mine, securing them over my head. Then he starts to move, rolling his hips, grinding us together then pulling us apart.
Our breathing and the rhythmic slapping of our bodies coming together, backed by the distant rumble of traffic twelve stories below, are the only sounds in the room until we both cry out, clinging to each other as hard shudders wrack through us. When the spasms pass, we stay locked together, his dick still buried inside me, our heartbeats slowing in tandem.
It’s intimate and tender and emotionally vulnerable, and I understand why Connor didn’t want anyone else to see it. Because what just happened—that wasn’t fucking.
That was making love.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brie
“WHYDIDI let you convince me to take this class?” I grumble to Ainsley as we climb off our stationary bikes. Her more gracefully than me. She looks like she stepped straight out of the pages ofWomen’s Health. Her hair is still securely fastened in a tight ponytail, and if she’s sweating at all, it’s more of a healthy glow than a full-on drenching. What’s that old saying? A lady doesn’t sweat, she perspires.
I, in contrast, am clearly no lady. I feel like I’m about to drown. Rivers of sweat are running down my face, my T-shirt is plastered to my skin, and there’s not a muscle in my body that doesn’t ache. I don’t dare look in any of the full-length mirrors we pass on our way to the locker room, but I’m pretty sure if I did, I’d see something that looks more like the Creature from the Black Lagoon than a fitness model.
Ainsley takes the towel from around her neck and dabs at a non-existent pool of perspiration at her throat. “Because we haven’t seen each other in weeks, and you miss me.”
She’s right. We haven’t. And I do miss her. She may be my brother’s fiancée, but she was my friend first.
We reach the locker room, and I pull the door open. All the muscles from my wrist to my shoulder scream in protest. “I hate this instructor. I swear, he’s Satan. Who uses dumbbells in a spin class?”
“Are you kidding? Karl is one of the most popular instructors here. His classes are always full. We were lucky to get in.”
“You call it luck. I call it masochism.” I used to be a regular at RPM—Ainsley and I met in a spin class—but my schedule’s been so swamped I haven’t been to the studio in weeks. Jumping back in with one of Karl’s torture sessions was definitely not one of my smartest decisions. “Couldn’t we have met for coffee or something? Drinks at Tammany Hall?”
Since Ainsley and her friend Mia introduced me to it, the tacky, unassuming dive bar in the heart of Greenwich Village has become one of my favorite places to grab a drink or watch a ballgame. Not that I’ve had time to do much of either since I started filming.
“We could head over there now,” she suggests. We’re at our lockers. She spins the dial on her combination lock, opens the door, and takes a sip from her water bottle before putting it inside. “It’s still happy hour for another hour and a half. Unless you’ve got someone to run home to.”
I swat her with the towel I’ve just taken from my locker. “Shut up. You know I’m living with Connor.”
“My point exactly. Wasn’t that supposed to be temporary? It’s been—what? Three months?”
“Two,” I correct her.
“Still sounds more than temporary to me.”
“It’s hard to find affordable housing in this town.”
Even harder when you’ve all but stopped looking. It’s not something Connor and I actually discussed. It just sort of happened. He hasn’t said anything about me leaving. And it’s not like I’m in any hurry to go anywhere. Not with him in my bed every night. Or me in his.
The only problem is that the longer we do whatever it is we’re doing, the more I’m falling for him. He’s not just my brother’s super sexy best friend any more. He’s the guy who brings me coffee in the morning, or sets up the Keurig for me the night before when I have an early call time. Texts me funny memes and cat videos. Lets me control the remote when we’re Netflix and chilling.
Ainsley closes her locker door with a metallic clang that jolts my thoughts away from my roommate/bedmate/boyfriend and back to present company. “If money’s the issue, I’m sure Jake would help you out. All you have to do is ask.”
“I’m sure he would, too.” I sit down on the long wooden bench and strip off my sweaty T-shirt, leaving me in my equally sweaty sports bra. “But I’m not asking. This is something I need to handle myself.”
“Have it your way,” she says, sitting down beside me. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to drag things out a little.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I ask, feigning innocence.
