I built my body the same way I built most of my habits in life—by running. Not for fitness or discipline, but for escape.
Back when I was a kid, hanging with the wrong crowd, it was the only thing that ever brought me any distance from what I’d gotten myself into. From the streets, the noise, andthe version of myself I didn’t want to become. I ran to get away then, and I still do now. Run enough miles, and eventually your life and your thoughts can’t keep up with you.
I start my run down the southern trail at an aggressive pace, shoes striking wet gravel rhythmically as rainwater streams down the back of my neck. The route loops through the gardens and around the edge of the estate grounds is nearly a mile.
Lightning flashes overhead as I cut around the fountain and toward the fencing, illuminating my tattooed forearms slick with rain. My shirt, soaked through, clings heavily to my body. At thirty-nine, I’m still built like someone dangerous, with dense muscle earned through years of combat training, security details, and surviving situations where slower men didn’t make it out alive.
The rain intensifies when I reach the eastern fence line. I briefly slow to check one of the security checkpoints, but as soon as I’m satisfied everything is in order, I return to my punishing pace. Water drips steadily from my hair into my eyes while thunder rolls across the estate again.
I start running faster on my third lap, my thighs burning as I take the incline near the north fence hard, my breath harsh through my teeth.
It doesn’t help.
The rhythm of my feet striking the gravel matches the rhythm of Mackenzi flashing through my thoughts.Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. The outline of her pert nipples pressing against the thin cotton tank top. The dimple in her cheek. Those shorts…
My shoes splash through a puddle, and the cold water sprays up my shins.
The curve of her hips. The fabric caught high between her thighs, hinting at what I can’t stop thinking about.That smile.
My breath hitches, but it’s not from exertion.
I hit the middle of my fifth lap and force myself to sprint the final stretch back to the mansion. It doesn’t burn her out of my thoughts, because nothing burns her away.
The storm hasn’t let up by the time I enter the east wing through the service entrance. I’m completely drenched, water pooling beneath me with every step, my shoes squelching against the marble. I take the stairs two at a time, leaving a trail of small puddles behind me.
My room is dark when I enter, but I don’t bother to turn on the lights. The storm’s brief flashes of lightning provide enough illumination through the windows.
I peel the wet T-shirt over my head and drop it. It hits the floor with a heavy, sodden sound, the rest of my clothes following as I make my way into the attached bath. Standing naked in the dark, I’m overwhelmed with the image I just ran miles to get away from.
Mackenzi inviting me to tuck her in.
My cock twitches against my stomach, achingly hard. My pulse throbbing in the shaft, heavy and insistent, demanding everything I’m trying to deny myself.
You’re her protection. You’re twice her age. You’ve sworn—I don’t finish that thought. Ican’t.
I walk deeper into the bathroom and crank the shower to scalding, and step under the spray before it can heat. The shocking cold stream hits my skin before rapidly warming to near-burning. Water sheets down my chest, my stomach, tracing the V of muscle that points to my cock,fully erect and jutting upward against my abdomen.
With one hand braced against the tile, the other wraps around my shaft, and the hiss that escapes me has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
I start with a slow, punishing grip, the way I learned to handle myself when time was short and privacy shorter. But my mind betrays me immediately, the way it always does now. While stroking my length, I close my eyes to find Mackenzi standing right in front of me.
She looks up at me with her chin at that defiant angle. The one that makes me want to firmly grip her jaw and tilt it where I want it. She’s drenched from following me outside in the storm. Water drips from her long chestnut locks. Her tank top and tiny sleep shorts cling to every curve of her body, both nearly see-through.There’s a dark triangle of hair beneath the fabric of her shorts, and the outline of her pussy is pressed against the thin cotton.
I reach for her, and my hand finds her waist, feeling the give of her soft flesh. While I drag my thumb along her stomach, her muscles flutter under the attention, and her breath hitches when I dust along the underside of her chest. After tearing the soaked tank off her body, I drop it to the ground before palming her breast. It’s heavy and soft in my hand. Her nipple pebbles against my palm, hard yet delicate. I roll it between my fingers until her head falls back, exposing her throat.I want to sink my teeth into her and leave marks she’dhave to hide tomorrow, proof that I’ve claimed her, and that she’s mine.
My fist tightens around my cock, stroking it at a rough and punishing pace.
I grind against her stomach as I play with her tits, leaving trails of precum on her skin, marking her before I even allow myself the sanctity of slipping inside her.“I can’t stop thinking about you.”Even in my fantasy, my voice sounds completely ruined.“Every night. Every fucking mile I run to put distance between us.”
She smiles up at me, defiant and sweet. “Show me.”
I spin her around one-handed and shove her face first against the nearest tree. Her palms slap the bark, fingers spreading for purchase as I step in close, plastering my chest to her back. Pressed up against her, I can feel her ribs expanding in panicked, excited pants.
She pushes her ass back, grinding and teasing those tiny wet shorts against my cock. I hook my thumbs into the waistband and drag them down at a torturously slow pace, revealing her to me inch by glorious inch. The crease where her thigh meets her hip, the curve of her ass, and—fuck—her delicate pink pussy. She’s glistening for me, and the sweet, musky scent of her is enough to make my mouth water.
I kick her feet wider and slide my palms over her gorgeous ass, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints that will bruise by morning. She gasps, arching her back and silently pleading for everything we’ve been denying ourselves.
The rain pours over us as I slip my hand between her thighs, pushing one finger into her soaked pussy. Her moan echoesthrough the storm as I curl my finger, causing her knees to buckle. “Fuck, you’re tight,” I growl against the nape of her neck, rubbing my cock against the concave of her hip. I add a second finger to stretch her for me. “My cock is going to ruin your pretty little pussy. Is that what you want, trouble?”
