Page 86 of Filled

I know she does. I felt exactly how much she noticed every time she ground herself on me this week.

She talks. I talk. She asks about my opponent and I tell her what I know, southpaw, kicks like a mule, gases in the third. Shenods at the right spots. Her eyes don’t leave my face. Every time I look at her she’s already looking at me, and every time she catches me she doesn’t look away. She just lets it land.

By the second glass I’ve stopped sitting like I have a rod up my ass. The blanket’s bunched between us. Her bare foot has migrated up onto the cushion and her toes are an inch from my thigh.

“You’re easier to talk to than I thought you’d be,” she says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re quieter at the gym. With the guys.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You are.” She tilts her head. “Especially this week.”

Because I’ve been thinking about nothing but her pussy grinding on my dick and how much I want to flip her over and make her scream my name in front of the entire fucking gym.

I take another sip, my eyes find her mouth and I look away.

She sets her glass down on the table. Slow. Deliberate. The wine sloshes once and settles.

“Brady.”

“Yeah.”

She shifts closer. Her thigh slides against mine. Her face is suddenly very near, and her hand is on the cushion between us. I can smell her, that warm clean skin smell underneath the shampoo, and I have not breathed in a full second.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

My cock jerks.

“If you don’t want me to, say so now.”

She waits. She actually waits, eyes steady on mine, not pushing, not moving, just giving me the space to decide.

One second. Two. Three. Four.

I don’t say a damn thing. I couldn’t if my life depended on it.

Five.

She leans in.

She does it slowly, so slowly it’s almost cruel. Her hand comes up and her fingertips brush the side of my jaw and her breath ghosts over my skin before her lips find mine, and I close my eyes a half-second before contact like I’m bracing for a punch.

Her mouth is soft. Just a press. A question.

And something in my chest, a leash I’ve had a chokehold on for weeks, slips.

The sound that comes out of me is embarrassing. Small and broken and grateful all at once. I hear it, and I can’t take it back.

She makes a small sound back, like finally, and her thumb strokes along my jaw.

That’s it. That’s the line.

I am over it before I know I’ve crossed.

My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers weaving into her hair, and I haul her into me. The polite kiss ends. My lips part in invitation, she gasps and I feel her surprise. She registers that the careful man on her couch is gone, and I should pull back, I should slow it down, but my blood racing for my cock, and her tongue is in my mouth, and I am done.