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Forever.
I turn at the sound of the door opening.
It’s a bright autumn day, sunlight spearing through the windows in a crisscrossing of light.
My woman stands in a shaft of pale yellow, as though spotlighted, her hands clasped in front of her. It’s like she’s trying to work herself up to ask me for something. It’s almost a submissive pose, driving more thoughts into my mind, of her bent over and looking at me with the same quirked eyebrows and unsure lips she aims at me now.
She steps forward with a cute head tilt and another quirk of her lips.
“I thought I’d let you know I’m here this time. You know, so you don’t leave me waiting for ten years again.”
I chuckle as she walks across the room.
Is she swaying her hips like that on purpose?
She shifts them from side to side in the sweatpants, causing the soft fabric to rustle around her skin, making it hug the shape of her and light me up inside. I clench my jaw as she approaches me, my gaze moving to those breasts, full and voluptuous and looking so damn tempting in her T-shirt.
She’s wearing a sports bra this time, but that only causes those full tits to become even shapelier.
“So, are you ready to be impressed again?” she says, in that joking tone of hers she delights in using.
“I am impressed,” I say.
She pauses, looking closely at me.
Tell her, a voice roars within.
I should tell her I’m impressed with every single thing about her, from her curvy body to the way she throws her jokes out there, past her adorable nervousness.
I see through her, which isn’t surprising.
She’s mine.
“You were great last time,” I say instead, salvaging the moment.
“Well, let’s hope I’m just as good this time, huh?”
“I’m sure you will be,” I tell her, nodding to the exercise bike. “Shall we get started?”
How do I resist her when she’s on the treadmill, moving forward at a power walk, causing her body to shift alluringly?
How do I resist her when she starts panting?
How do I resist her when sweet sweat coats her skin, causing her clothes to stick to her, outlining the shape of her with carnal perfection?
I have no damn clue, but I know it involves a lot of teeth gritting and fist clenching, physical defenses against the very real possibility that I’m going to maul her.
Finally, it’s the end of the session. She’s gone to the bathroom and I’m pacing up and down the lobby, my balls pulsing like my heartbeat, sending a signal burning through my body.
Do you really think you can wait another week to see her?
The question reverberates in my mind, aimed at me from the primal possessive beast inside of me.
The answer is obvious.
No, hell no. I’ll go insane.
“Ryker.”
I turn to find her standing just across from me, her bag strap over her shoulder, with that little adorable smile on her face. It’s the smile she’ll aim at our children when they’ve done something clever or silly or just wonderfully ordinary.
It’s the smile she’ll aim at me as she walks down the aisle.
I warn myself to stop, to slow down, she’d call me crazy if she knew how insane my thoughts were.
But I can’t.
Stepping forward, I say, “Any plans for the rest of the day?”
“I have work tomorrow morning,” she says. “But no, nothing today. Maybe a little painting.”
“You paint?” I ask, hungry to keep the conversation going for as long as possible.
“Yeah, well, sort of…”
I move closer, a smirk touching my lips. “How does somebody sort of paint?”
She turns her gaze away from mine, as though she finds looking at me painful for some reason.
Is it because she can’t summon her usual veil of sassiness?
The thought makes me want to grab her, to bring my face to hers and snarl, “You don’t have to pretend with me. Ever. I want the real you.”
Instead, I stomp down on that instinct and focus on her answer, knowing I can’t let myself stray there unless I want the rest of it to come out.
“I paint, but I haven’t sold anything. I don’t put it up for show or anything like that. I just like to… It just helps me forget.”
“Forget what?” I ask.
She snaps her gaze back to mine, a twist to her lips. “Why are you so curious?”
I chuckle deeply. “Why are you so defensive? I’m just asking you a damn question.”
We hold each other’s gazes for a long moment, a moment that seems to last forever. Staring into her eyes, I’m sure I can read something there – a similar feeling to what flares through me. I’m sure I can sense lust inside of her.
But even if she wants to fuck, that doesn’t mean she’d want the rest of it.
A family, a home, a future, a life.
I can’t just fuck this woman. It would kill me to taste her only once.
