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I almost tell him I don’t know. I’ve never actually…
But then he starts to rub, slowly at first, and then faster, faster, playing me like an instrument he’s mastered.
I move my hips in time with him, taken over by a deep impulse, twitching against him as he grinds his hand against my pussy.
The heel of his hand pushes against my clit, his fingers smoothing over my lips, whispering tantalizingly close to my hole.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Show me how badly you want it.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but when I start to shake even more – feeling like my bones are juddering with the force of the onrushing pleasure – his snarling noise lets me know I’ve done the right thing.
But I’m not trying to.
It’s just all this sparkling euphoria storming around my body, making my pussy tighten and start to pulse with the force of my orgasm.
All I can think about, all that exists is the feeling of extreme heat between my legs, his hand rubbing furiously, my clit sore and needy and tingly as everything collapses in orgiastic lightning.
“Ah, ah,” I gasp, but I can’t speak any actual words, not when my legs start to shake, my knees trembling like they’re going to buckle.
His hand holds me up, all the pressure directly against my sex as my core contracts wonderfully, as starlight whispers through my body.
Falling forward, I bite down on his chest, feeling his unyielding muscle against my teeth through his shirt.
Then I collapse, drawing in ragged breaths as I try to recover from the force of the orgasm.
He stares at me with hard eyes, eyes brimming with passion.
Heck.
I know what he wants now. I can read it in the fury of his expression, in the way he steps even closer if that’s possible and looms over me, staring down like he thinks we’re about to have sex right here.
My body screams at me to do it, to reach forward and grab onto the front of his pants, to yank them down and free the massive length of his cock. I can see the outline now, huge and imposing, barely contained within his sweatpants.
But it’s too freaking much too freaking fast and I just know this will end in ruin if I stay here.
“I’m sorry.” I can’t even meet his eye as I pull away and make for the door, my heartbeat crashing against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Rosie…”
I unlock the door and push it open, racing into the street, my cheeks burning red hot, my legs moving clumsily as though they want me to go back.
But I can’t give him what he wants.
I shouldn’t have let it go that far, to begin with, letting him think I was going to go further, letting him think I was going to give into my shivering desire.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter under my breath, running toward the end of the street, already replaying all the ways I could’ve handled things differently.
Chapter Eleven
Ryker
Fuck.
If I thought waiting a week to see her last time was bad, this time it’s like torture. Every waking second becomes an attack of vignettes of my woman, the way she shivered against me, the way her moans twisted in the air when I rubbed that sweet soaked pussy.
I go through my day's feeling like a damn zombie, not present at all even if I fulfill all my work obligations.
At night I close my eyes and feel the way her body pulsed as I rubbed her faster and faster, the gushing gorgeous wetness that squirted all over my hand when she reached her perfect peak.
But then she ran. She ran and left me there like a jackass, staring after her, wondering what the hell went wrong.
I should’ve taken it slow, built up to that moment, but this beast inside of me doesn’t give a damn about her fragile sensibilities, her nervousness, her whatever-it-is. The beast inside of me only cares about that young fresh pussy and her curvy made-for-childbearing body and the scintillating song of her moaning.
My thoughts urge me to find her every day that passes, to reach out to a private investigator to work out where she lives, to tear the whole city apart if that’s what it takes.
And yet I can’t stop thinking about the way she raced for the door, hurrying out as though she instantly regretted what we’d done.
My chest tightens each time the memory stabs into me, as I relive the sound of her receding footsteps, the way she ducked her head as she pushed the door open, as though she couldn’t even bear to look at me.
When the big day arrives – our third training session – I’m certain she isn’t going to show.
As I push open the door to the gym and start making my preparations, I tell myself this is all for nothing.
