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She’s clearly not interested…
Except, she came so damn hard. It was like there was a fireworks display happening inside of her, firing and sparking as I plied her sweet sticky pleasure out of her.
So why did she run?
She must’ve gotten caught up in the moment, swept away by the closeness and the heat, and then immediately regretted it. That’s why she left.
Maybe she has a boyfriend – a thought that floods me instantaneously with murderous rage. Maybe she simply isn’t interested in a man my age.
Whatever it is, it makes my seed surge in rebellion, and my hands clench into tight fists more often than not. All I want to do is charge after her, wherever she is – it could be the North Pole and I wouldn’t give a damn – but that would mean risking rejection again.
This woman, this sweet angel, this life-changing queen… goddamn it, I just know I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she walked out on me again.
So fine, I need to put these carnal and possessive thoughts behind me.
If she arrives today, I’ll keep it surface-level, pretending the intimacy never happened.
I laugh grimly as I wipe down the machines, my jaw tight, forcing the mirthless sound through gritted teeth.
Do I really think I’m going to be able to forget the way she shivered and quaked for me?
I don’t know, but I have to try.
I leap forward when I hear the door to the waiting area open, walking from the gym to find her standing there with that nervous captivating expression on her face.
She’s wearing her usual sports gear, T-shirt, and sweatpants, instantly driving hungry temptations into my mind. Her hair is tied up, giving me a full view of her gorgeous face, pursed lips, and those innocent eyes she aims anywhere but at me.
“It is today, right?” she murmurs.
After a week of not seeing her, the sound of her voice is enough to make my insides churn. Suddenly everything seems brighter, closer, more real.
And my plans to forget how I feel about her seem ludicrous.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yes, we can get started whenever you’re ready.”
She snaps her gaze to me, as though she doesn’t trust herself to meet my eyes if she moves slowly. For a second I’m sure she’s going to address what happened, but then she just nods.
“Okay, awesome. I’m ready now.”
“Okay.”
The air feels thick with what we did the last time, as though the past is trying to force its way into the present.
As she drops her bag onto a chair and turns to collect her water bottle, my eyes devour those round and delicious ass cheeks. The fabric pulled tautly across the roundness of her ass as she leans down, and then reality shifts and I’m imagining how she’d look with my manhood slotted between those thick luscious thighs.
I quickly set away, pushing down on the desire.
Run back and bend her over. Strip down her sweat pants and fuck her raw, fuck her hard, fuck her until she has no choice but to admit how badly she wants it.
The thoughts flurry endlessly, clashing in my mind, my whole body tense with the need for release.
Turning at the sound of her footsteps, I gesture to the exercise bike. “Same warmup as last week.”
She bites her lip, releases it, and bites it again. It captivates me, as I envision all the different scenarios in which she could bite her lip. I see her on her back, her breasts bouncing as I ram into her, again as an explosion of ecstasy goes off inside of her.
“Okay.”
She moves slowly across the room, brushing by me. I take a greedy inhale of her scent, her shampoo, her body, her womb.
Her womb.
It’s like there’s a force deep inside of her screaming, begging me to shower her young body with my seed.
But she ran. I have to remember that.
She pauses at the bike machine, glancing at me.
“What is it?” I grit out.
“I…”
She trails off, folding her arms across her middle, causing her breasts to shift around her forearms. Does she really not have any idea how crazy that makes me?
Then she abruptly lets her hands drop to focus on me. “Are we going to talk about what happened?”
It all comes out in a rush, as though she needs to say it before she loses her momentary confidence.
I take a step forward, staring at those kissable lips, so pouty and sassy.
“After the way you left last time, I didn’t think you’d want to,” I grit out.
She flinches, as though my words are a physical strike. “I didn’t leave because…”
She trails off softly.
A protective impulse stirs at the softness in her voice.
“What?” I snap, taking a step forward.
“It’s not easy for me to talk about this,” she says, her voice dropping low, barely a whisper.
The pain in her voice threatens to stir me to action, have me roam the streets in search of whatever bastard made her feel this way.
