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So Grant has the chance to pin me down with the weight of his body. I push against his shoulders as hard as I can, trying to free myself enough to get a blow or a kick in.
It doesn’t work. He’s too big. Too heavy. Too all over me. He manages to grab one of my wrists and then the other, and he forces my arms to the ground spread-eagle, leaving me completely helpless.
I’m angry and frustrated that he got the better of me—angry with myself and frustrated with him—but that’s not the only reason I’m suddenly hot all over.
His hard body is pressed against the length of mine. I can feel every inch of him. His firm thighs against mine. His chest pushing into my breasts. His breath against my damp skin. His strong fingers gripping my wrists.
And his cock against my belly. He’s hard. Fully erect. He’s wearing old sweats, so his pants provide no concealment.
It’s not the first time he’s been turned on around me. It happens regularly, and he always acts like it’s nothing, like he barely notices, so I’ve grown to assume it’s a meaningless physical response that doesn’t faze him. After all, if he wanted to fuck me, he’s had every opportunity to act on it, and he never has.
At first, noticing it made me self-conscious, but it doesn’t anymore. If it doesn’t bother him, then it shouldn’t bother me.
But this is different. His erection is pushing against my lower belly. I can feel the shape of him very close to my groin. And it makes me throb with heat. Aching arousal. Deep need.
I feel his body. I want his body—like I’ve never wanted anything before. It’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around him and pull him down closer to me. Twine my legs around his waist so I can feel his cock exactly where I want it most.
I don’t do either of those things. I can’t make a move on a man who’s never given me the slightest indication of that kind of interest.
Grant might not be a real friend, but he’s as close as I have right now. Emotionally I’ve been doing a lot better than I was the year after my dad died, but if I didn’t have these training sessions, my life would be a whole lot emptier.
“Get up,” I mutter, my voice raspy with something akin to desperation. “Grant, get up. Now. Now.”
He started to move at my first word, and it’s only a couple of seconds until he’s on his feet, several feet away from me. He’s flushed and sweating, but his face is as stoic and unreadable as ever. He’s eyeing me closely.
It should be a relief to be freed of his weight, but it’s not. It feels horrible. Empty and cold and aching. If I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to jump him. I know it for sure. It feels like my body is barely under my own control.
I turn my back to him and take a few steps toward the door.
“Olivia.”
The one word from him stops me, but I don’t turn back around. I stand staring at the doorknob, panting.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He obviously knows what prompted my reaction. He’s always been blunt and honest like that with me.
“I know,” I manage to respond. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if you’re running away right now. I try to control it, but I can’t always help it. It’s a physical response.”
“I know it is. It’s not a big deal.” I still haven’t turned around. I can’t.
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to make a move on you.”
I give a very slow blink as I try to process what he just said. I can’t. “What?”
“I’m not going to make a move on you,” he repeats. He’s taken a couple of steps closer to me. I’m still not looking in his direction, but I can hear his voice is closer. “So don’t start keeping your distance.”
He’s saying that. He’s actually saying it. Something so preposterous it can hardly be tolerated.
I whirl around. “You think it scares me? That I’m all trembly about the idea of sex like some kind of naive little girl?”
His blue eyes widen. “I don’t think you’re a little girl. That much should be obvious.”
“But you think I’m leaving now because I’m upset?”
“Aren’t you?” He’s frowning. Still searching my face.
“No. How can you not know what I’m feeling right now?”
