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Saint sat back and stroked his stubble. "Oh, you only wish you were. What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
He sat straddling his chair. "Okay, you say nothing, but I’ll guess this has to do with a certain Agent Abott."
"Mate, leave it alone."
“I won't leave it alone. For two fucking weeks you've been moping."
“I don't fucking mope,” I snapped.
"Sure you don't. You have been in a terrible mood, which is fine. I get it. It's plain how you feel about her. But do something about it. Take the edge off with someone, somehow, fuck, I don't know. But that level of tension you are feeling is about to pop. I can see it."
I glanced down at my hand, and even while holding the mouse I was vibrating slightly. Okay, he had a solid point. I was shaking. “I'm going to go get a workout in."
“You do that. I'll meet you back at the flat."
I didn't realize how late it was until I left the library. When I saw the pitch black outside, I checked my watch. Fucking ten p.m. Jesus.
Dinner had already come and gone, and most agents had already headed back home or closed down for the night. I planned to get in a quick workout, blow off some steam, and try and forget about Saff.
My dick twitched as if to say, I am never forgetting about her. Matter of fact, let's revisit that favorite dream from last night. The one where she bent down looked at me and then moaned. That's my favorite.
I cleared my throat I could feel the blood rushing to the tip of my erection, and I cursed. My movements were forced as I changed in the locker room.
This was bullshit. I knew why she was mad at me. I knew I’d fucked up. I knew she wasn't going to forgive me easily, and I didn't expect her to. Hell, I didn't think she ever would.
I’d thought after a couple weeks it would get a little bit better. But it wasn’t better exactly, just a little dulled. As long as I could just tune everything out and focus on work, I was okay. But the nights were torture. All I could do was dream of her. And no amount of jacking off was going to replace the memories of her.
The way her cunt would squeeze me tight. Or the way she looked when she was riding on me, her hips moving forward and backward, her tits bouncing in my face. When I closed my eyes, I could see the top muscles of her stomach. Her hands running through her braids as their long length cascaded down her back. I cleared my throat and reached my hand in my boxers, adjusting myself. Motherfucker. Last thing I fucking needed.
Then I realized I could hear someone else working out. "Hello?"
No one answered, but I could still hear them. I walked down the hall and turned right into the gym. Then I froze, my feet rooted to the spot. My dick, however, rose to full attention.
She wore biker shorts that hugged her ass like she was naked. Every dip and curve was molded and they were bunched right in her crack. Jesus Christ, I wanted to palm her ass, make her get on her knees, spread her cheeks, and dive in, licking her from clit to asshole and back again. Going to town. I wanted to feast on her.
The blood in my veins roared. Fucking hell. My cock was of no help, because even in my boxer briefs where he was supposed to be contained, he had zero intention of lying down and taking this quietly.
When she turned around, she squealed and jumped when she saw me.
I put my hands up and then tapped my ears, indicating her earbuds.
She removed them. “Fuck, you scared me."
"Well, I didn't want to approach because obviously you couldn't hear me."
“I guess I’m done. I’ll leave."
“Stop. I don't want you to leave."
She said. “Do you want me to stay?"
My dick said, Fuck, yes. And since you're going to stay, then get on your knees. Do we have lube? I can get into every hole. I’m going to fuck her every way that I can.
Nope. I was not going to say any of that. No, uh-uh, negative.
“You don't have to leave. I'll go."
