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The friction between us was intense, consuming, dry fucking the shit out of one another. Her hips moved faster against my cock, and it was only then that I noticed how frenzied her movements became, how precise her hips rocked, how warm her skin felt.
I opened my eyes.
Her face was flushed.
Her forehead perspiring.
Her hands fisting the grass.
“Fuck!” I stopped and pushed myself off her.
“No!” she shouted, instantly feeling the loss of another thing I refused to steal from her. “I was so close!”
“No shit!” I yelled out, pushing my hair out of my face and holding it back with my hands. Wanting to wring my own fucking neck.
She inhaled deeply and rapidly, trying to steady her aroused body.
“Fuck!” I shouted out again, only pissed at myself. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You did it because you want me as much as I want you.”
“Wanting you isn’t the problem, kid.”
She smiled, sitting up. Her toe was still bleeding, and I needed something else to focus my attention on. Taking off my tie, I wrapped it around her foot before looking up at her through the slits of my eyes.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“I have some ideas.”
“I bet you do.”
I just couldn’t believe…
I’d almost made her come.
Chapter Fifteen
—Autumn—
Day 5 of Press Tour
We were sitting in Locke’s private jet, and I was in the seat furthest away from him. Between everything that had happened at the photoshoot three days ago and then ending it with us running into the woman he’d brought to my seventeenth birthday party, I needed some serious space. The last two days were jam-packed with press interviews, and there was no time left over to discuss us.
Thank God.
Today was going to be hard enough. It was probably the hardest day we’d confronted on this tour so far. The timing was shit, seeing as I didn’t want to talk about the past, and there we were, going to face it head-on.
Fort Worth, Texas.
Julian Locke was coming home for the first time in over a decade.
A production crew was meeting us there to get footage of him in his old stomping grounds. Beginning with the group home he’d lived at in between his foster placements. I didn’t think it would affect me as much as it was, but something inside of me shifted at that damn shoot.
The outfit he was wearing.
The words he was confessing.
The way he was looking at me.
