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“Go.” His voice turns gruff. “We wouldn’t want anyone to see you coming out of the locker room, right?”
Some of my arousal recedes at the sharp edge that bleeds into his words.
He sounds angry.
What I don’t understand is the reason for it.
Confusion churns inside me. I’d assumed he’d be happy about my decision. Hell, I’d thought maybe we’d get it on in the locker room. It’s always been a fantasy. Hot, quick, and dirty against the lockers with the thrill of getting caught to heighten the experience.
My brows jerk together as I attempt to play mental catchup. At every turn, he’s throwing me off my game. I don’t like it.
“You want me to leave?” I wince at the disappointment that floods my tone.
“Yup. I need to get dressed.”
Oh.
Um, okay…
My gaze reluctantly drops to his cock. It’s still ridiculously hard. In fact, it’s pointing right at me.
I gulp down my disappointment and force my feet into movement. It’s tempting to close the distance between us and wrap my fingers around him, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.
I refuse to beg.
Especially Ford.
As I reach the metal door, his deep voice stops me in my tracks.
“Just remember, pretty girl—you belong to me now. That pussy is mine.”
Another wave of arousal crashes over me.
I glance over my shoulder to meet his eyes. He has yet to move. He’s still naked, every muscle coiled tight as if he’ll spring into motion any moment. Is it pathetic that I’m standing here with bated breath, waiting for him to lay hands on me?
I smirk, wanting to provoke him into action. “You’ll have to prove it. Many have tried but none have succeeded.”
His eyes narrow.
Instead of waiting around for him to make a move, I slip from the locker room, abruptly ending the conversation. The cool breeze of the hallway slaps at my overheated cheeks. Only now do I realize how humid the air had grown inside the enclosed space. Although it has nothing to do with how inflamed I’m feeling.
That can be squarely laid at Ford’s feet.
Who knew he had such a mouth on him?
Can’t say I don’t love a dirty talking hero.
I have to remind myself that Ford isn’t the hero of my story. He’s just a guy who I’m going to fuck.
Since my legs are still shaky, I lean against the cement wall beside the door and squeeze my eyes tightly closed, attempting to clear my head so I can once again think straight.
Except when I do, an image of Ford dances behind my eyelids.
A very naked Ford.
Thick and hard.
A groan works its way up my throat.
