Only when my breathing starts to even does he move again.
Efficient. Certain.
He nudges my clothes lower, clears the way with the same deliberate care he uses for everything else, eyes never leaving my face. There’s something dangerously intimate about that – about being watched so closely while my body is still buzzing. Only he gets this side of me, this vulnerability. Even the others don’t see me with all my walls down. Not that I want him to, either. But there’s no denying himanything. He sees me. Always has. So I may as well give in.
He shifts closer, heat and intent unmistakable, freeing himself with one smooth motion that tells me he’s been just as affected as I have. His cock is hard, pulsing, already dripping for me in a way that makes my mouth water – but there’s no time for that.
Our foreheads touch again. His breath ghosts over my mouth.
No words. No need.
Everything that matters is already happening.
SHARP CONFIDENT ALIVE
Hide And Seek - Klergy & Mindy Jones
Hatchet
Idon’t make a sound when she runs.
I never do.
Her laughter still rings down the corridor – bright, sharp, deliberately careless – and my body answers it before my mind finishes mapping exits and angles. I close the distance fast. Efficient. Inevitable. Fingers in her hair, head tipped back exactly as she wants it, pulse jumping under my thumb.
Alive.
Thrilled.
Safe.
She taunts me, breathless and bright. I answer with my teeth at her shoulder – not hard. Never hard. Just enough to remind her where the game ends. She beams like I’ve given her a prize.
Her hips surge into mine and I let myself feel it, let control loosen just enough to acknowledge the edge. God, I’ve missed this – the way she fits without trying, the way she trusts me to hold the line.
My hand slides to her waist, anchoring her. Stillness, firm and absolute. She melts into it, choosing to be caught over free without hesitation.
Perfect.
The building creeps back into focus – distant movement, voices not meant for us, time ticking down. I angle us into shadow without breaking contact, bodies aligned, practiced and quiet.
I register the environment first.
Always do.
Cleared corridor. Two entry points. One blind corner that buys us seconds. Lights humming overhead, flicker irregular enough to mask small sounds. Good enough.
Then I let myself focus on her.
Kayla smells like sweat and that sharp, laughing defiance that’s always pulled me off balance if I let it. She’s vibrating under my hands, adrenaline still singing through her veins, pulse hammering where my fingers curl in her hair – exactly where she likes it. Exactly where I can feel everything she’s feeling.
She never runs because she’s afraid.
She runs because she wants to be caught.
Her words spill out anyway, reckless and bright, needling for a reaction. I don’t give her one. Control isn’t absence of desire – it’s choosing where to aim it.
I lean in, forehead brushing her temple, breathing her in. She settles immediately, like she’s been waiting for permission. Like the fight drains out of her the second she knows she’s safe.
