“I know,” I reply. “But if you won’t talk to me at home, then what else am I supposed to do?”
She glances over at Seth, who’s rolling on the floor with Jase. “We don’t need to talk. Everything is all right. I just needed to get back before Seth realized I hadn’t come home last night.”
None of this would be a problem if we came clean, but I keep that thought to myself because if I voice it, she’ll probably push me away. The thing is, I don’t think her brother would take it as badly as she believes, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s an excuse for her to keep me at a safe distance. She has every right to be hurting after what happened with her ex, but it’s hard for me to reassure her if she won’t admit it.
I sigh. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
I steer clear of her for the rest of training, instead working through counter drills with one of the younger fighters and then sparring with Jase while Seth coaches us from the sidelines. Once or twice I notice her whaling on a bag like it personally offended her. Hopefully she can work all of the doubt out of her system by beating up invisible opponents.
I try not to watch her as she moves to the corner for a strength and resistance session, but there’s only so long a man can ignore a beautiful woman if he knows what she looks like naked. When Jase clips me on the jaw during sparring, I totally deserve it for being distracted by her ass as she swings a kettle bell. He gives me a look, and I shrug one shoulder, acknowledging that I need to keep my focus on him instead of allowing it to waver.
Opting to shower at home, I head off without talking to Harley again, sparing us both the frustration, although I smile and wave on my way out the door so she knows I’m not angry. I figure she’ll message me at some point. Four hours later, with no contact, I decide to take things into my own hands. Literally. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s our sexual connection. We’re dynamite together. It’s only when things become deeper that she fortifies her walls.
Does that bother me? Yeah, actually. I want to be more to her than a body in bed. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of her attraction to me. That’s why, after clearing the dinner dishes, I sprawl on my bed, naked from the waist down, close my eyes and picture her. I know, I know, it sounds bad, but I figure the way to tempt her back is by offering something I know she wants. So I imagine it’s her slim hands instead of my own taking hold of my cock, and stroke. It thickens and stiffens, and in my mind’s eye, I can see the way her eyes would darken, flecks of green glowing amongst the brown, as she plumps her lips and lowers them toward the head.
“Damn,” I grit out, the image turning me on more than expected.
My eyelids flutter open and I grab my phone and flick her a text.
Devon:My dick is hard and aching for you.
In fact, I have to let it go and watch it throb against the planes of my stomach so it doesn’t get too excited. For a while, I’m not sure whether she’ll respond—was this a terrible idea?—but then I receive a message.
Harley:My pussy is wet and wants you inside it.
Devon:Guess you’d better get over here before I finish the party without you.
Nothing, for a long while, and I hold my breath. Then, finally, a response.
Harley:Be there in ten.
Harley
Why is he making this harder than it needs to be?
Why is he pushing when I’m not ready?
I need time to process what happened last night. I let my guard down, and it felt right in the moment, but this morning it struck me how vulnerable I’d allowed myself to be, and how much could go wrong. We’re not guaranteed a happily ever after. It’s not that I don’t trust Devon’s intentions—I do, mostly—but you know what they say about good intentions.
Unfortunately, it seems I’m helpless to resist him, so here I am, catching an Uber across town. I really need to fix my personal transport situation. Buy a car perhaps. Or an electric scooter.
I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen when I arrive, but if I’ve learned one thing with Devon, it’s not to expect anything. On the face of it, this looks like a booty call, but for all I know I’ll open his door and find a string quartet. A nice thought, actually, not that I particularly enjoy classical music. The point is, I wouldn’t know what to do about it. He’s challenging all of my preconceptions and keeping me on my toes.
I want to hate it, but the fact I keep coming back for more makes me think that’s not how I truly feel. We stop outside his building, and I hop out and take my time walking through the halls to his door, afraid to seem too eager and tip the balance of power in his favor. I knock once sharply and wait for him to answer. When he does, he isn’t wearing a suit. There are no violins. In fact, he looks exactly as I imagined he might when he texted. Clad in boxers but nothing else, the bulge behind the silk indicating that he’s wound up more than his placid expression suggests.
“You’re here,” he says, and I can’t figure out whether it’s just an observation or if he’s surprised.
“I am,” I agree. “I hope you’re prepared to follow through on those texts.”
“Err.” He rubs his chin as he gets out of the way so I can come in. “About that.”
“What?” I’m suddenly suspicious. Are the violins about to come out?
“Here’s the thing.” He closes the door behind me and leans on it, his arms folded across his muscled chest. I’m about to make a comment about getting me here under false pretenses but then I notice the strain around his mouth and the hesitation in his eyes, so I let him go on. “I want to fuck you until you never think of another man again, but I’m not touching you unless you promise not to freak out when we’re done.”
Freak out?
“Excuse me?” I demand with more indignation than strictly required considering I know exactly what he means.
