“How long are you going to punish me for leaving you? How long are you going to pretend that you still don’t want me? I was nineteen years old. My father threatened to cut me off. I didn’t know how to choose you and survive.”
“You didn’t even try,” I remind him.
Snatching my bra from the bench, I quickly fumble with the straps and manage to clasp it behind my back. I place my shirt over my head, ignoring my wet sopping hair that is soaking my shirt. Grabbing my bag, I turn so that I can leave. I push past him, but he catches my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me. My breath hitches.Don’t react. Don’t give him that,I think to myself.
“Tell me to let go,” he says.
I don’t.
His hand slides down my arm slowly, reverently. My skin feels like it’s being set on fire with his touch.God, I hate this.I hate how easily he can turn me on. I hate how much I want it.
“I still dream about you,” he admits. My eyes meet his. They are warm and soft as he looks at me. “About this.”
My heart thuds, traitorous and loud. “This is a mistake.”
“Then stop me.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
Our mouths meet like a crash—no finesse, no foreplay, just longing and rage coming together. I kiss him like I mean to bruise him and hurt him. He kisses me like he’s a man drowning and I am the only thing he has to hold onto. His arms wraparound my waist, and I’m hauled up against him like he can’t get me close enough without entering me.
My fingers claw at this back and pull on his dress shirt, freeing it from the dress pants that it’s tucked into. His hands move to my hips and grip them, hard, like he’s making sure I can’t run away again. This doesn’t feel like we’re forgiving each other. Or healing from the hurt we caused. This is punishment. This is proof that he still wants me. That I still own the owner of the team.
Our lips break apart and we’re panting. His eyes boring into mine, they are full of question as he slowly begins to pull the shirt that I just placed on my body off. I let him. Our eye contact only breaks when the shirt covers my face. I lean into him, like I’m trying to get him inside of me right this instant. A smile curls on his lips as his hand reaches behind and pops the clasp of my bra, freeing my breasts. I see his eyes turn molten with desire at the sight of them.
I move my fingers to the front of his pants and begin working his belt. I want his pants off immediately. “I need you,” I grit out. I hate myself for saying it.
“I need you too,” he admits. He grabs my hands and pulls them from his pants. “I need to lock that door.” He gestures over his shoulder to the door that leads to the hallway. “No one can come in here right now.”
I nod, watching him quickly make his way over to the door. Slowly, he opens it and peeks out. Closing the door, he turns the lock and moves back over in front of me.
August unbuttons a button on his shirt and quickly pulls it over his head. I’m left with the view of his abs and that delicious ‘v’ that always made me go stupid when we were in college. It’s so much more defined now. Even though he no longer plays, he certainly makes sure to stay in shape. I bite my lip at the sight of him. He grins and opens his pants.
“Turn around,” he orders.
My thighs clench together as I obey.
I hear the click of his shoes as he steps forward. I can feel the heat of his body against mine. If I lean back, I’ll feel him where I need him.
“Put your hands on the locker.” It’s a command, and normally I hate being ordered around by him. But right now, this is exactly what I need.
I place my hands on the blue lockers, pushing my hips back and out so that he can enter when he’s ready. And god, I hope he does it soon.
“So fucking beautiful, Hendrix, with your ass pushing out like this for me. I just need to remove those shorts. May I?” he husks in my ear.
My traitorous body whimpers at the thought of him removing my pants.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” He nips at my ear before moving his hands to the waist of my shorts. Slowly, he pulls them down, taking my underwear with them, so that I’m bare for him. “Oh, Hen, you are so fucking amazing. I can’t wait to come inside of you again.”
His hand slides to my hip and grips at my pussy. He pinches my clit before pushing two fingers inside of me. I respond by whimpering again as I push my hips back into him.
“August,” I moan.
“Yes, baby,” he whispers in my ear, reminding me of just how close I’m letting him get to me right now. “What is it that you need?”
“Stop with all this foreplay. You’re ready,” I say, pushing back into him. I can feel his erection through his briefs against my ass. “I’m ready, so fucking take me already or I’m going to put my clothes back on and leave you here sporting wood.”
