“The hell was that?” I ask, finding my footing on the cold tile.
Someone jingles the doorknob.
Whoever it is, I pity them for breaking into the home of an acclaimed MMA fighter.
Andrew’s slurred, drunken voice reassures both of us as he stumbles in, reeking of bourbon. He frowns. “Oh, hell nah. You two don’t do that... shit here. Or...anytime. Not wif Warlord.”
Ryder snaps his attention in my direction; his hand is right on my braless breast, and neither of us noticed while stuck in our reaction.
Our gazes connect, his hand still on that ample piece of my body.In seconds, my nipples harden from embarrassment, and I know he can feel it. Ryder drops his hand and runs it through his un-gelled hair, his usually controlled eyes wide and unfiltered. He swiftly glances at me, as if to gauge my reaction. I know I poorly hide what I want.
A dark expression overcomes him like a silent confession, his jaw clenched tight. I only return the heady look.
Ryder is about to say something to me, but it’s clear Andrew is toasted, so the fighter addresses the drunken coach.
“How’d you get home, man?” Ryder asks.
“Uber. Threw up in the backyard. Didn’t wannit in the front.”
Ryder helps Andrew up the stairs as I look up at the ceiling, my mouth hanging open as I chuckle.
Great.
The last thing I need is to know what Ryder’s hands feel like on my tits.
R Y D E R
* * *
I return to my room after putting Andrew on his stomach with a trash can next to him, some water on his nightstand. He stinks like a skunk, but he doesn’t seem too hammered. Just enough to slur and regret it the next day.
Once back in my room and hearing Julie go into hers, the neglected part of my brain quickly inflicts a memory I need to burn—the way her nipple hardened...
If I wasn’t positive that she was thinking the same thoughts, I’d just take a cold shower and write it off as an awkward encounter.
But it wasn’t awkward. We stared at each other in undeniable ways; that woman wants me. Pretty fucking bad, too.
And what the fuck am I doing? I’ve literally been here before, but I also know Julie isverydifferent.No, man, you have Warlord to win, remember? Go get fucking laid, and not by her.
I know I’m in trouble when the imagined scenario of her getting laid by another asshole heats my blood like I’m in the ring. Then I smirk, imagining her thinking of me while she tries to fuck the tension out of her.
And all of this pent-up testosterone, sexual frustration, and sexual tension with her, well, in that moment... I wanted her. My dick nearly gave me away when my blood traveled south far too quickly. I bet she’d move so easily in my hands or eagerly use that pretty mouth of hers to bring me to that edge. I want to see her get off on just the merethoughtof my cock filling her... if she needs that pressure eased by having someone fuck her, I might as well be the one to do it.
But there’snoway I’m crossing that line tonight. Not even because of Andrew, but it doesn’t feel right diving into her pants right after she nearly lost everything. And it’s not smart of me to indulge. It’s actually a really dumb fucking idea. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it after I was so dead-set on keeping her at bay.
But I gotta do something... and all I have is my hand.
So, I use it.
I know that backed-up feeling, aware that I just need to get it out of my system to regulate my self-control. I go to my usual fantasies, but my mind and balls only want one thing—whensheenters my head, while I’m gripping my cock... for a fleeting moment, I think of Julie’s warm mouth on me, her cheeks hollowing while gazing up at me. When I try to push it away, there’s an opposite effect—I then imagine her ass pressed against me, that slick heat of hers full of my cock, warmly gripping it while she whimpers. I can picture how easy it would be to reach around and rub her clit, her ass cheeks rippling as I drive into her pussy... fuck, that sends me right to the edge, and I let it all wash through me so the fantasy doesn’t sit for long.
I clean up and wipe away the mess, sitting on the bed. The clarity afterward is what saints must aspire to have, as there’s absolutely no sexual thought in my mind.
But my minddoesgo back to Julie. I kind of wish we could shoot the shit while watching more TV together or have a drink. Maybe ask her about her brother, or what she thinks about going to Warlord as theownerof a gym, or more about her old lady friend. Apparently, she makes good scones, and I know a thing or two about baking after watching my stupid show.
It’s hard to stop thinking of her body against mine. Of running my hands through her hair and making her foxy eyes gloss over with noother thought in the world…
So much for that post-nut clarity.
