“I don’t like this game,” I tell him.
His knees rest on either side of my hips, straddling me and making it near impossible to roll off the couch or to acquire a long, sultry kiss.
“You don’t?” His brows rise, and his hand disappears up my thin cotton shirt. Gliding over my skin, teasing me. It’s a rush that fills me with need.
“Yes,” I breathe. Yes? Was that the right response?
“Looks like you’re stuck here,” he says.
Yes. I try to focus, but that hand is creeping up my abdomen at such a slow, intoxicating pace. “No kissing?” I whisper.
He bends down, and his lips brush the nape of my neck, his nose nuzzling me. I cry a little, the sensations blistering and pulsing inside of me. His tongue slides against my soft skin, and I shudder, my limbs trembling beneath him.
Not fair. So not fair. I am a goner. I let out a hoarse ragged breath, and then wedge my arm between our bodies, enough that I can place a hand on the outside of his pants. When I begin rubbing, he groans into my neck.
Ha! I take it a step further and slide my hand underneath the elastic of his gym shorts but over his tight compression shorts, like spandex that most guys wear to keep their stuff in place when they work out. Very little fabric lies between my palm and his cock.
Lo rocks his pelvis, sucking gently on my neck, and his lips travel to mine in a brief moment, attacking with feverish hunger. Yes. God yes.
Instead of moving my hand, I let him grind his body against me. My lips ache and swell, and my panties begin to soak. When I feel him harden, I let out a sharp breath and try to slip my fingers beneath his compression shorts.
But he rests his palm on top of my hand, silently telling me to keep it there.
He kisses slower, and his tongue flicks in and out of my mouth, the best French kisser in the whole wide world. I think I could do this forever. Well, not forever. I need a release sooner or later, but foreplay has never been better between us. I revel in the beforehand now. Each moment means something. It’s not just about the climax.
Though something hard, really hard, right inside of me would be just about perfect.
“Hey, get the fuck off each other.” Ryke’s voice wakes me from my blissful thoughts. A pillow assaults my side.
Lo props his body up with one arm, just enough to detach his lips from mine and reveal exactly where my hand has journeyed. In Lo’s shorts. On his cock.
Should I look over? I do. I glance at Ryke, who towers over the couch. My elbows heat in a shade of rash-red. Ryke crosses his arms, a dark accusing look on his face. “The couch is a public area.”
“We weren’t fucking,” Lo refutes with a half-smile. “Thanks for the concern, bro.” He helps me retrieve my hand from his shorts because I have frozen in a pit of embarrassment.
“Ten minutes later and you might have been,” he notes. “I really want to fucking go. The weight benches are probably all taken, so can you hurry up?”
“Yeah give me ten minutes.”
“Not with her,” he says. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Shit.
Lo’s jaw muscles tic, and he rises to his feet. “Ten minutes alone, I got it.”
I cover my hot face with my hands, watching out of the cracks of my fingers. I can’t touch myself. For other people, it’s not so dangerous. For me, it may trigger my compulsions. Losing thoughts and time to porn and masturbating—not again. I don’t want to regress, not with this baby ticking inside of me.
I just need…to forget about the pulsing between my thighs. Do not think of what it feels like to climax, Lily. Think about ugly thoughts. Unattractive things. I glance at Ryke, his scowly unshaven face and general broodiness. It almost kills my arousal. Almost.
Lo pauses beside the couch, and his eyes fall to me. “You’re coming with us, Lil.”
“Nonono,” I say. “I’m coming with you, not him.” I point a finger at Ryke, thusly removing a hand-shield from my face.
Ryke groans. “Really, Calloway?”
“Not that type of coming, Lil,” Lo says with a small smile, making me like less of a sex-crazed freak. He nudges my shoulder with his knee. “To the gym, okay?”
I nod, nervous flutters in my belly. I can hold out. I realize I’ve crossed my legs. I’d like something very, very hard still. Don’t think about it. Right. Unattractive things. Ryke Meadows. Ryke Meadows.
I breathe out.
“Don’t leave her,” Lo tells Ryke. It’s not a question.
His fear lingers long after he leaves, like a dust storm he kicked up in his wake. I think I’m okay. Wet, aroused, but I can wait until tonight. No porn or touching. It’s not what I really want anyway. Loren Hale is my one true desire.