Pretend I'm Yours (Pretend 1)

I pull myself off the ground and chase after Larkyn. And I know that for the next ten miles, that is what I’m going to be doing.

Chasing her.

I collapse onto my sofa after the ten miles, which felt more like twenty, because Larkyn chose the hardest fucking route she could find. There were thirty-three hills on the route. Thirty-three! Insane. And she said that was her easy run day. I don’t want to know what her hard day is.

I pant over and over, covered in sweat. I ditched my T-shirt somewhere around mile three. And there is no way I’m walking, or even getting in one of my cars, to go back and get it.

Larkyn walks by me, and into the kitchen. I hear her opening cabinets, and then I hear the ice as it clinks in a glass.

She walks back, and stands over me, smirking.

“I don’t know how you are standing. Or moving at all,” I pant.

She walks over to me and holds out a glass of water. I take it, chugging the entire glass in one gulp.

She takes a seat near my feet, and props her foot up on my ottoman before placing a bag of ice on her foot.

I raise an eyebrow. “Your ankle hurt?”

“No, but it will. I pushed it hard.”

“Why?”

She stills and takes a sip of her water. I don’t think she is going to answer me.

“Because I like competing against myself. I like being healthy. I like being this fit. And I like winning.” She smirks at me when she says winning.

Dammit. She really does plan on winning our little battle with each other.

She smiles with her eyes as she gazes at me. “I’m surprised you were able to keep up.”

I moan. “I’m not moving off this couch the rest of the week. You killed me.”

“I didn’t ask you to come with me. I usually prefer running on my own. No one to hold me back.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on running with you again.”

She leans her head back with a massive grin on her face. She thinks she’s won. One less thing for her to worry about.

“I plan on driving next to you in my car as I yell profanities at you.”

Her head pops back up fast, looking at me with wide-eyes and thinned lips. She’s terrified that I would really do that. And I think I just might.

Suddenly, my tastes for making her squirm change. I want to make her squirm, but for very different reasons. I’m tired of our game where I annoy the crap out of her, so she doesn’t fall in love with me. I want to make her writhe under my grasp as I lick her most sensitive of parts, and taste how delicious her juices taste mixed with the sweet sweat misted over her body.

“No,” she says, noticing my reaction before I say anything or move.

I laugh. “I want to taste you.”

“No,” she says again, her voice shaky. She wants me too, but is afraid. “I’m gross and I smell. At least let me shower first.”

I smirk. “No, I want you as you are.”

She takes off up the stairs. I jump off the couch, and chase after her.

She may be fast, but I’m stronger. She won’t win this. I’ll catch her. And when I do, I’ll give her the best orgasm of her life.

Life is perfect with her. We’ve only been married one day, but this is precisely what I imagined. Fun. Flirting. And sex. Nothing serious.