Apollo (Cerberus MC)

Now that she’s curled in my arms, I consider the possibility that we can get back on track. She hasn’t exactly said that she forgives me, but she did say she believes what I told her. God, I told this woman way too much, having to stop myself more than once to remind my dumb ass that she’s not like other women I’ve met.

I didn’t pick her up at a bar. She isn’t a woman okay with casual sex or one-night stands. She isn’t accustomed to foul-mouthed sexual teasing.

I’m thorough. I’m a very generous lover.

Did I really open my damn mouth and say those things to her? I’m surprised she didn’t run out of here screaming. God, I wanted to kiss her so badly, but I felt like doing so would be taking advantage of her. She already told me that she doesn’t mind having sex with me.

Doesn’t mind? What asshole would jump on that?

Never mind, I’ve met many men in my lifetime that wouldn’t bat an eye, taking that as full consent.

But I’m not that type of man. Do I want to get her under me and prove that she can enjoy sex? Without a damn doubt.

But I’m not going to cross that line until she’s ready.

God, please say she’ll be ready at some point. Just holding her in my arms and smelling the scent of her hair is making my balls ache.

I shut those thoughts down. It’s that kind of shit that was running through my head that made me remember Nova, and that turned into a giant clusterfuck, one I don’t have any desire to relive, like ever.

April gasps in her sleep before a low groan follows.

Of course my eyes flutter closed, my brain using that as all it will ever need to imagine her making the very same sounds when I slide inside of her the first time. I picture her wide green eyes looking up at me, her perfect mouth hanging open in surprise. God, the slickness of her body, so ready and so tight. My nuts draw up tight against my body, my dick throbbing with every beat of my heart.

I just can’t take it anymore.

As slow as a glacier, I pull my arm from around her before extracting my arm from under her head. God, I regret climbing off the bed, but I can’t hide my reaction to her much longer. If she makes another noise or wiggles her hips one more time, I’m going to embarrass myself just like I did that one time Elizabeth Jones accidentally brushed my junk in eighth grade, and these slacks are dry clean only.

I somehow muffle my groan when I look down at her, the sight of her turning to her back with my absence, her dress inched up on her thin thighs, the hem flirting with indecency.

I have to walk out. I’m never going to survive this woman. I close myself into the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the damn light. I know exactly how I’ll look if I even get a glimpse of myself in the mirror—wide eyes, a feral, untamed beast. At least that’s exactly how I feel. I strip down, suddenly uncaring about the condition of my clothes as I toss them to the floor. I’m in the shower, frigid water pouring over every inch of my skin a second later. I bite my lip to keep from screaming from the sudden rush of freezing water. I’m dealing with my own problems right now, my inability to control my body around April. She doesn’t need to bear witness to my ineptitude.

Not turning on the light was a mistake. The darkness surrounding me makes it harder to ignore all my other senses, like the scent of her personal products lingering in the shower and the insistent throb below my waist.

I could easily take care of this problem. Light isn’t necessary for the muscle memory needed to wrap my palm around myself, but I know a self-induced orgasm wouldn’t put a damper on my need. Besides, I kind of want it to build, the anticipation of my first orgasm that she’s responsible for. I don’t want to waste an ounce of that desire. It wouldn’t bring a sense of relief but rather a demand from my body to experience the real thing. I don’t even use soap before climbing out of the shower, the cold water only flagging my erection rather than calming it completely.

I feel around for the towel, pressing my mouth to it in case I feel the urge to scream my frustrations, but before I can open my mouth, the bathroom light flips on. April walks in, eyes red and swollen from crying.

I reach for her, unsure why she’s upset. Her eyes go wide—darting from my face to below my waist—in shock for long seconds before she screeches and runs from the room. I chase after her, attempting to wrap the towel around myself in the process.