I wait a minute or two so I’m not climbing the stairs right on his heels. Then I go up to my windowed room, dig out a pair of hot pink running shorts, my white Under Armor running shirt, and my new-ish sneaks. I grab a rubber band and braid my hair in the bathroom.
I get down stairs after him, so I see him walk out a door beside the pantry pulling a gray t-shirt over his head. I smell a whiff of fabric softener, and then he walks around the island, and the sight of Kellan in his running gear takes my breath away.
My eyes cling to his incredible bare legs as he looks me up and down. “I like the hair.”
I touch my hand to my French braid and try not to gawk at the muscles of his thighs in those navy running shorts. I think they’re actually basketball shorts, because they’re longer. Geez... that shirt, the way it outlines his pecs. He’s just—Shit, have I said anything back to him? Stupid Cleo. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “Thanks.”
He lifts his brows. “You ready?”
I nod. Truman shows up, flouncing happily beside us as we walk toward the front door. I follow Kellan onto the porch, where we stretch.
“Do you do this every night?” It’s not lost on me that while I told him my whole life story, he told me exactly nothing.
“Almost. Especially if I don’t do cardio downstairs.”
“And how long do you say you do it for? The whole work out?”
“An hour and a half, two hours.”
“Damn. Are you like, training for a marathon? Like, really?”
He smiles, just one corner of his mouth tugging up a little. “Something like that.”
“Trying to keep your body lady-ready,” I tease.
He laughs, which sounds like choking. “What?”
“You know—trying to be .gif-worthy Kellan baby.”
I wiggle my brows, and he gives a low laugh. “You fucking know it.” He rolls his shoulders. Jogs in place a little. “Ready?”
“As I’ll be. You’ll probably leave me in the dust.”
And as it turns out, that’s exactly what he does. I can see him trying to go slow for me, but we’re unmatched. Kellan is a Spartan, and I’m a couch potato. He’s also almost a foot taller than me, so his Spartan legs, in addition to being incredibly well-muscled, are a good bit longer.
I admire him from behind the entire time he runs. He even has good running form. He holds his shoulders square and straight without being too tense. Where I look like a Muppet let loose on the road, Kellan looks like the athlete he is.
I think, as we turn around by a row of mailboxes and point ourselves back toward his house, that today has been different than I thought it would be. What changed from yesterday to today? He took me out to eat. He put his arm around me. He made me pecans. He asked so many questions. And then he invited me to run with him. Am I crazy, or was the Kellan from yesterday mostly just an ass?
By the time we jog up onto his porch, I’ve got so many endorphins partying in my brain, I really don’t care. I’m just slap-happy—and exhausted. So I’m taken off guard when we get into the foyer and Kellan yanks my running pants down.
“Kneel on the stairs and push your ass into the air,” he orders.
I do, and he crouches behind me. I can feel his smooth pecs brush my backside as he parts my lips and starts to finger me.
He inhales deeply. “Fuck—you smell incredible.”
Then he spanks me—hard.
“Ack! What the hell’s that for?”
“One,” he says, spanking me again, “for every—” spank—“word—” spank—“you—” spank—“just—” spank—“said.”
Then he leans down, pushes his head between my legs, and eats my pussy from the back.
I’m so sweaty, so dirty, that at first I think I’m not going to enjoy it, but I’m surprised to find I come almost immediately. I come even harder the second time he pleasures me. Then he carries me up the front stairwell to the windowed room and lays me on my back atop the massive oak bed. He spreads my sore legs, pulls his pants off, and climbs atop me, revealing his long, stiff cock, and the nice, full balls hanging below.
He eases his head in, then pushes in so deep and hard, I gasp.