She was so sweet, so hot. Her small breasts were perfect, so responsive. I loved the way she gripped my hair, how unaware she was doing it, and how she gave herself fully to sensations.
Gotta think of something else.
No matter how many times I thought about it, I couldn’t get over how she was still here after what I’d told her in the maze.
It’s not your fault. Nothing that you or anyone could say to me would change my mind about it, she’d said. Did she mean it?
I’d heard it all before—from the doctors I’d seen when I was a kid, how it wasn’t my fault, how I should start to heal and let go. Their words all felt meaningless. None of them got through to me. They were professionals who got paid to care. That wasn’t real. Not to me.
But she was. It was her presence—her resilience and compassion—that meant more to me. More than anything. I needed her right now. Under me, moaning, calling out my name. I wanted to feel the press of her legs against my hips as I…
Think of something else.
But, Christ, I wanted this woman like I’d never wanted anything before in my life. There was no rational explanation for it. It just was.
What the hell is this?
My bike. I missed my damn bike. I couldn’t wait to ride it again. The speed, the freedom. Once it was repaired, everything would go back to normal again. I pictured it in my head. Parked in front of the cabin, it would look black and sleek and gleaming.
And there she was coming out of my cabin, wearing nothing but white lingerie. In my head it was sheer white. And lace. It made my mouth water. Ice-pick high heels.
She’d throw me that come-and-get-me look over her shoulder. She’d crook her finger at me, her fiery hazel eyes on me, as she hooked her leg over my bike and straddled it like she was going to…
Damn.
I pressed my hands on the tiles, clenched my teeth. The bike. Get
back to the bike.
Maybe she’d look better naked. In my mind, her lingerie disappeared. She was naked now, blinking slowly at me, silently asking me to take her.
I gave up and rubbed one out.
I dried myself quickly, put on the same jeans, and stepped out barefoot into the living room.
She was sleeping.
I sat on the floor quietly, watching her face as she slept. She looked peaceful, with a small smile on her face.
I reached out and gently moved the lock of hair on her cheek. Then she opened her eyes slowly.
It felt like getting a quick, sharp stab. Right in the damn heart. That first moment she opened her eyes. And that moment of recognition in her eyes. And that moment when she smiled. As if she was happy she woke up and found me there. I was at a loss for words.
There was a tightness in my chest, and the more I watched her face, the tighter it got.
“Hi,” she said.
I would have spoken if I knew my voice would work.
“Aren’t you going back to sleep?” she asked drowsily.
But I was feeling…off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I’m not—” I cleared my throat. “I’m not tired.” My voice sounded clipped.
Why the fuck do I do this?
She blinked at my face. I had to get away from her line of sight. She’d noticed something wasn’t right and she was starting to wake up.