Managed (VIP 2)

He grumbles, and we fall silent. Despite his complaining, I’m glad he chose to come out with me. Though he never ran with me before, we used to lift weights together, spotting each other because we were of a similar strength then. It was one of the few things we did as friends, without business taking centerstage.

I haven’t thought of it until now, but I miss that time with him. I run a few more beats. “Perhaps it’s best if you find an alternate form of exercise.”

Though I’m not looking his way, I hear his scoff loud and clear. “Don’t you dare go easy on me, Scottie boy. I count on you to kick my lazy ass.”

It’s a struggle to keep a straight face. “Very well then, move that lazy arse, and stop complaining.”

We pick up our pace once more. Or I do. Jax groans and plods along with terrible form.

The hotel looms in front of us.

“I’m warning you now,” I tell him as we pass slow, strolling people. “I’m taking the stairs to my room.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Jax says, looking horrified. “I’m stopping in the lobby.” He flashes a rare, wide smile. “I’ll pace around panting and guzzling water. Probably take me under a minute to find someone to rub me down.”

Of course he will. I’d have to be willfully blind to miss the attention we both receive, even now, as we sweat under the hot Spanish sun. Wherever we go, eyes follow.

I could do the same as Jax. It’d be easy as snapping my fingers to find sexual release. These days, my body is aching for it, my balls sore from lack of fulfillment. And yet the thought of finding some willing woman in the hotel lobby makes my stomach lurch. Needing sex isn’t precisely the problem; it’s more an issue of being constantly tempted by one, certain woman.

As soon as we enter the hotel, I leave Jax to his hunting and take the stairs, pushing myself to go faster, harder. My thighs scream in protest, my lungs burning as I pound along. I don’t stop. I want the pain. I want to be so exhausted that my body gives up asking for what it can’t have, and I can go through the day with an ache in my muscles, not my cock.

By the time I get to the room, I’m so spent, I’m nearly stumbling. It’s blissfully Sophie-free in the cool of the room. I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge as I pace around, my chest heaving. My blood rushes through my ears, my vision a haze as I bumble my way into the bath, drinking as I go.

Shoving my shorts down and toeing off my trainers, I turn to reach for the taps and knock down a small laundry basket sitting on the sink.

I rub the sweat out of my eyes and find myself facing yet another batch of Sophie’s knickers, now scattered all over the floor in a patchwork rainbow of silk.

Fucking fuck. A pair of little white panties patterned with tiny red cherries rests on my foot. My hand closes around cool silk, and my cock rises so swift and hard, I actually groan.

I’m not prepared; I’m too weak this time. Too fucking weak to stop myself from lifting the panties to my nose and breathing in deep. A wave of lust slaps through me so hard, my knees nearly give out.

Because these are Sophie’s dirty knickers. And I’m the perverted bastard who’s getting off on the musky scent of Sophie’s pussy.

Another groan tears out of me as I fall against the cold tile wall. I close my eyes tight, fighting the urge to take another breath. Don’t do it, mate. Drop them and get the hell in the shower.

But I can’t. My cock is so hard it throbs in time with my frantic heartbeat. God, her scent…the tart-sweetness of her perfume lingers, calling the golden hue of her skin to mind. Only this time, I picture her on the bed, wearing noting but these cherry panties, her tits thrust in the air, her thighs spread wide. Just waiting for me to nuzzle between them.

Without my permission, my hand slides over my chest, rubbing those dirty little knickers on my skin, as if I can soak up that scent and make it part of me.

I’m shaking, my breath disjointed and deep as my hand descends. Smooth silk wraps around my cock. I fist it and squeeze my eyes tight as I give myself a hard tug.

Sweat trickles down my stomach, my pulse thrumming on my neck. I jerk at my needy cock, my sore muscles bunching with each pull. It feels so damn good, and not nearly good enough. I almost hate her in this moment. Hate her for making me this needy. Only, I don’t. Not even a little bit.