I hold in my grin. This will be easy. There’s no way she’s getting away from me. She might give me a run for my money on our bikes, but not on foot. “You're on.”
She takes off running, bounding like a deer down the dirt trail that leads away from the pond and toward the hills. I wait thirty seconds before going after her. Up ahead, I see a blur of color as she weaves in and out of trees. Not for long. I pump my legs as fast as they will go, leaping a dead log to cut the distance some more.
It only takes a few more large strides of my legs until I can reach out and take her body in my arms. I fall to the ground with her in my embrace, and she squeals with the excitement of being caught as if we were teenagers. My shoulder slams onto the ground, but I’ve got her on my chest so that she won't be hurt at all.
She looks down, pushing her body up and off me with both of her hands on my chest. Her breasts rise and fall with deep breaths, and she stares into my eyes, a small smile playing on her face. My arms are wrapped around her waist, and as I move a hand to cup her ass, her eyes widen. Lust clouds her eyes, and I let the beast that’s been clawing to get to her out. I crush my lips against hers and love the feeling as she moans into my mouth.
I roll over and pin her under me, caging her in, never breaking our kiss.
“We can’t,” she breathes into the hot air between us, but I’m not listening. I kiss along her jaw and then down her neck as my fingers work to unbutton her pants. I’ve wanted her for so long. “The sun's still up, Aaron.”
Don’t do it, man. You’ll regret it. I pause as the words run through my mind. I peer down into her eyes and guilt threatens to overcome my lust. Such sweet innocence. I really shouldn’t be doing this. If we get caught, I could ruin her. I could ruin myself. I should get up and leave.
But the look in her eyes says it all. She wants me. All of me. Right fucking now.
I groan. I can’t take it anymore. Sometimes, the best things come with risk. “I fucking want you, Lindsey.” I tear at her clothes until she’s bared to me. My breathing comes in shallow pants as I look down at her flushed skin and her beautiful, curvy body.
“I want you too,” she whispers. Her eyes are full of vulnerability.
This is forbidden. We’re not supposed to be doing this. We're not supposed to be seeing each other, we're not supposed to be having sex, and we sure as fuck aren't supposed to be feeling for each other the way I do right now.
But as I gaze into her eyes and see nothing but desire back, I’ve already made up my mind.
Her needs are not only mine to fulfill. They’re my duty.
The sweat is dripping off my face, the spring warmth bouncing off the blacktop to suck the energy from my body. Why the hell did I sign up for a half-Ironman anyway?
Actually, that's not a fair question. All the work I've done on the bike since meeting Lindsey has more than paid off, and I've been flying on the bike for weeks now. And the day started off nice and cool.
But it was during the bike that the sun came out, and to be honest, I can't do anything about that. West Point is in the Hudson Highlands, where summers are certainly hot, but winter grabs hold in December and hangs on like a motherfucker until late March. When I left West Point, the average high was only seventy degrees during the day, and it was a dry seventy at that.
But this triathlon is in Virginia. The Army likes us to do it here because the team can stay on the nearby military base for housing the three days of the event. On the other hand, Virginia is at sea level, and it’s a hell of a lot hotter and more humid than New York. It wasn't too bad at the beginning. We started at seven in the morning, and the sky was a bit overcast, but now, the sun's out, and I'm struggling.
“You can do it!” some fan yells, and I glance over, seeing that it's a soldier. The military sponsors this event, and the winner of the pro group gets their ticket paid to the full Ironman qualifiers in California in September. So, a lot of the fans and the volunteers are military. In fact, I'm busting my ass right now to try and stay ahead of a guy from the Air Force Academy. I've already been passed by three people from Navy. They're on their home turf and know this course perfectly, but I'm not going to get passed by the goddamn Zoomie.
My feet are aching, and my knees feel like someone's shoving hot pokers into the backs of them with every step, but I still give the soldier a half-nod and a little wave and try to pick up the pace. With only a mile to go, I just have to suck it up for eight more minutes.
I round the curve at the bottom of the last hill, my lungs crying out. The air here is thick, heavy, wet soup, and I look up at the half-mile hill, my heart quivering in my chest. It looks like a heart attack waiting to happen, with my name written about every fifteen feet saying, 'die here.'