I forget about the sparring I’m supposed to be running and the people probably waiting on us in the other room, wondering where we are. My world has narrowed to a pinpoint and at the center of it is this girl. I can’t even muster up enough give a shit to care that she has me wrapped around her finger, no matter how much crap I catch from the other guys. They’re the ones wrestling with other dudes on the mat when I have my hands full of her instead.
Her hand comes back up and guides my right hand down to the waistband of her shorts, effectively sucking any and all air out of the immediate vicinity. I press my forehead into the cool concrete above her shoulder in an attempt to regain rational thought.
It doesn’t work.
She urges my fingers underneath the elastic of her short pink exercise shorts I’ve been admiring all afternoon, and holy shit, she’s not wearing any panties.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” I whisper against her shoulder.
“Jack, please.” Her voice is short. Thin. Desperate. The exact voice I heard in every single naughty fantasy I’ve had since we’ve been apart. The one that makes me lose all common sense.
My chest heaves as my fingers slide over her smooth skin, finding her wet. I narrow in on a spot that makes her hips jerk. Her arms go around my shoulders like twin vices. My middle finger glides between her lips and I have to put a bracing arm against the wall to keep us both upright. She spreads her legs, damn near hooking one over my hip.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and bite down on her shoulder. My fingers flick over her and she moans. Her scent surrounds me in the small, dark space.
“Gotta be quiet,” I whisper against her skin.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You better.”
I could spend the rest of my life like this, tangled up in her. The thought of the months we’re going to spend apart, possibly even years, feels like a distant worry. I tuck it in the back of my mind. Instead, I focus on her. Her scent. Her taste. And I know if we were anywhere else, she’d be naked.
God, I want to see her naked. The one time I was able to get her in bed before I shipped out wasn’t enough. In fact, it was a tease. An awkward, sweaty, quick tease, considering it was her first time, and I was more worried about hurting her than anything else. I promised her the next time would be better, longer, but she’d just smiled up at me and said she didn’t care.
Fuck that. I did. Which is why I’ve made her come as many times and in as many darkened corners as possible since I got off the plane. For the last few days, my one and only goal has been to learn her each and every response. Now, I can tell she’s close like it’s second nature. The same way my body innately responds in the ring. Her breath speeds up and if it wasn’t so dark, I know I could see her olive skin turning red. She’s making these little sounds in the back of her throat, and I don’t know why the hell I started this shit out here in the open, where I can’t take my time. Where I can’t see her.
Next time. Next time I’ll get her away somewhere. Away from our families. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with a bed. We should definitely have a bed next time.
Her arms constrict around my neck. My fingers start to cramp in the sliver of space between us, but I don’t stop.
“Don’t stop,” she echoes, confirming my suspicion that I can read her body like nothing else.
I slow, an ache spreading through my hand, and she pulls at my shirt in protest. The door opens again and laughter spills out. We’re around the corner from the main gym, down the hallway that leads to the bathrooms in an alcove that houses the water fountains. There’s barely enough room for the both of us. The light’s been broken here for a week or two and my dad hadn’t repaired it yet.
Lucky for me.
When the door closes and footsteps follow, Sofie looks up at me, her eyes wide. I should pull back, let her fix her clothes, but I don’t. I strum faster and her eyes go even wider. My fingers are slipping and sliding over her now, so much that I can’t keep any type of rhythm.
The footsteps grow closer.
We’ve got a couple minutes—maybe less—if they’re heading this way. Based on her frantic movements, she’s almost there. I use my chest to keep her pressed against the wall and hitch her leg all the way around my hip. With that hand, I dip inside the back of her shorts and find her. I add teasing fingers to her entrance, and that’s all it takes. She bucks against me, and I take her mouth to swallow the sounds of her orgasm. She whimpers as it fades, panting, chest heaving.
The person down the hall coughs, their shoes squeak. As their steps get closer, I reluctantly remove my hands from her pants and straighten her bra and shirt. The latter, I do so slowly, memorizing the look her of her like this.
Vulnerable. Sexy as fuck.
All mine.
The door opens and closes again and more footsteps echo down the hall, startling us from the seclusion of the shadowed corner.
“You okay?” I take a step back, adjusting my dick so it doesn’t tent the front of my pants. At least not more than it already is.