Page 3 of Taking Denver

I wonder if he’d let me. His eyes flare with annoyance, but beyond that is something more—intrigue? Definitely amusement. Fuck, what am I thinking? I’m not going to sleep with this guy. My rule before coming here was strictly no men. Not a single man was to approach my vagina, and I’ll happily smack anyone who tries—verbally or physically.

But the gunshot has my heart racing, and I’m desperate for a distraction. Running is no longer an option, not with this prick so close by, and with the group of tourists who arrived last night, this guy likely being one of them, the pool will be too full for a quiet swim.

I need to exert the energy and panic, and maybe I can channel it into this guy.

His gaze drops to my lips.

Bingo.

I’m never one for sensible choices. Hell, my recent ones led me here—to a resort on a remote island, my booking for two dwindled to one, with a gunshot ringing in my ears long before playing that song. I’m not known for my decision-making skills and likely never will be, which is why I throw caution to the wind.

“Fuck you,” I say, seizing the back of his neck and kissing him.

To my surprise and relief, he kisses me back.

The stranger grips the back of my thighs, lifts me into his arms, and carries me to the far side of the gym. He presses me against the wall, and goodgod, this man can kiss. I haven’t kissed anyone in months, and the feel of his mouth lights a fire in me. His lips are soft. He tastes sweet. Beneath the unbridled passion lies a softness, a gentle but solid desire that has me relaxing in his hold. When he slips his tongue into my mouth, I inadvertently moan.

“Take off my leggings,” I whisper.

He drops me to my feet and gets to his knees without me having to ask twice, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he pulls off my sneakers. He pulls my leggings down and runs a tongue up my sweat-slicked stomach, my pulse thrumming throughout my body as he kisses and nibbles across my naval.Fuck, he’s annoyingly good at this. I wish I knew his name so I could say it.

When his lips leave my skin and he stands, I grab my gym bag, pulling out a condom.

He arches a brow. “Why do you have a?—”

I pull his shorts down, and when I tear the packet with my teeth, he doesn’t finish his question. I roll the condom onto him, and when he lifts me again, he’s inside me.

“Oh, fuck.” My head drops against the wall.

Three months. Three months since I’ve had sex, and now I’m letting a stranger fuck me against a gym wall.

But what a reintroduction to sex.

He is—for lack of a better word because words have seemingly abandoned me—perfect. Long, thick, hard as a fucking diamond, and he takes his time sinking deep. With every inch, he pauses, eliciting small, pathetic whimpers from me, whimpers I resist turning into begs for him to fuck me.

When he withdraws, I curse. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he breathes into my ear. “This?” He pulls out further, and I tighten my legs around his waist.

“Fucking tease,” I groan.

“There’s that mouth again.” He nips my earlobe. “Should I fuck the attitude out of you?” He inches back inside, stretching and filling me until I can’t grasp the right words to put this motherfucker in his place. “Oh, now you’re quiet.”

I groan, eyes fluttering closed. “You?—”

“What?” He pushes deeper. “Use that mouth again.”

But I can’t. My mind is a jumble of colors and feelings andhim. This beautiful, arrogant, perfect-dicked stranger is doing what countless men have tried to do to me in the past—shut me up.

“Silence?” he teases, his hands firmly gripping my ass and kneading the muscle there. He runs his tongue from the juncture of my neck, stops below my ear, and whispers, “Good girl.”

He slams into me.

I cry out, my eyes flying open, pleasure tearing through me. The pressure that has built gradually over months dissipates, a coil of tension unraveling so quickly it sends me dizzy.

He withdraws and slams into me again and again, the seconds between each meeting of our bodies far too long. He kisses me, his tongue massaging mine, and it steals whatever strength I have left.

My body is a whirlwind of tingles centered at my core, growing with every movement of his hips. I’m teetering close to the edge, that wonderful, glorious edge, but I need more.

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