Page 21 of Speed Crush

I’ve self-pleasured many times before. In fact, Iliketouching myself. I love the way pressure on my clit makes my toes curl and my hips buck. I know how to get there fast—or take my time and let it build until I can’t take it anymore.

But last night?

I didn’t go there.

I didn’t go for a quick orgasm to scratch an itch. Not the kind I’ve given myself a hundred times before with a pillow or my fingers under the sheets.

Because I knew if I did—if I let myself come—it would befor him. For Noah Verelli.

The man who held me like it was second nature. Who danced with me like he does it all the time. Who pressed his cock against my hip like it meant nothing. Like I’d just forget what that did to me.

But I haven’t. That heat—his heat—is still in my skin. Still thrumming low and steady every time I breathe too hard or think too long.

So, if I had touched myself last night… if I’d let go with that memory in my head… it wouldn’t have been just mine.

It would’ve belonged to him. To a man who doesn’t even know what he left behind.

And I don’t want it to belong to someone like that.

Not to a man who’ll disappear the second the snow melts.

Not to someone who has no idea I’ve never let anyone touch me like that before.

That no one ever has.

If he knew…if he even guessed how inexperienced I really am… he’d probably laugh.

Or worse—he’d see it as a challenge.

And that terrifies me.

Because last night? I was dangerously close to letting him win.

So, I pulled my hands back. Laid there in the dark. Waited for the ache to pass.

But it didn’t.

It came back in waves. Every time I shifted, every time the sheets brushed over my nipples or the seam of my underwear pressed the wrong way.

But right as the heat started building again—when I could feel the edge creeping back and my body begged me to just give in—something hit me.

He probably doesthisto any woman he wants.

Touches them once and lives in their bodies for days. Says things in a voice that curls around their spines and rewires their thoughts.

He probably danced with them the same way he danced with me—across hotel rooms, in dark bars, at afterparties all over the world.

Said the same things. Held them the same way. Pressed in close just to feel them melt.

It probably wasn’t even special to him. Different women, same outcome.

I wasn’t special. Just convenient.

That thought chilled me enough to pull my hands away. To shut it down. To remind myself who I am and why I’ve kept my guard up all these years.

He’s temporary.

A beautiful, reckless distraction—all engine and danger—cutting through Cedar Falls like a midnight-red supercar on black ice. Fast. Flashy. Gone before you can catch your breath.

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