Page 37 of Ignite

Oh, heaven help me.

A woman had never felt so good. No woman. Not even my first time.

She squeezed again, and my balls tightened.

“Do it now,” she commanded, and I lost it.

Bucking against her, she sat upright again, keeping me in place until one hand crept up to my chest. The exquisite shot of pain from my pinched nipples reached down to my cock.

I lost my composure.

I shot my load.

Thrusting over, and over, until I knew there was nothing left.

Nothing but conversation. We needed to talk. Yes, I was now the lust-struck idiot wanting to sprout sentimental shit.

We needed to talk. After all, what the hell was that?

My hands loosened around her hips, and I tried to regain my breath and coherent thought.

“That was …” Did I really need to finish the sentence?

No answer.

Really?

If it hadn’t lasted long enough, well, I’d tried to warn her. If we’d had a conversation first, I’d have acknowledged that my priorities had been on my mother for her last months, not on getting laid. It had been on finishing the last football season, getting a new job and new life, not on finding a new woman.

If Rylee had wanted more action, she should have let me slow things down.

Her eyes were no longer the soft brown, no longer lustfully glazed over. They were blank as she quickly unstraddled my hips and untangled our limbs. She had the purposeful movements of a woman on a mission, although I was grateful she allowed me to remove the condom from my deflating hard-on.

“Just a sec,” I said, excusing myself to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I disposed of the condom, splashed water on my face, and stared at the stranger in the mirror. My chest was covered in red marks, and I wanted to get each one tattooed with the words,Rylee was ‘ere. Damn, how was I ever going to top that for her? I splashed more water, smoothed down my hair, and returned to the empty room.

No.

Empty room.

I stood, naked, in an empty hotel room silently cursing because Rylee hadn’t even needed to get dressed before leaving.

No.

With my remaining brain cell, I grabbed the door pass and remembered to jump into my jeans before opening the door.

I bolted towards the end of the corridor. Elevator or stairs?

Stairs.

Risking my dodgy ankle, I ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, jumping the last four of each floor.

My only reward for an angry ankle was bursting into the foyer just in time to see Rylee escape onto the street, turning right.

Feeling like a used condom, I ignored the judgy looks of groups on a pub crawl as I chased her. She strode ahead, but I ran to catch up. Barefoot, I dodged broken glass, intent on closing the gap. Twenty meters, then ten. Then she stopped at a crossing. Not caring who saw us, I grabbed her arm and she jolted backward. Her expression was still blank; not amused, but not shocked.

“What the fuck?” More judgy looks, although I nodded with respect to two guys who at least stopped to make sure she was alright. Small towns were like that. Even though we were in Beringi, it was obvious people recognized Rylee and thought I was just another asshole trying to manhandle her in the street.

We needed to get back inside before punches preceded their questions.

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