Page 54 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

Casey doesn’t sit down. He parks his hip against the table edge, right beside me—because in a past life, I must have been a bitch and karma hates me—and thrusts his hand at me.

“Huh?” I stare at his hand. “What…?”

“Do I smell? Can you smell me?” He’s offering his hand for me to sniff. At least it looks that way and before I can think about it too hard, I take his hand and press my nose to his wrist, where his pulse is thrumming. “Fuck…”

Yeah,I think faintly,fuck, dear God…

He smells insanely good. I have a sudden urge to lick his wrist, or maybe bite it, see if his skin tastes like his scent, like his mouth, if he’s sweet and spicy all over.

He’s dangerous. I see why Sophie is losing her ever-loving mind.

And I don’t know why the thought of Sophie desiring Casey makes me want to bite harder, leave a mark on his flesh, mark him as?—

“What is it?” His voice is a breath. He’s bowed over me, strain on his face. “Gigi?—”

“I can smell you,” I say, making myself release his hand. “But it’s faint. Then again, I’m a beta. My sense of smell isn’t all that good. We’d have to ask Ronin.”

“No fucking way.” He pushes off the table, arms wrapped around himself. “Ronin hates me.”

“Hates you? I really don’t think so.” Abandoning the mint tea, I go to stand beside him. “Casey, look, Ron may be a bit abrasive, but he’s a good guy, I swear. The only thing that bothers him is?—”

“My scent. I know.”

I hate how rigid his back looks, his shoulders up to his ears. “What you said about your family…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers.

I place a hand on his arm, to comfort him, but he turns, gathering me against him, burying his face in my loose hair. He’s trembling slightly, but he’s also hard. So hard, against me, his scent growing stronger as he hauls me closer.

My arms wind around him, my hands on his strong back, my face against his neck. I’m shivering. It’s both emotional and exciting to be in his arms like this, and tilting my head back, I press my lips to his skin.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees, “we shouldn’t.”

Then he lifts a hand to gently tilt my head back so he can kiss me. It starts slow and gentle, like the last time, but then we’re falling into the kiss, and it grows hungry and hard.

Hard like he is.

With a low growl, he grabs my waist and lifts me up on the counter, stepping between my legs. Then he lifts them and wraps them around his hips, so that his trapped cock presses against the soft center of me, making me whimper.

Oh my God, this feels amazing. As he resumes kissing me, I can’t help but rock a little against him, and he purrs deep inside his throat. The combination of his mouth on mine and his cock between my legs is driving me crazy.

It’s an imitation of sex without penetration, without even skin on skin, and it shouldn’t feel so mindblowing, but it does.

Because I want him.

Because I wasn’t able to stop thinking about him.

Even with the thoughts of the other guys crowding my mind, tonight he was at the center, taking over my mind, worry and lust intertwining into a tight knot of need.

The need to see him.

The need to touch him.

All I can taste is vanilla sugar and spice, all I can feel is how hard he is between my legs, his cock rubbing against my clit, pressing onto it through my thin pajamas and panties. His mouth is devouring mine, more desperate than ever.

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