Page 20 of Finding Emotion

“You could be hurt from the fall,” he protested, his eyes moving to her shirt hem where the pulled safety clip still hung.

Her fingers ripped off the cord and flung it at the treadmill. “That part was fine. Stop making me say it.” Her hands returned to his tank top, twisting in the material as she glared down at him.

“What’s this really about?” Damon asked. He wanted to reach up and soothe the wrinkles on her brow, but resisted.

“Control, okay!” Skylar jerked on his shirt. “I had this stupid moment, and if you’d shut up and let this happen, that’d be just perfect.”

He struggled to lift his torso up enough to meet her eyes, which were still acting shifty as hell as they looked everywhere but at him. “A stupid moment? Because you fell off a treadmill?” He shook his head. “Would it help if I told you I’ve done that before?” There was an extra hefty dose of fallen pride when you fumbled as a rock star.

“Shit, you’re annoying.” Her body wriggled on top of him again, as if she couldn’t help it, but she frowned. “Maybe that other guy will do it. Jimmy was his name?” Her eyes snapped as they met Damon’s. “Yeah, I bet Jimmy would lie still and get stiff enough for me to ride him.”

Her slight sneer killed any interest his body had found despite his mind not being on board. He’d had more than enough sneer from Karyn, the only girlfriend he’d had as a rock star. “Jimmy probably would.” Damon tilted his hips so she’d slide off and shifted out from under her. “But I still don’t see how fucking someone is going to help you.”

Her hands covered her face as she shifted back against the wall. “No, you don’t.”

The slight tremble of them helped his own remembered anger recede. Skylar wasn’t Karyn. “Are you sure you’re not physically hurt? I can help you upstairs.”

“For God’s sake!” she shouted, her hands shifted to sink harder into her temples. “If you’re not going to fuck me, fuck off!” The breathy pant was back, as if she was gasping for air. The gasps increased in tempo. “No…” she moaned. There was anger in the word, but fear as well. She curled in on herself and faced the wall. Her fingers shook with how hard they pressed into her head, and the nails left crescent shapes behind.

“Is it a headache again?” Damon asked. He could no longer prevent his own fingers from touching her. Gentle strokes that were like a muscle memory, just over where hers pressed.

Skylar shuddered under the massage and her nails dug in deeper, before loosening altogether. “Why?” she whimpered.

“Why what?” Damon kept his tone soothing.

Her breathing hadn’t eased at all despite some of her tension receding. “Not again.” She tried to swallow. “Not that.”

“What’s ‘that’?” he asked, still confused.

He realized her eyes hadn’t closed like he’d thought. They were spread wide instead, staring into the wall as if she was afraid to close them. Afraid or panicked. Suddenly he understood. She was having some type of panic attack. His chest squeezed as he took in the slight tremors that ran the length of her body.

“Try deep breaths,” he urged, pulling one into his own lungs to demonstrate.

Skylar’s head shook before she pushed her forehead harder against the wall. “Doesn’t… work.”

Her pulse was fluttering in her neck, and her breathing had hitched again.

Damon grabbed her shoulders, pulling her on top of him as he flopped over onto his back. “But this will?” He tried to turn her to face him, but she was too stiff. His hands dropped to his sides. “Come on, Skylar, take control.”

She shifted until she straddled him. Her hands fisted in his tank top again. Her breathing hadn’t slowed yet, and her lips pressed together in order to control their tremble as she stared down at him.

“A pity fuck?” she asked. Her eyes looked like a storm, shadowed with only a flash here and there of color.

“You tell me,” he said, relaxing into the thin carpet. “You’re in charge.”

Skylar lowered, her mouth settling over his. There was salt in the meeting of their lips, which surprised him. He hadn’t noticed any tears. Then she nipped his bottom lip, and he opened to her tongue. He let himself sink into the sensation. Her mouth shifted, bit, and sucked with no rhythm, wild as she tried them all. He tried to keep up, repeating some of her gestures but not initiating any of his own.

She leveraged her body on top of him, sliding and rocking. He opened his eyes to watch her, getting a little dizzy at how sexily her lithe body moved over him.

Her face lifted, and she smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt, her thumbs brushing over his nipples through the material. “You sure?” she asked. She bit her lip as she cuddled his growing erection between her legs, continuing to rock. Her panting breaths had smoothed into something deeper, and as her head fell back with the next rise and fall of her body against his, he saw the much more steadily beating pulse along her throat. Her soft moan hardened his partial erection into something more. “Your cock feels sure.”

“Convince me.” He was the one that sounded breathless. Surprise filled him at how fast she’d turned him on again. Her fingers found their way under his tank top, shoving it to bunch under his armpits as her hands mapped out his chest and pinched his tightening nipples.

She lowered, the kiss hotter this time, all tongue and teeth and take. Her hips lifted, and her hands shoved his gym shorts and underwear down enough to free his cock. She wrapped him in her grip as she stroked up from the base and then back down. “Don’t come.” Her words next to his ear made him realize she’d stopped kissing him. She squeezed tighter with the next stroke, and his body flushed when her thumb brushed over his tip before she slowly worked her way back down. His awareness centered on his erection and how close she’d brought him already.

“You don’t come unless I say,” she said.

Her other hand massaged his balls, something no girl had ever done to him. There was a vulnerability to having them in her grip, but it felt too good to ask her to stop.

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