Page 71 of Fire

Hand at her own breast, she squeezed, tugging her nipple to create the same sensation. It was a poor substitute, but so was everything she was doing.

He’d release himself from his pants, fill her with one hard thrust. She’d stretch to accommodate him, and he’d groan, telling her, “You feel good, so tight, I’ve never felt anything so perfect.”

She glided a finger through her folds and slipped it inside, looking for the right spot that would take her over the edge. Her hips bucked in time to her finger’s movement, the heel of her palm rubbing against her clit, bringing her closer and closer to climax.

His thrusts would grow fiercer, harder, more erratic as he drew close. His breathing would become labored, his eyes would close, and his head would tip back. She’d stare at the line of his throat, the tendons stretching his skin as he worked. His biceps would bulge, and the veins in his forearms would grow more pronounced as his grip tightened on her thighs, holding her steady as he pounded into her.

Her head fell back, and the spray of water hit her chest, the stuttering streams pounding against her sensitized nipples. Her breathing grew shallow. She was close. So close.

He’d chant her name in a reverent whisper between panting breaths. His eyes would fall to hers and hold her gaze, telling her everything she’d ever wanted to hear. And then he’d come inside her, and the look that would transform his features would be glorious. He’d kiss her tenderly on the lips. Whisper something she couldn’t hear, but the tone would be enough. He was telling her he worshiped her.

Her fingers worked faster and then stilled as she tumbled over the edge, her body shuddering its release. She slowly opened her eyes, and a single tear fell down her cheek even as her pussy still tingled. She sat there, hugging her knees and crying out her pain until the water ran cold.

“What are you wearing?” Allie held a piece of toast halfway to her mouth, eyes wide, staring at her.

By the time Gwen had dried off, lotioned, and changed into her pajamas after her shower the night before, she’d had a new resolve. She was moving on from Blake. That meant, her crying jag in said shower was the last time she’d spill tears for him. That also meant no more sweats and ponytail days. She would go out, have fun, maybe get into a bit of trouble.

She was going to live life.

She held out her arms and did a complete turn. “What, you don’t like my outfit?”

“I love it. It’s just not your usual Sunday attire.”

Gwen looked down at her cuffed linen shorts and ribbed tank top. “I’m going to Farmer’s Market. I’ve decided sitting around watching TV all day is boring.” She waved a light-weight, canvas shopping tote for emphasis.

“Well good for you. I’d go with, but I’ve got my last shift at Flanagan’s in a few hours.”

“I didn’t know this was your last day. We should go out and celebrate later.”

“While I applaud your new outlook on life, I’m so tired from last night, I’m hoping I have enough stamina to make it through my shift. I’ll probably crash when I get home. But I do want a raincheck. I don’t get to party with you nearly enough.”

“Deal. So, I take it your date went well, then?”

A grin spread across Allie’s face. “Itwentback to his apartment. And Iwenttwo times.”

“Good for you. Mine didn’t go as well.”

Allie took a bite of toast and talked with her mouth full. “Bummer. What was the problem?”

She was about to say Blake, but something stopped her. She knew he wasn’t dangerous, but his actions did sound creepy, and she didn’t want Allie getting the wrong idea. Instead, she told a different truth. “All he told werebig fishstories. You know I hate when people exaggerate.”

Swallowing, Allie agreed, “Yeah, that’s pretty douchey.”

Grabbing her purse off the coatrack, she made her way to the door. “I’m off. I’ll pick something up for dinner.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be home around six.”

As Gwen made her way to the car, she tipped her head back, enjoying the sun’s rays and imagined them giving her strength. Then she smiled. It was going to be a great day.

He had gone insane. That was the only reason Blake could think of for his actions the night before and why he was at fucking Farmer’s Market now.

If someone had told him two months ago he’d be obsessed over a woman, he’d have scoffed. But here he was, unable to get his green-eyed beauty out of his head.

His actions were deplorable—borderline crazy. He knew that. And he should be worried. Should be on his phone with the shrink he hadn’t needed in ten years. But he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit, which was equally as worrisome.

He hadn’t felt so out of control since the night of his sixteenth birthday when he’d set torch to the only life he’d known, burning everything to the ground in a blaze so hot, it had seared his back as he ran, holding the only person who ever gave a shit about him in his arms. He hadn’t protected her as he should have.

He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

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