Page 45 of Checks & Bonds

The word sent a jolt through me, lighting up every nerve in my body. A groan escaped me as I absorbed the truth of it.

"That's right, baby," I murmured against her skin. "Your husband is fucking you. You going to be a good wife and come all over his cock the same way you did with his fingers?"

Freya whimpered beneath me, her eyes locked on mine, and I felt the last shreds of my control slipping away. The rhythm between us quickened, our bodies moving in perfect tandem. Each thrust drew me closer to the edge, a place where reason and restraint no longer existed.

"You want to come, you better do it now," I whispered against her ear, my voice strained. "I'm going to come inside of you whether you do or not."

A primal moan tore from her throat, raw and unfiltered. That sound—pure and desperate—was my undoing. My grip tightened on her hips as I drove into her one last time, losing myself completely in the sensation.

Her body convulsed around me just as I reached my peak, shuddering in perfect sync with my own release. The world around us disappeared, leaving only the shared intensity of our climax. Every nerve in my body seemed to light up at once, an overwhelming wave of pleasure that stole my breath.

We stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, our breaths mingling as we came down from the high. It felt like an eternity and a split second all at once.

The realization of what I had done hit me like a sledgehammer. Slowly, I lowered Freya down, feeling the weight of my actions settle in my chest. Her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, her body trembling.

I pulled out and saw my come dribble from her, coating her inner thighs. The sight stirred something dark and primal within me, but I fought it back with every ounce of willpower I had left.

"Don't come here again," I managed to say, my voice harsher than I intended. It was the only way to protect myself from the pull she had on me.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and filled with emotions I couldn't untangle. But I couldn't afford to care about that right now. I yanked up my sweatpants, securing the barrier between us.

I needed to get away from her before I did something else just as reckless, just as stupid. Turning on my heel, I left her there in the office, a mess of conflicting feelings swirling in my gut.

I stormeddown the narrow staircase to the basement, my mind a turbulent mess. The air grew cooler with each step, the dim light casting shadows that seemed to mock me. I shoved open the door to the gym, a sanctuary of steel and sweat. The scent of rubber mats and iron weights hit me immediately, a welcome reprieve from the intoxicating aroma of Freya that still clung to my skin.

The gym was a Spartan affair—bare walls, minimal equipment. A single bench press, a set of free weights, and in the center of it all, a heavy punching bag suspended from the ceiling by thick chains. It swung gently, as if inviting me to release my fury.

I crossed the room in quick strides, my hands already wrapping with tape from a box on the floor. Each turn around my knuckles was like adding another layer of armor against the thoughts threatening to break through. Freya's eyes haunted me—those pale green depths filled with conflicting emotions as she whispered my name.

With a growl, I launched my fist into the bag. The impact reverberated up my arm, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more—needed to obliterate every trace of her from my mind.

Left hook. Right jab. Another left hook. My fists moved on their own accord, each punch accompanied by a surge of adrenaline. The bag swung violently, its chain rattling like an anchor straining against a storm.

But no matter how hard I hit, I couldn’t shake her scent—wildflowers and something uniquely her. It wrapped around me like a vise, tightening with every breath I took.

And her essence?

Fuck, I could bury myself in her pussy and live there.

Damn it.

I slammed both fists into the bag with enough force to send it swinging back wildly. Sweat dripped down my face. I leaned into another punch, harder this time, my knuckles aching from the relentless assault.

"Why?" I muttered under my breath between punches. "Why can’t I get you out of my head?"

Each strike was an attempt to exorcize her memory—the way her body had responded to mine, how she had whispered my name in that breathless tone that made me lose control.

I kept punching until my muscles screamed for mercy and the sweat poured off me in rivulets. But no amount of physical exertion could erase what had happened or the way she made me feel.

The audacity of her, to go to my grandfather's office. My fists pounded against the punching bag, each strike a release of the rage boiling inside me. She shouldn't be there. How dare she be there? The intensity of my punches increased, the bag swaying wildly from the force.

Fuck, she felt so good when she climaxed. The memory surged unbidden, a cruel reminder. The way she gushed all overme, the sounds she made—those desperate, breathless moans. Her body spasmed in my arms, every muscle taut and trembling. I’d never experienced anything like it.

My fists blurred into motion, each punch harder than the last. I wanted to erase her from my mind, but the sensations lingered. I wanted her again. I wanted to take her again.

But that was never going to happen.

My knuckles screamed in protest as they met the unyielding surface of the bag. The sweat poured off me in waves, drenching my shirt and matting my hair to my forehead. Each punch echoed with frustration and longing.

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