Page 19 of Choosing the right Man

Maybe the security crew gives out the information, or maybe there are secret spy cameras hidden around. I’m unsure of what it is, but information is indeed getting leaked. I refuse to be a part of that.

Or at least I have good intentions of not getting involved. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, it’s easy to lose your senses and get caught up in the action.

It’s Friday night, and I had no time for a workout this morning. Hard cardio is a great substitute for sex. I honestly can’t remember the last time Paul and I had sex, but whenever it was, I’m sure it was brief and awkward. The last time we were intimate, as soon as the sex was over, he’d rolled over and went to sleep within seconds. I’m utterly unsatisfied, as I have been for a while, and a showerhead can only go so far.

Running and weightlifting are my new obsessions. I’ve been left with no choice but to buy new clothes because I’ve developed muscles in my arms and legs, and the waistline I’ve been so critical of is slimming. I feel better than I have since I was a teenager.

When I miss a day, I’m frustrated, and my sexual desires seem to soar through the roof. I’m only twenty-seven, so I can’t be going through the nymphomania stage I hear all women go through midlife. I’ve had sex regularly since I was seventeen years old, and now, all of a sudden, it’s being withheld from me— not intentionally I hope, but still being withheld... and Ineedsex. I might actually burst if I don’t do something about this.

Thankfully, Mason has been gone all week, so it’s safe for me to make a late-night gym visit. We worked late tonight, and it’s six o’clock by the time I get to the gym. That’s fine because the regulars are gone. It’s only me in the gym, which means I can hook my iPhone into the speaker system and rock out, not bothering with headphones. Hardly anyone works out on Friday nights. They’re too eager to get to their weekend activities or to throw on a pair of sweats and a ratty T-shirt, whichever suits them.

Thirty minutes of running isn’t enough to burn my energy, so I throw off my shirt and continue running harder in my perfectly suitable sports bra and shorts. I’m overheating, but it’s good. I want to barely be able to walk when I leave this building. I need to make it through another weekend of disappointment.

My favorite workout mix plays, and I sing along — completely off-key — and turn up the speed on the treadmill, setting the incline to five and pushing hard for another ten minutes. By the time I set it to a brisk walk for a cool-down, I’ve worn myself out. I don’t have the energy to lift tonight. My muscles are still sore from Thursday, so I’m not going to be too hard on myself.

After a five-minute cool-down, I grab a towel and wipe my brow as I turn off the machine. I wipe my sweat from it, then turn... and stop in my tracks. Mason’s here, his gaze practically burning my already flushed skin.

His eyes are blazing as our gazes lock. He isn’t moving from where he leans against the door, his face taut. He isn’t supposed to be here. Only the security guards are supposed to be in the building. This is my safe place. This is where I come to unwind, to stop thinking about Mason, to stop thinking about Paul, to stop thinking about the entire world.

I’m exhausted as I step off the machine, but the burn in Mason’s eyes makes my heart thunder, pumping adrenaline through my veins. I want to run to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my sweaty body against his.

My breathing, which has settled down, escapes me in erratic pants as I’m lost in his eyes. He pushes away from the wall and steps toward me with purpose. He’s on a mission, and it’s up to me to stop him. My throat closes. I can’t utter a sound.

“Say something if you don’t want me to kiss you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. He’s barely in control of himself. I don’t know what to do. I’ve seen how much he wants me, but tonight, a shift is in the air; tonight, he’s the hunter about to make his kill.

He stops in front of me, and I finally inhale, his scent of musk and sweat the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelled. I bite my lip as I try to keep from hyperventilating. I want his arms to wrap around me, want him to take the choice from me. I don’t want to be responsible for my own actions. I know this is the cowardly way, but right now, I don’t care.

“You’re so damn hot,” he growls. He reaches out, his arm snaking around my back and pulling me against his body.

“I’m sweaty,” I finally say, worried about his expensive custom-made suit.

He raises a brow, his lip turning up the slightest bit, his eyes darkening to almost black slits.

“Hell yes, you are,” he says, his voice so low it travels through me, making my core pulse. He pushes his hips forward, and there’s no mistaking the large bulge pressing against me. He wants me and isn’t afraid to show it. I feel sexy and beautiful, even though I have to look an utter wreck. I want him. In this moment, I don’t care if it’s wrong.

Do I decide to do it or not? One second, I’m hesitating, and then, the next, my arms are reaching up, wrapping around his neck, just like I’ve pictured doing a thousand times.

It’s all the incentive he needs. His mouth crashes against mine. His kiss is nothing like I’ve imagined it to be. And trust me, I’ve imagined it so many times I should be ashamed of myself. His lips are firm and demanding, but they’re also incredibly giving. He doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath as he consumes me, forcing my mouth open, slipping his tongue inside, and taking what he wants.

He lifts me from the ground, and I realize we’re moving, as if I’m floating through air. His lips don’t leave mine as he carries me to the men’s locker room then through a door that leads to a private staircase which leads to his office. My fingers tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, his hands gripping my hips.

He sits on his plush couch, pulling me onto his lap as he continues ravishing my mouth. I not only let him, but I kiss him back, pressure building inside me to the point I’m about to burst.

His hand slips around my slick body, and my stomach trembles beneath his touch. Then his fingers slide over my breast and squeeze. I pull back and cry out as my core pulses and my nipples throb.

Both of us are breathing heavily as I sit on him, his erection pulsing against my core, wanting to strip away our clothes and allow him to sink deep inside of me. He doesn’t pull me back to him. His eyes are dilated and dark, his breathing uneven, but he sits here, leaving this decision to me. I close my eyes, unable to look at him.

I don’t know how, but I come back to my senses. I could so easily let this play out. But I know I’ll hate myself for it. It will be great, no doubt about it, but afterward is what I’m terrified of. He lets out a sigh as if he knows what’s about to come.

“I can’t do this,” I say, apology in my voice. He most likely thinks I’m nothing but a tease.

He stiffens as he moves his hands back down my body and squeezes my hips. He knows he can convince me to make love tohim. We both know it won’t take much to push me over the edge. I want him as much as he wants me.

“You can, but I understand why you won’t,” he says. There’s resignation in his voice.

I want to lean forward, want to rest my head on his shoulder. But if I do, I won’t leave him. I’ll do something I’ll most certainly regret. He lets me go when I tug against his hold. My legs are barely able to hold me up as I take a few steps away from him. I’m afraid they’ll buckle and send me sprawling to the floor. But they hold. The door leading to the gym is still open. I move toward it.

I don’t turn. “I’m sorry,” I say again.

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