Page 72 of Spinning Out Of Control

“You’re wet just thinking about it,” he murmurs as his fingers dance through my folds, gliding close to my clit but never making contact.

“I’m wet because you’re looking at me.”

His finger dips into my entrance, only to the first knuckle.

“One day, Kira. One day I will get my revenge. I’ll shove a plug in your ass and a vibrator in your cunt and make you get up here on this bike and try to do your job. And I won’t be as kind as you were. I won’t edge you. I’ll sit right over there on my bike and watch as my vibrator brings you to your peak. I’ll watch as you wiggle and squirm and try to keep a straight face so that no one but me knows that you’re coming in your sweet little leggings, soaking the toys and making a mess of yourself. And then I’ll do it again, and again, and again.”

His fingers find my clit and he rubs me in achingly slow circles. I moan, dropping my head to the handlebars as he teases me.

“But not today. Today, I’m going to fuck you just like this. My little pest locked in, stuck with no way out as I drive into her. Does that sound good, darling? Are you ready to be stuffed full of my cock?” His cloying, condescending tone has no right to be so sexy.

When he punctuates his question by driving three fingers into my soaked pussy, crooking them and massaging my most sensitive inner spot, I cry out a curse. My hips drive forward, but I’m bound by my shoes that are clipped into the pedals.

“Fuck, yes, Ren. Please, please, fuck me. I want you. I need to be full of you,” I plead, desperation lacing my voice as he works me with his fingers. I whine when hewithdraws them, but they’re quickly replaced by the head of his perfect cock notching at my entrance. With me bent nearly in half and the bike seat at its lowest height, our bodies are perfectly aligned. He slams in in one swift thrust, the force of it threatening to knock me forward, but the grip he has on my hips keeps me steady.

“So perfect. So tight. You have the prettiest, wettest, warmest cunt. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.” The sound of his hips snapping against my ass echoes off the walls of the empty studio, creating an obscene soundtrack to our fucking. He slams into me relentlessly, his cock sliding deeper with each thrust as his piercings drag along my G-spot.

Each drive of his body into mine winds me higher, pulls me taut, makes me feel wild. He fists my ponytail, pulling my hair until my back arches and my body creates an angle for his cock that has me seeing spots. I moan and whine and curse, overcome by pleasure, paralyzed by Ren.

“I’m so–fuck–Ren. I need, I need,” I pant, unable to push past the lust coursing through me long enough to form a coherent thought. But Ren knows me, knows my body. He lets go of my hip, dropping his hand between my legs and finding my clit. He rubs me in time with his thrusts, chasing my orgasm right alongside me.

“That’s it Kira, come all over me. Soak my cock, love. Make it messy.”

My legs go numb as the pleasure builds and buildsat the base of my spine. The coil in my gut snaps, and pleasure rocks through me, flooding my veins like warm honey as colors explode behind my eyes. I feel a gush of wetness rushing out of me as my orgasm ebbs and flows, leaving me trembling and breathless.

“Kira, fuck. Kira, Kira, Kira,” Ren chants as his thrusts become fast and sloppy, his own orgasm taking over. His hips still and on a low moan, he surrenders himself to the release. I feel each rope of cum as he empties himself inside of me, feeling the familiar warm tingles I get every time Ren turns me into his own personal cream puff. I don’t know if it’s the primal part of my monkey brain that thinks we’re procreating or some kind of Ren-specific hormones he leaves inside me with his cum, but I never feel fully sated until he’s finished inside me.

“Come on love,” he says between soft kisses on my spine as we both return to Earth. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’ve got a grand opening to host.”

An hour later, I fulfill my dream and cut the big red ribbon outside of Spin Sync with a pair of giant scissors while a crowd of my supporters pierce my ears with their cheers. Rachel, Dottie and Georgie are here by my side, offering me their unwavering support as I begin this new venture.

My dads, Dean and Tía Camila are at the front of the crowd, their cheers and applause ringing the loudest. The entire Spin Sync team is here, including Jeslyn, who has officially relocated from New York and will beheading up the row team. The rest of the crowd is made up of our loyal members, some of whom have flown in from all over the country to be here for this inaugural event.

After the podcast drama and my confessional class, most of the members that I thought we’d lost for good came back. I met them with forgiveness and open arms, because even though the loss of their support hurt in the moment, my goal for Spin Sync has always been to create a welcoming environment. And I, unlike them, don’t write people off based on one decision or the words of others.

The lights in Studio B are a bright shade of pink as I mount my instructor bike with a cold brew in hand, ready to teach my Saturday Killa Sixty class. Ren and I cleaned up after our earlier tryst, but even though the evidence of our fun is long gone, I still feel a thrill when I sit down, knowing what this poor bike saw just this morning.

“Killa, we’re live in forty-five seconds. Get. Rid. Of. The. Coffee.” Jackie chastises in my earpiece, because some things never change. I might be the Head Bitch In Charge now, but I still do what the production team says. I wink at the camera, knowing that Jackie is upstairs rolling her eyes at me as I bring the cup to my lips and the class starts to chant.

CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!

A production assistant runs onto the stage as I finish off the last of my coffee, stealing the empty cup andducking out of frame just as the cameras turn on and the feed goes live. Elton John’s “The Bitch Is Back” starts to pump through the speakers, and I throw my hands into the air in celebration as the room fills with music and applause.

Here in this room that I own, with my girls and my family and the man I love, I finally feel a sense of peace. I’m exactly where I belong.

“Welcome to hell, Spin Sync!”

EPILOGUE - KIRA

One Year Later

“Remindme again why we’re in New York in the dead of winter?” I ask Ren as I rub my mitten-covered hands together, trying to get some warmth. When he’d suggested experiencing Manhattan at Christmastime, I was all for it. I somehow forgot that New York is colder than a witch’s tit in December and all the Christmas shit worth seeing is all outside.

I’m a California girl. I’m not built for anything colder than forty-two degrees. I’d much rather be at home with Pancakes, cuddled under a mountain of blankets and sharing a bottle of wine with my live-in boyfriend.

“Because, little pest, it’s magical. Look at the snowon the treetops. You can’t experience this kind of winter wonderland in San Francisco.”

I look around us, taking in the snow and the reflection of twinkling lights glistening against the pristine white blanket. I have to admit it. Even though I very well might freeze to death, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about the quiet stillness of Central Park as snow falls from the orange and purple evening sky. It’s almost like Ren and I are the only two people in the park, our footsteps the only ones besmirching the freshly fallen snow on the path.

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