Page 8 of Praise Me: Soldier

But she doesn’t run.

She stays silent in the hum and sizzle of the train, letting me come closer, the blush building on her cheeks, neck. Goddamn, what a beautiful sight. The way she pushes up her glasses with her index finger makes me feel protective. So much so that tendons pull taut in my chest, my arms, the urge to growl making my throat feel strained. I’ve been a lost wanderer since coming home, but I’m filled with purpose now. And that purpose is July.

I don’t say anything when I reach her corner of the train.

I simply box her in and let her get used to it.

She stares at my chin, her breath coming fast, and I close my eyes momentarily, enjoying the way her exhales coast down my throat. My dick is already throbbing so ominously, it’s very possible I’m going to come in my pants again, but I strangle back the need and try to appear as normal as possible. For someone who has stalked a woman to this location and backed her into a corner, that is.

“You’re not here by coincidence, are you?” she whispers.

“No.”

Her throat works with a swallow, and I want to press my tongue against her jugular, so I can feel her alarm. Soothe it. “I should be screaming for help,” says July.

“What’s stopping you?”

She appears to weigh the question. “I don’t know.”

Damn. That honesty is so appealing. Every thought in her head is right there on her gorgeous face. No subterfuge or psychological games. I’m no longer capable of the latter and it relieves me to no end that she isn’t, either. “Maybe you sense I won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, tilting her head back to look me in the eye.

Being at the perfect angle to kiss her and close enough to do so has my stomach in a fucking knot, my pulse flying. But God, I don’t have a hope in hell of holding back my seed if I taste that pouty mouth. I’ll blow everywhere.

“I had to go home and change my pants because of you, July,” I lean in to say against her temple, figuring we should address the elephant in the room. “Did you enjoy what you did to me?”

She surprises me by staying quiet, her tits rising and falling gently against the strength of my stomach. Not issuing an outright denial or an admonishment for being inappropriate in public at her expense. “I…found it shocking,” she says, finally. “Men don’t usually notice me and suddenly, I’m causing you to…”

“Bust. Hard.”

A shiver snakes through her entire body, her eyelids drooping to half-mast.

“Jesus,” I rasp, my cock filling with lead. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

She presses her lips together.

“Tell me,” I demand, crowding her tighter into the corner, raking my open mouth along her cheek, temple. “Did it get you hot?”

“Please,” she breathes. “I have no experience with this kind of thing.”

“Men or sex?”

“Both.”

July Newsom is a virgin. On some level, I already knew. And I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t wrench the possessiveness inside of my tighter. “July.”

“What?”

“When you left the café…” I grip her hip in my right hand, tracing the shape of her with my thumb, strumming it up and down, side to side. “Did you have a wet pussy?”

She inhales sharply. Hesitates, then looks up at me, the answer there in her fathomless brown eyes. Fuck. Shewaswet. She doesn’t even have to say it out loud.

“Did you do anything to ease yourself?” I ask, massaging that hip roughly now.

“No,” she says too quickly, wetting her lips. “Well…”

“Well?”

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