Page 32 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Aaaaaaah! Sssssssssssss!”
She squirted at the same time I pulled out and came on her soaking, curly-haired pussy.
“Grrrrrrrrgggggggggh… fuck!”
“Oh shit! Christian…”
Her head fell back, and her eyes rolled as I pulled a chair underneath her and sat her down. For a second, I paused, gathered my breath, and then strolled to my discarded clothes.
“I should go.”
Her eyes shot over to me. “You’re leaving?”
The question took me by surprise, making me pause with my shirt halfway on.
I turned toward her slowly. “Why wouldn’t I? Do you want me to stay?”
“It’s not… It’s just...” She backtracked, her voice going quiet, almost inaudible. “You have before. I mean… we have.”
I watched her, trying to decipher her mixed signals. This was my moment—my heart urged me to say something, anything, to bridge whatever gap was growing between us.
“This time it depends, Naomi.”
“On what?” she asked.
I moved to stand in front of her, my hands gripping her chin so she couldn’t escape my gaze. “Are we still following the rules?”
Naomi sucked in a breath. Blinked. Started to speak, stopped, then tried again. “Of course. The rules are our foundation.”
We stared at each other long enough for her to change her mind. But she didn’t. I grimaced, nodded, and accepted her answer because what else could I do?
She watched me pull away, watched me finish dressing, but she didn’t follow. Didn’t reach for me or ask me to stay.
I grabbed my coat from the chair and remembered the small black box set still tucked in the inside pocket that I’d never given to her.
I moved through the house, past her line of sight, and at the door, I stopped, pulled the box from my pocket, and stared at it. The white ribbon had come slightly undone. Inside with the earrings was the bracelet engraved… Happy Anniversary.
I set it on the foyer table where she’d see it when she left, and I took my leave.
Chapter
Six
NAOMI
The alarm buzzed at five-thirty,but I was already awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness of my abode. Sleep had been elusive, interrupted by fragments of dreams where Christian’s hands had gripped me tight as he pushed inside me. I tried to shake off the dreams, rose, and splashed water on my face, only to return to slumber, resume our night, and be met with his question.
“Are we still following the rules?”
I was a woman shaken, my soul stirred because, yes, of course we were, weren’t we? His departure left me feeling bereft, like he’d dug a hole into the hollowness I carved out in my heart where no man was supposed to be. The sex only ignited what my heart was trying to tell me as I sat with a soaking wet, thumping pussy in the kitchen. My entire body had been animated by his rigorous strokes. I hadn’t had sex like that in—ever. It was gripping, stimulating, demanding, bullying even. It was the gift that kept on giving. I could’ve screamed at his back to come back and give me more. And still, as I gathered myself to leave, seeing the box, open, my birthstone, in a customized jewelry set, made my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe.
I rolled out of bed and strolled to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal a city still quiet and waiting for me. September mornings in St. Louis came with chilly weather and you knew the seasons were blending together. The trees lining my street had surrendered most of their leaves, and those that remained clung stubbornly to bare branches, burnished copper and deep red in the streetlight.
It was perfect cycling weather. And sense I had a competition in the upcoming months, now was as good a time as any to practice.
I moved through my morning routine, brushing my teeth, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail, slathering sunscreen on my face to prep for the sun I knew would be baring down on me once the city had awakened. The mirror reflected a woman who looked put-together. Nothing like the mess of contradictions I felt like inside.
In my walk-in closet, I pulled on my cycling gear piece by piece. Black compression leggings that hugged every curve, a moisture-wicking long-sleeve base layer in deep purple, and my insulated cycling jacket. The fabric was technical, designed to regulate body temperature during long rides, but it also made me feel armored and ready for battle.
