Page 60 of Resistance Training
“I am definitely not saying that.”
“But you don’t want to date me?”
“I don’twantto date you…” I say.
She blinks at that. Bites her lip. She sits up straighter—in that tight, red top—leans in across the center console, and rests her hand on my right thigh. “Do you want to fuck me, Brad? Because I think fucking me could be all four of the F’s you need to become the best Mitch you can be.”
Fuck me.
“Do not make fun of the F’s.”
“I’m not; I’m very fucking serious about all of the F’s. We have a lot of tension between us, Coach.”
“Don’t call me that,” I manage to grit out.
“And instead of having that tension we could be fighting and fucking our way through our issues. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Fucking hell.
She squeezes my thigh. Her hand is about one inch away from the throbbing part of me that’s trying to unzip my pants from the inside and bury itself so deep in her that neither of us will be able to walk straight for days. “You can do every single thing you ever thought about doing to me in high school.”
I inhale a heavy, frustrated breath, and it betrays me by leaving my body as a groan.
She places her right hand on the left side of my face and strokes my cheekbone with her thumb. “Did you imagine us together in your old car like this? Parked by the beach at night. In the rain. Like this?” She caresses my lower lip so gently with the pad of her thumb. Then cups the sides of my head and leans in farther to whisper into my ear. “I did. When you weren’t talking to me. When you asked me to prom you gave me permission to think about you like this, and I liked it.”
She takes my earlobe between her teeth and tugs. Then she licks and sucks and twirls. “I would have done this to you.” She presses her lips against my cheek. Tenderly. “I wanted to, Brad. I wanted to kiss you—I did.”
I am so hard. Just this. God dammit, just this is so much. It’s too much.
“I’m gonna go,” I mutter. I think I said it out loud, but she’s ignoring me. “I have to get back to the cat.”
She releases my seat belt and slides her hand up my chest, over my shirt, her fingers stretched out. I lock eyes with her. She stares at my mouth, licks her lips, and it’s so fucking hot. Her hand begins to slide down my abs. Slowly, not slowly enough. I grab her wrist. “Get out of the car.”
“I know you want me,” she says, very matter-of-fact.
“Irrelevant.”
“Relevant and significant. And I am trying to convey to you as clearly as possible that even though I just got out of a relationship with a man who had control issues, you have myconsent to do whatever you want to dowithme, whatever you want to dotome. Whatever you want me to do, just tell me and I might want to do it. If you feel like I need to be mildly punished, for instance…”
“Jesus. Vivian.”
“I am open to it. I trust you.”
“You can’t go around saying stuff like that to guys.”
“I don’t. You’re the only person I’ve ever said it to. You’re the only guy I’ve ever really trusted.”
Fuck. Me. This is what I’ve spent my whole adult life training for.
I realize I’m squeezing her wrist too tightly. Way too tight. And she’s taking it. I loosen my grip on her. I also realize that my other hand is squeezing her left thigh. “You are such a fucking menace.”
She grins and pushes my hand up her thigh, under her skirt.
Jesus, I can feel the damp heat radiating from the most dangerous place in the world—between her legs.
I can feel the bare skin of her upper thigh.
She sucks in her breath, and I realize I’m squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.
