Page 35 of Damascus & The Wildfire
“Kenna.”
She let out a frustrated sigh, turning her face away. “It’s just—cramping. Really bad, out of nowhere.”
“Maybe we should have eased into it,” I offered, running down the list of potential injuries in my head.
She huffed out a laugh, humor thin but grateful. “Not those kinds of cramps.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding finally dawning as I gave her a sidelong nod. “Got it. You want to head back?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah. Since you’re here, do you mind going into town with me? I have a couple of errands I need to run.”
We circled back to hers at a slower pace, the morning sunbreaking hot through the trees. She unlocked the door and gestured toward the hallway. Brisket flopped onto the cool tile, tongue lolling.
“You can shower first. Towels are in the top cupboard.”
I muttered a thanks, closed the door behind me, and stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt. The water pounded against my neck and back as I tried not to think about Kenna. A hot desire I hadn’t felt in years stirred inside me.
Every inch of me strained, hard and wanting. I glanced down, biting back a curse. I stroked my cock once, letting out a ragged breath. Spending time with Kenna was sweet, yet wildly frustrating. It wasn’t just her looks getting to me. It was how she was equal parts steel and wildflowers, sharp yet sweet.
The more I pictured her—the swell of her breasts straining against her sports bra, her hips, her sweet lips—the faster I moved, desperate for relief and hoping the water muffled the sound of my strokes.
I groaned quietly, but my release left me unsatisfied, amplifying my craving for her.
I stood for a moment, letting the hot spray wash away my guilt. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not here, not now—but Kenna had a way of getting under my skin that I couldn’t shake.
“Hey, do you want a smoothie?” Kenna yelled through the door, voice bright and oblivious, cutting hard through the thick air inside the shower.
I cleared my throat, scrubbed a hand over my face, and called back, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“Strawberry or blueberry?” she asked.
I turned off the water. “Surprise me.”
Her laugh echoed faintly down the hallway.
I toweled off fast, heart still drumming beneath my ribs, and yanked on my clothes, determined to look less rattled than I felt. When I walked into the kitchen, Kenna was already pouring a pink smoothie into a tall glass. She shoved it across the island toward me.
I took a long, cold gulp, letting it tamp down the fire still burning under my skin. “Thanks. Go grab your shower. I’ll clean up in here.”
She lingered, pushing a sweaty strand of red hair behind her ear, eyes glinting with something playful. “Should I wear jeans? So we can take your bike?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, trying not to picture exactly how her legs would look poured into tight denim.
When she emerged ten minutes later in tight, dark-wash jeans and a black tank top edged with lace, I almost choked on the last of my smoothie. My cock thickened instantly, straining against my zipper. I turned away, attempting to distract myself from the rush of desire coiling in my gut. “Almost done loading the dishwasher for you.”
“Thanks,” she chirped, oblivious to my turmoil. She kissed her dog on top of his head. “Be a good boy. No parties while we’re out.”
I smirked, shaking my head at how she spoke to her dog like he was a small child.
Outside, I shrugged on my cut and tossed her a helmet before swinging my leg over the bike. She climbed on and pressed her chest to my back, arms circling tight.
“Where we heading?” I asked.
“Library first. Then the pharmacy.”
I slammed my visor down as I revved the engine, feeling the warm line of her body—every shift, every press, every damn curve—fuse with me through leather and denim. The ride was short but every stoplight felt like torture. Halfway there, I reached back, brushing my knuckles along her thigh, a quick check to make sure she was settled. Her fingers squeezed my side, a silent answer that nearly undid my control.
At the library, she slid off behind me. “Do you read for fun, or just stick to motorcycle manuals?”
