Colton #2
“Of course it is,” I nod. When she lowers her gloved hand, I reach out and take it, my other palm still resting on her hip, as I step closer, my front brushing against her back.
I slowly undo the strap of her glove, tugging it from her hand and letting it fall to the mat under us. I reach across her and do the same to the other glove, watching it fall to rest with its partner.
“What are you doing?” she pants, but makes no move to pick up the gloves.
“I want you to answer me again, and this time, tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lies, breath catching on the last word as I take her hand with me to cage it against her other hip, a twin to where I already hold her.
“Do you think I can’t satisfy, love?” I ask again, ignoring her faux ignorance. This time when she starts to answer me, I pull her body flush against mine, her backside tightly pressed against my front. “Were you trying to convince Ms. Harlin or yourself?”
A small gasp escapes her lips as she feels all of me against her, curling my upper body to lean my head down so my lips brush her ear.
The tension permeating the air between us has been a constant third wheel since the moment we met.
The last month of getting to know her has been about building a foundation, not becoming friends.
There have been moments of laughter, camaraderie, intimacy, and compassion, but I think it’s time we shatter the illusion of friends.
The word tasting bitter, even speaking it only to myself.
“Both,” she’s still breathless as she answers me, but now her chest pulses with each short inhale.
“Tell me not to do the bachelorette party,” I whisper into her ear. There is no one here to see or witness us in this moment, but this question is also a confession. One I don’t think she is ready to give me.
She stiffens in my hold, as if waking up from a daze. I lift my hand slightly, hovering over hers, giving her an out. When she doesn’t move away, I guide my hand back over hers, shifting us higher up her waist, stopping when our thumbs lightly rake across the underside of her breast.
She lets out a breathy moan at the small contact, my other hand releasing her hip. The momentary loss of contact is almost painful before I close her other hand in mine, splaying us out across her lower stomach, fingers dancing together along the waistband of her leggings.
“Tell me you don’t want me to do it. Tell me what you want, and it’s yours,” I breathe against her.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she pants, melting against my hold as I use our hands together to tease her.
“It’s the only thing that matters.” I lean farther into her, letting her feel what she’s doing to me, how hard I am for her, throbbing against the thin fabric of my athletic shorts. I want her to feel how badly I need her. It’s driving me crazy to have even this pathetic barrier between us.
“I don’t care if you do it,” she shakes her head wildly. “I don’t care,” she repeats the words. I laugh into her neck at her attempt to lie, the sound low and dark.
I shift our hands laid out on her stomach lower as I repeat her words, bringing our hands lower and lower towards the apex of her thighs. “You don’t care.”
I use her own hand to cup her pussy over her leggings, the material damp as we shift lower. I release a loud groan from deep in my chest. It vibrates through her, and I can feel her heartbeat pick up speed where my thumb is still making small circles against her breast.
“Is this how wet you get when you don’t care? Fuck Harper, you’re drenched. Is this how much you don’t care about me?” I ask as my hand moves higher again, grinding our fingers down against where her clit throbs.
She doesn’t answer me this time. I don’t think she can—her eyes have fluttered closed, and she’s leaning her whole body into mine, feeling where my hard cock is pinned against her lower back.
The pressure she’s creating against me makes my eyes roll into the back of my head for a minute before I can collect myself.
“Or are you this wet because you know the power you have over me?” I rock slightly into her as I simultaneously grind our hands against her pussy, not giving her enough pressure to get off, but enough to drip for me.
“All you need to do is tell me what you want. Only one little word to tell me who I belong to, who I dance for.” I nip her ear, and she moans.
“Make me yours, Harper. Tell me you want this, and I’ll make you see stars.” She’s trying to subtly shift her hips to get that last bit of pressure she needs. Indecision is written on her features—stay stubborn and curb her desire, or admit she wants this and find her release.
I drop my hands swiftly, taking the pleasure with me.
Harper’s eyes pop open as I drop to a squat behind her, running one hand along the outside of her leg to trail up her body as I rise back up behind her.
I hold her steady with one hand, traveling up her body to circle her throat before reaching up to hold her jaw.
I tip her head up to meet my gaze, looking into the depths of her sunshine eyes. I want to give her everything. She just needs to let me.
I press her boxing gloves I scooped off the ground into the center of her chest. Her hands coming up absentmindedly to hold what’s been placed against her.
I lean my head down to breathe her in, speaking just a breath away from her lips. “When you’re ready.”
I release her jaw and step back, turning to head for the door, scooping up my bag on the way.
I can’t stop my forward motion, or I might not have the willpower to hold back from finishing what I started.
I open the door to leave and pause, looking back to where I left Harper.
She hasn’t moved an inch, hands gripping her gloves to her chest, eyes still closed and breathing heavily.
I stand there for a moment to watch her collect herself.
Her eyes open, and she looks down at the gloves in her hands that replaced my own.
I’m out the door before seeing if she watches me leave, no doubt in my mind that this time, when she starts to punch the bag again, I will be the only face she sees.