Page 163 of Wait for Him

The next partner is Jonah, a blue belt who usually gives me exactly the kind of technical round I enjoy. We slap hands, bump fists and start circling.

I see the shot coming. I actually recognize it a split second before he commits.

And then... nothing.

My body never follows through.

He catches both legs so cleanly it almost feels like I handed them to him, and as he drives me backward, I'm fully aware of what's happening while having no interest in preventing it.

“You okay?” he asks as we scramble.

“Probably.”

He laughs. “Probably isn't very convincing.”

“No,” I mutter, fishing for an underhook that's no longer there, “I imagine it isn't.”

By the end of the round he's passed my guard twice, swept me once, and nearly caught an americana I should've defended before he ever isolated the arm. The buzzer sounds before he can finish it.

“That's the worst I've ever seen you roll,” he says, offering me a hand.

“I know.”

“I mean...” He hesitates, suddenly looking guilty. “Are you okay?”

I let him pull me to my feet.

“I will be.”

I hope.

As I walk toward the wall with my towel draped around my neck, I realize this gym has always been the one place my brain behaved itself. Los Angeles stayed outside. Family stayed outside. Relationships stayed outside. Whatever chaos the rest of my life was serving up got checked at the door along with my shoes.

Tonight it followed me onto the mat.

And it's kicking my ass.

***

“Oh yes. I can't believe I'm actually inside you. I've daydreamed so long about being with you. You feel so good. Yes. Ride me. Ride my hard penis, Rose.”

Holy fuck, please shut up.

“You like that, baby?”

I lean my head back, mostly to keep him from seeing me roll my eyes.

Yes. After class, I went home with Jonah after a couple of beers at the pub across the street from the gym. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable decision at the time. I'm sad. He seemed fuckable. I haven't had sex in months. There are worse coping mechanisms.

I'm struggling to think of one right now, but I'm sure they exist.

He's hot. I'll give him that. Really fucking hot, actually. But he is a horrible lay. His dirty talk, if we can even call it that, leaves everything to be desired, and while he's blessed in the cock department, he knows fuck-all about what to do with it.

Which feels unfair.

All that equipment and no training.

He grabs my hips and starts jackhammering upward, bouncing me uncontrollably. “Oh, fuck yeah. That's it. Bounce on Jonah's penis, dollface.”