Page 96 of Bad Run

Ohmigod, he said my name. My name. Which means …

Biting back a moan, I watch as his corded back muscles contract with every stroke of his cock. Heat pools low in my belly and my clit throbs with desire, urging me to reach down and touch myself.

Lance turns around with a grunt, nailing me with his dark blue eyes.

I should run. Give him his personal space as he takes care of his needs. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m glued to the spot, watching him. Like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

My gaze bounces between his lust-filled eyes and his fist as he continues to move up and down his shaft. Like a heated caress, his eyes rake over my body, lingering on my legs for a second longer. The sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of my core contracts with need, and the ache between my legs grows unbearable.

“Gwen,” he rasps. His voice is low, strangled with desire. “Do you see what you do to me?” He strokes his cock again. Slower. Almost taunting me to do something.

Alarm bells go off in my brain, telling me to remember the rules we put in place to keep from blurring the lines.

I take a step back on instinct.

“Don’t move,” Lance growls.

Obeying his command, I freeze. My heart races like a wildebeest stampede in my chest as I wait for his next order.

“That’s my good girl.”

My pussy clenches with desire at his praise.

What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be here, watching him. I should put my skirt back on, run out of the house, jump into my car, and drive back to my apartment.

But I don’t run. I stay rooted in place, watching the sexiest man alive pleasure himself while looking me in the eye and mumbling my name.

“Come closer.” There’s a wolfish bite to his demand. “I want you to watch me fuck my fist until I come all over the glass for you to see.”

I move on instinct. A fine layer of mist coats my heated skin as my feet move deeper into the steamy bathroom. Hand still stroking his cock, he watches me like a hunter stalking its prey.

“Do you like watching me?” he grits out, his blue eyes darkening like a hurricane on the horizon, ready to hit the shores with ferocity, ready to ruin everything in its path.

“Yes,” I croak as my thighs rub together, searching for the friction my core so desperately needs.

His gaze follows my reaction and rests at the apex. A flush of hot, wet arousal pools between my legs. A devilish smile curves his lips. I glance down and find a small wet spot on my panties.

“Fuck,” he growls, pumping his cock faster. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

I swipe my tongue over my dry lips. “I do?”

“Yes. You’re here, living in my house, sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes, and I can’t fucking touch you.” His chest rises and falls as fast as his fist moves over his cock. “So here I am jerking off again, wishing it was your tight, wet pussy I was fucking instead.”

His words are bolts of electricity shooting through me. Wanton and needy. The buzz is hot and fuzzy, and it flows along the surface of my skin, making every cell in my body feel alive.

“You think of me?” My question treads a dangerous line.

As much as I want Lance to want me, I don’t know if it’s enough for me to take that leap off the cliff and let him into my heart when our marriage is only supposed to be temporary. Even knowing he didn’t want me to leave after our one night, he was still a huge jackass to me. Cutting me with his words and hot-and-cold attitude.

“Every time, little witch. You’re all I think about. All. I. Want,” he admits with a growl.

He throws his head back and, like he said he would, Lance explodes in thick white spurts of cum, all over the glass partition that separates us.

My heart beats erratically in my chest as the butterflies in my stomach ascend, fluttering their wings about.

When he opens his eyes, it feels as if I’m being forcibly launched over the cliff and into space. Full of heat and yearning, his twin pools of liquid sapphire beg me to let go. To trust that he’ll catch me.

I can’t.