Page 72 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Fuck me.
The pink color that spread across her cheeks. The way she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. How her eyes had darkened before she laughed it off, covered it with a smile. Her body had known exactly what I meant, even if her head hadn’t caught up with it yet.
Desire hit me fast and without warning, the way it had every time I’d thought about her for the last forty-eight hours, which was an inconvenient new development in my life.
My cock jerked, aching at the thought of her and sinking into her wet heat.
Fuck.
I gripped my cock at the base, giving it a tight squeeze, making me groan before I began pumping my fist up and down. Thoughts of Delaney circled through my head. How she might look naked fueled my fantasy. Her thick thighs wrapped around my waist, her tits bouncing as I pushed into her, and the sounds she’d make as she begged me to let her come.
Each stroke brought me closer to the release I chased.
I shook when the tremor came. I was like a prepubescent boy. All it took was the thought of her, and my dick was ready to explode after just a few rough pulls and my vivid imagination about what I’d do with her.
My other hand slammed down on the tiled shower wall as I pitched forward and my orgasm barrelled towards me. My legs shook enough that I needed the extra fucking support. My balls tightened, and a shot of lightning zipped down my spine.
Fuuuck.
I let out a muffled groan as I came. Cum spilled out across the floor of the shower. I thrust further into my hand as my release shook my body with thoughts of Delaney milking my cock, making sure I spilled every last drop.
Fucking hell.
If just thinking about her made me this hard, how the hell was I supposed to get through the practice yoga session tonight?
I pulled into the parking lot of the animal shelter at 5:03.
Three minutes. Which was three minutes more than I had ever been late to anything in my adult life.
I’d had a plan. The plan had been sabotaged by a small goat who had wedged himself behind my driver’s seat at the lastpossible moment and refused to move, and whom I had decided was less dangerous here than loose in my house for another four hours.
A loud, impatient bleat sounded from the back seat.
“Your name is becoming increasingly accurate,” I muttered.
I grabbed his leash and hurried him inside. He pranced beside me with the gait of an animal who appeared far more well-behaved than he actually was.
“You aren’t fooling anyone,” I said.
He ignored me.
I pushed open the door of the room we’d arranged for yoga and stopped short.
The space had been completely transformed.
Mats were laid out in evenly spaced neat rows. Soft instrumental music filled the air, something slow and calming that immediately lowered the tension in my shoulders. The long windows along the wall with their shades drawn up, and early evening sunlight fell in long rectangles across the floor.
The room felt surprisingly peaceful.
Which was impressive given that twenty-four hours ago it had held mismatched tables and chairs, two dozen boxes of unknown contents, and a filing cabinet someone had decorated with motivational cat stickers. A water station was set up along the back wall with a neat row of chairs beside it. Everything had a place.
Delaney had done this.
She and Cheryl stood at the far end of the room. Neither had noticed me yet. Delaney’s head tipped back, laughing at something Cheryl said, the sound warm and unrestrained, completely different from the carefully controlled way she’d laughed at Glamma’s dinner table while deciding how much of herself she was willing to expose.
It caught me somewhere in my chest, and I stood there longer than I should have, just watching. She wore black leggings and a soft lavender tank top, and her dark hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. The purple ends caught the light when she moved, and I fantasized about how it would feel to grip her hair in my fist and pull.
She lifted her arm to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, revealing the small star tattoo on the inside of her elbow. I had apparently spent the last twenty years observing everything about Delaney Hart. Yet this week was the first time I’d noticed that.
