Page 35 of You Make Me Feel
“You okay?” I ask her. And I think we both know I’m asking if she’s okay to do this. Because she can back out anytime she wants.
She nods like she gets the subtext to my question.
“More importantly areyouokay?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. “Ready to be beaten by a woman?”
I bite down my smile. Christ, she can be cute when she wants to be. “Absolutely. Ten seconds head start? Or do you want more?”
She rolls her eyes at me, and for a second I think about punishing her. Would she like that? Would I?
I would if she would. And that’s the truth of it. If it turned her on, I’d do it, just to see her creamy skin pink up.
“Ten seconds then.” I’ll count slowly, because somewhere deep inside of me is the remnants of a gentleman. “But we start around the corner. Where nobody can see us.”
“Because you don’t want them to see you being outraced by a girl.”
“Sure,” I say. Let her think that. It’s not that the gentleman somewhere deep inside doesn’t want anybody watching this.
Because the red discs on her cheeks tell me she’s been thinking about this as much as I have. We’ve both read the book, dammit. We know where this could end.
I let her walk ahead, telling myself she needs some distance from me. Because this has all the hallmarks of getting way too intense.
But it’s a lie. I want to watch her move. To see the swing of her hips, the flex of her calves. The way the morning light slides over her skin. She’s temptation wrapped in Lycra, and every step she takes feels like a challenge meant for me.
When we round the bend, the beach opens up, wide and empty, the waves breaking against the rocks at the far end. The wind picks up, catching the strands of hair that have escaped her bun, teasing them against her neck. She glances back at me, a spark in her eyes.
“Here?” she asks.
“Here,” I agree, my voice low.
She nods once, turns to face the open stretch, and plants her feet in the sand, rolling her shoulders like she’s readying herself.
“Do you want to be caught?” I suddenly say. Mostly because I need to know. This has to be her choice.
I don’t want to misread any signals.
“Do you think you can catch me?” she asks, her eyes sparkling in the sun.
I shrug. I’m pretty sure I can. I’ve always been a fast runner. And the simple difference in biology puts me at an advantage.
“You’ve read the book,” she breathes, and I’m struck by how alike we think.
“Yeah, I have. And I want to know if you want it to be like that.” Because I’m not a dick. I don’t do suppositions. This is too important for that.
“Yes,” she says, her gaze not wavering from mine. “I want you to try to catch me. Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. Don’t treat me like I’m weak. Run hard. Run fast. I’ll do the same. And the rest… I guess is up to fate.”
Our eyes connect again. And I feel it. That desire. That ache. Reflecting back on me. And it hits me. She’s not judging me. The way I’m not judging her. We’re two people who like to run. To chase and be chased. Who apparently get turned on by it.
And what happens here is nobody’s business but ours.
“You go when you’re ready. I’ll count. You probably won’t hear me, but I promise to count to ten.”
She nods, looking ahead at the beach, like she’s calculating her route. Then before I can say anything else she’s off. And we’re on.
“One,” I call out, as I watch her speed across the sand, her legs taking long, fast strides, her ass swaying with the effort to propel herself forward.
“Two,” I call, my voice lower, swallowed by the wind. She doesn’t look back. My thighs tense and my pulse slams as she keeps running, creating distance between us. But I don’t move. I wait, I plan. I taste the anticipation on my lips, mixing with the salt from the ocean, as I keep calling out the numbers, each one bringing us a beat closer to what we both need.
By the time I hit ten, she’s nothing but sunlight and motion, her red hair catching the early light as the distance stretches between us. I take off after her, heart pounding, lungs burning, every nerve alive.
