Page 86 of Rogue Riders Duet

I need him under me, over me, around me, twisting in my hands, calling my name. I’ve never needed anything like this. Never anyone like him.

I’ve never fucked a guy before, and sure, this might be a bit ambitious out here in the middle of nowhere, with no lube, no prep, and nothing but pine needles to cushion my Petit. But I’ve got two hands and a vivid imagination. Couldn’t I just slide one down, wrap it around both of us, and stroke us off together?

I barely hold back a groan, because fuck. Yes.

That sounds perfect.

My hips press forward instinctively, lining us up. I grind just once, causing a firm pull against the ache in my jeans, because God, I need something, anything.

I’m not teasing anymore, I’m begging. Not out loud, but in every touch, every breath, every inch of me straining toward him.

My eyes find his, searching, asking. Is this okay? Do you want this too?

And for a moment, it looks like yes. His lips are parted, his chest rising in shallow waves, and the tiniest moan escapes him, so soft I feel it more than I hear it.

I want to revel in it, but in the back of my mind, I know something is off. Pulling back just enough to glance between us, I freeze.

Why the fuck doesn’t he have a boner?

The realization crashes into me like a snapped chain at full speed.

He’s not hard.

But I am. Fuck, I’m so hard I feel feverish, aching with it, every nerve tuned to the pitch of him, and now I’m suddenly, horrifically aware of it.

I look up, panic already creeping into my lungs. His expression is carved from tension, mouth pinched, eyes wide but blank. Not dazed with pleasure or drunk on the same madness I’m drowning in.

Blank.

No desire or heat, just the ghost of everything I thought we were building. My stomach drops, shame chasing it down in a sick, hot rush. I don’t see the ache I feel in him, no heat.

I want him.

And he doesn’t want me.

I can’t tell whether I misread everything or if he did want me, but I ruined it because I came on too strong, moved too fast, assumed too much. Hoped too much.

Petit Crews is the first to unfreeze, and the first thing he does is push my face away.

I let him.

Then he hiccups loudly, ducks under my arm, and bolts, unable to get away from me fast enough. Without a word or even a backward glance, he literally sprints away from me, and here I am, breathing hard, and just hard.

And humiliated.

What the fuck was that? What the fuck did I just do?

Toulouse shifts inside my sleeve, a faint rustle of fur and warmth against my wrist.

“Merde, sorry, mon amour. I forgot about you.”

I forgot about fucking everything.

Pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead, I lean back against the tree and try to remember how to breathe like someone who isn’t a complete fuckup.

SEVENTEEN

Piper’s thumbs land like knives.