His thumb ran lightly down my spine as he pulled away, a contradiction to the harsh grip his hands had had on my shoulders, and I tried. I did. I tried hard to ignore the shiver that worked its way through my body, but it was no use. My nipples pulled taut against my damp tank top, goose bumps popping up along every inch of my skin, and I was helpless to stop it.

I wasn’t even sure anymore if I wanted to stop it.

Forcing myself to block out thoughts of what he felt like against me, what it felt like being under his hands again, I moved on autopilot. I got into position, shifting away from him and closing my eyes. He reached out, his hand connecting with my arm, and as hard as it was, I pushed down my first instinct to kick back, instead breathing, just breathing, and for once, giving myself permission to screw up. Giving myself permission to trust my instincts instead of everything I knew to be right. Because sometimes right just didn’t work.

I allowed him to pull me close, his hand gripped around my arm. He didn’t stop until I was pressed back against him, his forearm across my chest, my shoulder clutched in his hand as he held me tightly to him. I could feel every hard-muscled inch of him towering over me from behind, could feel the power thrumming under those hands anchoring me to him. His chest rose and fell against my back, the matching rhythm in the puffs of air from his mouth hitting my cheek, running down the bare expanse of my chest above my tank top.

And as much as I wanted to revel in the feel of him, I shoved all awareness of him away and forced myself to just breathe. Forced myself to focus on the act of what we were doing instead of how he set every nerve ending in my body on fire. I took a moment to close my eyes and concentrate on what I needed to do, knowing I could get out of this. Knowing it.

And I did. I took three deep breaths and dropped my weight, forcing him off balance. And then I sprang into action, my teeth clamping down on the arm he had across my chest at the same time my heel came down hard on his foot and my elbow shot back, jabbing him in the stomach. Though I didn’t put as much force into any of them as I would have if this had been a real attack, it’d been enough to startle him, make him drop his arms to protect himself, and then I spun toward him and did what I needed to in order to get away.

In the end, when he was on the ground breathing hard, and I was still standing in front of him, my eyes wide and crazed, adrenaline coursing through my veins, he gave a nod of approval and didn’t even try to disguise the heat blazing in his eyes as he said, “Again.”

Chapter Twelve

Each time we replayed it, I did something slightly different than I had the time before, always keeping Riley on his toes. And though I hadn’t been able to get out of his hold every single time, I’d gotten out more times than not. And that was thrilling. Not just the fact that I’d actually escaped, but that I’d done so by following my instincts instead of the path I was supposed to traverse.

Breathing hard, we took another quick break, each gulping some water, before we met back in the middle of the room to go through it one final time.

“Ready?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I said, “Don’t ask, just do.”

He cocked an eyebrow, then his gaze dropped to take in every inch of me. I felt it as sure as if it’d been his hands doing the caressing—along my shoulders, down my bare arms, whispering against my breasts and thighs, trailing over my stomach, taut with excitement. And that low hum of awareness that had been buzzing through my veins the entire time we’d been doing this sparked brightly. When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, his lids were heavy, the soft, pale blue of his irises eaten up by his dark pupils. He looked hungry, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what, exactly, he was hungry for.

Without saying a word, I turned my back to him, closing my eyes and letting myself be vulnerable. It went against every instinct I had, everything I’d taught myself, everything I’d put into practice since I was fifteen. But I did. With him, I did.

I tried to slow my breathing as I waited what seemed like forever for him to come up behind me. And when he did, when I finally felt the heat of him there, I couldn’t hold in the shiver that ran up my spine. His fingers blazed a trail up the sensitive skin of my inner arm, starting at my wrist and not stopping until he got to my elbow. Gripping it lightly, he held on to it and then stepped closer, so close, until he could wrap his other arm around me, going around my chest and cupping my opposite shoulder. The heat of his skin burned into my back, the hard planes of his chest brushing my shoulders, the fronts of his legs flush against the backs of mine. And when he pressed closer, there was no mistaking the hard bulge digging into my lower back.

My breathing quickened, my nipples tightening, excitement bubbling in my veins, and God help me, I didn’t want to stop this. Despite what my life looked like, despite what Riley thought I had waiting for me at home, I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to see what he was going to do next, if this was just another sequence, or if it was more.

It felt like something so much more.

When he lowered his head, the air from his lungs sweeping down my neck and across my shoulder, I knew I’d been right. Because three breaths later, his lips pressed against my skin, and that was it. I exhaled a noise that could only be called a whimper, though I couldn’t remember ever making a sound like that before, and dropped my head back against his shoulder.

It’d only been only a day, one measly day, and this heat between us had already reached a crescendo. And I didn’t want to be responsible. For the first time since I’d left Chicago, I wanted to let go and not think about every possible outcome. Not worry about the consequences. I didn’t want to do the right thing.

I wanted to feel him—under me, around me, inside me. Wanted to see if it was as good as I remembered.

Riley kept kissing me, the hand that was clutching my elbow moving to my hip, squeezing and then sliding around to press flat against my stomach, tugging me back into him. He was hard, so fucking hard against my back, and I wanted to reach behind me and feel him. I wanted to tug his shorts down, slip my hand into his boxers, and wrap my fingers around his cock. Feel the heat and smoothness of him, feel the steel that I knew was a direct result of me. I wanted to push him down onto the couch, tug my boy shorts to the side, sink down on him, and ride him until he couldn’t think.

Until neither of us could think.

Before I could put my thoughts into action, Riley lowered the arm he had across my chest and palmed my breast, his thumb strumming the hardened peak as he breathed my name, and that was it.

I snapped.

Whipping around, I grabbed his face and tugged him down to me, meeting his lips in a bruising kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, his sweeping into my mouth until we both groaned. He gripped my face and walked us backward until I felt the harsh bricks of the wall against my back. Cradling my head in his hands, he pressed his thumbs under my chin so he could tilt my face the way he wanted it, and I let him play for a minute. I let him think he had control of this before I pressed forward, my hands against his chest, and flipped our positions so he was against the wall.

I tugged on the hem of his tank top, pushing it up as my hands ran along the contours of his body. Holy God, this man’s body was remarkable. He was etched like stone, the ridges of his abdomen hard under my wandering fingers. When I’d pushed it up as far as I could, he reached back and tugged at the neck of his tank before he whipped it off and tossed it to the side.