Page 54 of The Pact
I knew he was here. I just saw him not long ago. But my mind is a hot mess at the moment. Literally.
Saint stands at the far end of the room, mid-set. His shirt is damp from sweat, and I can see his back muscles flexing as he drives the weight up with slow, controlled precision.
Everything about him is focused and disciplined. He’s strong in a way that isn’t just physical. It’s ingrained and intentional.
And I … stand here, watching him.
I can feel my pulse tick up. This isn’t just appreciation. It’s an awareness of him. The way his body moves. And the way I remember exactly how it felt under my fingers.
Crossing my arms, I shift my weight, like it would somehow ground me.
It doesn’t.
Because as he finishes the set and racks the weights, he looks up. Right. At. Me.
My stomach flutters because it was like he knew I was watching him.
The look on his face, the tilt of his mouth … yeah, he knew what I was doing.
Heat rushes up my neck, and I step back out into the hallway quickly, before he comes closer. Before he can see the way my body is reacting to him.
As soon as I get to my office, I shut the door and lean against it, closing my eyes.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
Act like a goddamn professional.
I inhale sharply and push away from the door, pacing the room.
Okay. Fine. I’ll just call it what it is.
I’m turned on from watching him, from my memories of us together the day we fucked. I’m turned on by everything that’s been building, especially over the past few weeks. Or really, since he came back from his sister’s in November. It’s in the little things, like when his leg always seems to brush mine, and his hands seem to touch me more freely. A graze of the cheek. A tuck of hair behind my ear. A hand sliding around my waist.
I drag a hand through my hair and remove the elastic from my wrist to put my hair in a ponytail.
I pace again, trying to convince myself that it’s just because it’s been a while. Like I did the last time we had sex.
Except I don’t think it’s that at all.
It’s because it’s him. He turns me on.
I walk over to my desk and sit down slowly. My hands rest on my legs, and I take in a few deep breaths.
Maybe I should just take the edge off.
Probably not a great idea at work, but neither was fucking Saint in an office off the practice field.
My fingers curl into the fabric at my waist, but I stop myself.
What am I thinking? I can’t get myself off at work.
My mind wanders, though, thinking about Saint’s thick cock and how he slammed into me. And I picture him taking me like that right here on my desk, and my pussy clenches.
Maybe I should just leave work now. I’m not really doing anything anyway. I could go home, get my trusty lemon out, and get myself off.
Then … there’s a knock.
Almost perfectly timed.
