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Book:The Devil Wants Me Published:2024-11-11

Rita
“Did you think I fantasized in soft core?” he asks with a sigh. “Help me up.”
I give him a hand. We stand side by side in front of the wall again, looking upward. I’m trying not to think about him touching himself, touching his pierced cock, and thinking about me.
But a strange thrill of pride runs down my spine.
This man, this handsome, closed-off man, finds me so attractive that he touches himself to daydreams of me.
“How come you haven’t had a serious girlfriend in a while?” I ask suddenly as I walk forward and start to make another climb.
“You know that’s a borderline insulting question, right?”
“Come on, seriously. Do you work too much?”
“Yes,” he says. “But that’s not it.”
“Why not then? Just haven’t found the right girl?” I glance down and he nods slightly, but he’s looking off in the distance, at the far end of the gym.
“I had a bad experience. Let’s say she broke my heart, like I told you before, and leave it at that. Now, I want to try again. Double or nothing?”
“You have more jerk-off fantasies you want to share?” My eyebrows raise.
He stares at me for a long moment, eyes drifting to my lips. “Rita, I have a whole movie of fantasies I can tell you all about, if you’d like.”
“No thanks. Get climbing, big guy. I want to see you fall again.”
He laughs, but gives it another try. Arms and back straining. His beautiful, muscular shoulders working. I can already picture straddling him, feeling his muscular chest as I ride him, taking him deep, listening to his groans, licking sweat from his lips, digging my fingers into that back.
I am really pent-up.
We take turns like that. He never reaches further than halfway, and I entertain myself by making up absurd climbing lines. We talk more about our lives, about our preferences, about the things that make us who we are.
“I haven’t talked about myself this much in years,” he admits as we sit and drink from our water bottles. “I wasn’t sure I had this much to say.”
“That’s no shock. I’m practically carrying this whole relationship on my back.”
“Oh, right, I forgot, you’re so interesting.”
“I glow like a lighthouse beacon compared to you.”
He smirks, clearly amused by my wit. “You know, I thought you were quiet when we first met.”
“I was trying to seem professional. Did it work?”
“Mostly. But you’re not quiet anymore.”
“Not I’m just getting through the day.”
“Turns out, you have an ego on you, which I didn’t expect.” His eyes narrow and I pull back in surprise.
“Excuse me? I have an ego? You’re practically a blimp, your head’s so big. Are you kidding me right now?”
“Come on, Rita. You know what you look like and you flaunt it.”
“Flaunt it?” I push myself to my feet. “Flaunt it how, old man?”
His jaw tics at that. Guess he doesn’t like me mentioning his age. “The tank tops. The tight pants. You’re practically lying around naked at the apartment. You want me to look.”
“Are you seriously criticizing how I dress?”
“Not in the slightest,” he says, getting to his feet. “I love the way you dress. But I am saying you know how you look, and you want to show it off. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I laugh, shaking my head. The goddamn audacity of this man. No wonder he hasn’t been in a long-term relationship in a while if he has the nerve to say something like that to me.
“I’ll say this once, so listen up. I never, ever dress with you in mind. What I wear is my business.”
He shrugs. “All right. I hear you.”
“And I do not have an ego.” I hesitate, about to storm off. “Although I am hot and I damn well know it, asshole.”
I walk away, fuming. For a second, I thought we were forming a connection, but he had to take his fat foot and shove it in his stupid mouth.
The asshole. I’m the one with the ego? Scar thinks he’s a gift to the world, like he’s the greatest, most intelligent lawyer ever.
And he’s the one that knows what he looks like and is trying to show it off. I notice the tight white t-shirts. The slim loungewear. He’s not shy about giving me a nice peek at his muscular arms.
Fucker. What a little fucker. Okay, maybe he’s not totally wrong, maybe I wear makeup way more than I normally would when I’m at home, and maybe I’m putting on nicer stuff because I know he’ll be around. But I’m not showing off for him. I’m not doing anything for him.
All I’m trying to do is survive this stupid nightmare he dragged me into.