Page 150 of Riding the Sugar High

My god.

He’s terrifying. And captivating. And so...incredibly...hot. Does he really want me to run away?

Without a second thought, I dart past him, out the front door and down the porch stairs, an exhilarated giggle bursting out of my lips as the grass crunches underneath my naked feet.

I keep moving forward, adrenaline making me faster than usual, and dare a glance behind me. Logan is following, black helmet and gloves on. Though he’s not running, one of his strides is worth three of mine, so I speed up past the gentle pain in my legs that reminds me I am not a runner.

I bolt toward the orchard, past the first few rows, until apple trees surround me.

Once I’m confident I’m deep enough, I stop, brace my hands on my knees, and wait for my heartbeat to settle.

I can’t hear him walking, but I frantically turn left and right, peering through the gaps between the endless rows of trees. He was right behind me before I entered the orchard. Maybe he’s hiding.

A noise to my right has me flinching, and without even turning to check if it’s Logan, I take off again. I laugh, fully knowing I should remain silent, but unable to stop myself. Adrenaline thrums in my veins as I slalom between trees, my muscles growing tired with every step.

When I’m too exhausted to continue, I hide behind a trunk. I’ve run almost to the other side of the orchard, and he could be anywhere. I haven’t seen him in a while—where is he?

“Gotcha.”

A strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me to the right, and with a squeal, I free myself of his hold and run. I don’t make it far before both his arms squeeze my stomach, and I crumble down to the ground.

“Let me go!” I laugh, thrashing against the grass as he pins my body down with his weight. “I’m never giving it back!”

“If you keep the jacket, I’m keeping you.”

With his free hand, he pulls my waist up, my chest still pressed to the ground. The jacket bunches around my hips, and the moisture between my legs is now exposed to the morning air. All the exhilaration of the moment fades in favor of a hungry need for him, especially as I throw a look past my shoulder and see the helmet still hides his face. From the way his head is tilted down, I know he’s staring down at my ass, fully exposed to him, and just the sight of it makes me whine.

He lifts his visor, and the blue and gray irises have been swallowed by darkness, his brow tightly furrowed. I get lost in the way he looks at me. Like he needs me, like he owns me.

“God, I missed you.” With a lightning-fast movement, his hand cracks down on my ass, the loud slapping noise hitting a moment before the pain.

I squeal, my body flinching, but the leather of his gloves quickly massages the raw skin of my ass as his other hand snakes around the back of my neck, keeping my cheek pressed to the ground.

“I missed this ass.” His hand smacks my other cheek, my body flinching forward as I let out a gasp. His gloved hand rubs down my ass, over my drenched pussy, then down my thighs. “I missed you splayed out and completely at my mercy.”

Bringing his hand up, he pinches the gloves with his teeth and pulls them off, then throws them to one side. My knees press against the dewy grass, my back arching as his hold of my neck tightens. I want him to overpower me so badly. I want his punishing touch on my body, the full weight of his desire, the entirety of his soul.

Once he’s taken the helmet off, he meets my gaze. “If at any point you want to stop?—”

“I’ll tell you,” I reassure him. “Now, please?—”

His finger slides inside me, the inner walls of my pussy clenching around the intrusion. He rolls it inside me, then adds a second finger, stretching me.

“Is this why you wanted my attention?” he whispers as he leans forward. “Because you’re so wet for me?”

“Yes,” I whimper as I buck my hips. Though his fingers are deep inside me, he’s not using them to fuck me, and I can feel myself growing needier.

“You want me to use you, little backpack?”

“Yes,” I say, even more desperately. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asks as his fingers continue their torturous movements inside me. “Because if you keep grinding your hips like that, I’m going to think what you want is to come on my fingers.”

My erratic movements falter, my hands bunching in the grass beside my head. It’s hard to keep still—he’s giving me just enough to keep me wanting more. Like he’s designed a game I’m meant to lose.

“I can make it happen for you, you know.”

My eyes roll to the back of my head as he plunges his fingers in and pulls back hard, again and again. I spread my legs wider, hands clutching at the ground.