Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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I run my fingers down his forearms, feeling the ropey muscles as he holds me in place, then I brush my hands back up to his biceps, to the round slabs of his shoulders, down his bare chest, his rippling abs, teasing over the rough hair that leads down to his shaft. I grip him there at the base, wet with my own desire, and he growls unapologetically with wild lust.

I want to make him make those noises until the end of time. Bringing him to his knees once won’t be enough for me.

With one hand, he reaches down and takes my hand off of him and rubs my fingers up and down over my clit. I’m so sensitive, so ready, I whimper, knowing I can’t hold back anymore.

“You said you wanted to come around me,” he whispers throatily into my ear. “You’re going to right now. And I want your neighbors to hear.”

What he just said is so hot that I don’t bother telling him that the neighbors have learned to block out my noises by now.

His hand rubs my fingers faster, harder, into myself, and he pulls his head back to watch me as both our hands stroke myself to the edge of oblivion.

“That’s it,” he says, his eyes so dark now, his stare deep and measuring, determined to get inside me, determined to get me off. “Kayla.” My name sounds like pure heat. “Come for me.”

I can’t hold myself back. I let go.

Freefall.

It spreads slowly at first, like lighting a fuse, the spark traveling from my core and out through every nerve in my body. Then I implode with a jolt that makes me scream. I’ve cried out, yelled, moaned, and cursed, but I’ve never screamed during sex, yet here I am, violence ripping out of me with nowhere else to go.

And it’s not over. I’m a rocket blasting off, just shuddering, shaking, quaking in a rolling boil of fire. I can’t control my body or my thoughts—I’m just flying through the air, exploding in a wave of stars. My heart fills to the brim then floods over with emotion that nearly brings tears to my eyes.

I have been obliterated. He’s completely ruined me, and I’m already dying to have it again and again and again.

“Holy fuck,” I cry against him, my head buried into his sweaty neck, holding his hard body against me, as if I would sink into further oblivion if I didn’t. “Oh god. Lachlan.”

He gives me one of his monosyllabic grunts and pulls his head back, grinning down at me. The lust hasn’t left his eyes, and I realize he hasn’t come yet.

“That was the appetizer, love,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my gasping mouth. “I’ll go all night.”

I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “I need a breather,” I tell him, my hands curling around his neck while I rest my forehead against his scruffy chin. “Have mercy on me.”

“Oh, I see,” he says lightly. “You can walk the walk but you can’t talk the talk.”

I raise my head and look him in those gorgeous eyes. “I’m still pulsing around you,” I tell him frankly, my breath coming under control.

“I know,” he says. “It’s only making me harder.” He puts his hand at my mouth, runs a finger over my lip. “I can’t wait to taste you.” He pulls himself out of me, kicks off his shoes and his pants, then grips my hips and lifts me up. “Come here,” he says, now stark-ass naked. He carries me across the kitchen to the living room where he places me on my back lengthwise.

He climbs on top of me, his hard, ginormous thighs on either side of my hips, his cock jutting out. I stare at him, wide-eyed, for a beautiful moment as I drink all of him in. I want to lick every single tattoo on his torso, slide my lips over every sculpted ridge. There is something spellbinding, and it’s not only just the sight of him, finally naked and in front of me, but the way his eyes are pinning me down, filled with thoughts and desires I wish I could see.

I expect him to push himself inside me next, but he leans over, bracing his elbows on either of my shoulders. He smiles down at me and I’m unnerved at how gentle it is. It softens everything about him. Lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and his brow smooths out. He’s less of a raging beast but still just as beautiful.

He runs his fingers over my nose, down the hills of my lips, looking at me like he’s seeing me, and it’s so strangely intimate, considering our non-relationship so far, that I want to look away and break the gaze.

Thankfully, he breaks it for me. He licks along the rim of my ear, the sensation causing my skin to prickle. “I want to taste every corner of your body,” he murmurs. “Is that all right?”

I swallow hard. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” he says, licking down my neck, causing my back to arch. “But since you needed a breather…”

I put my hand in his hair and make a fist, tugging on his soft strands. “Just fucking eat me already.”

He chuckles. “There’s my girl.”

My girl. His words fist punch me right in the heart.

Dear god.

He continues to bring his lips and tongue down the length of my body, caressing my collarbone, my breasts, sucking hard at my nipples until I’m dizzy, nearly mad with sensation. My fingers dig into the taut muscles of his back, turning into desperate clawing as he continues to move downward.

My stomach shivers under his tongue, and my hips jerk under the tickle of his stubble, the sweep of his soft lips.

Finally his head settles between my legs and I part them wider for him, thirsty with dire anticipation. Naturally, he takes his time. He parts me open, slowly letting the rough pad of his fingertip brush over my sensitive flesh.

I’m already gasping, unable to keep quiet, to contain myself.

Then his tongue snakes out, sliding along my clit and setting off more fireworks that flame the fire inside me. My breath shakes, unstable, my fingers clawing at the sheets. My hips lift up, wanting more of him.

He obliges, putting his mouth and lips into it. And he’s watching me. Those wild eyes are watching my every movement as he gives me more and more pleasure, his teeth razing over my clit, his tongue plunging deep inside. His head between my legs is the world’s most beautiful sight, and I know I’m looking dumbfounded and crazed as I stare back at him.

It’s too much. Too soon.

But fuck if I don’t crave it the minute I look away.

So I look back and his heated gaze is still on me, his brows furrowed in epic determination, like a man going off to war, and I’m surprised his look alone doesn’t make me come. I can almost feel him in deep, into the hopeless, dark parts of me I never go, like he’s willing everything forward and out into the open.

Fuck, this man is driving me more insane now than when he was giving me the cold shoulder.

I can’t hold his gaze any longer. I throw my head back and the world becomes warmer, warmer, tighter, as if my universe were built of tiny heated stars. It grows and grows and grows, this impossible force inside me that gathers every single nerve and piece of my body until its wound over and over again.

The slide of his tongue pulls the trigger.

“Holy shit,” I cry out, and he murmurs into me, his groans vibrating deep inside and kicking me over the edge. I’m going over, falling into a net of burning stars, and my fingers grab his hair, pulling at him in desperation, trying to hold on even though there’s no use. The orgasm never seems to end and I turn into a quivering, boneless body.

It’s only while I’m lying here, legs splayed to the side and trying to breathe, that I realize he still hasn’t come yet.

I’m going to need another fucking breather.

But before I can voice that, he’s at me, on his knees, and grabbing hold of one thigh and lifting it high, positioning himself. He pushes inside, still hard through all of that, and I’m so wet and spent that he slides in easily. He’s still as huge and thick as he was in the kitchen. He shoves himself into me with pressing urgency, and I have to give the man credit for keeping it together this long.

“I won’t take long, love,” he hisses, his accent muddled with lust. He grinds into me, his hips circling, pinning me to the bed as he pistons himself in and out. He is merciless, grunting hard with each thrust, this rough, animalistic noise that gets louder and louder the closer he gets to coming. It’s such a fucking beautiful noise that causes the heat to build in my core, coaxing the last bit of flames I have left.

I stare up at him, at his body, at this gorgeous specimen of discipline and pain and good genes. He grips my leg, pushing my thighs back into my stomach so he can thrust in deeper, and it’s almost too deep, but he pulls back just in time, groaning hoarsely.

The bed moves, rocking back and forth loudly, and I’m enthralled as he works me, fucking me like an animal, fucking me like a basic, primal being who has been built for this and only this. Faster, harder, deeper. His pace is relentless.

I can see him starting to lose control, dipping over the edge, and I give myself a hand so I can match him. His eyes burn into mine, and then he’s in deep, so deep that he’s shaking and muttering my name in low, guttural tones before letting loose a string of filthy swears.

It sets me off for the third time tonight, and once again I’m floating, flying, but this time I’m with him, and we’re riding it together, our bodies joined inside and out. For this moment, we are one, moving as one, feeling as one.

My heart is huge and filled with bliss.

I’m sated.

I’m happy.

I am so fucking over my head.

Lachlan collapses against me, his hard body sweaty and sliding against mine, and I do something I never do after sex. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close to me, trying to keep him inside me for as long as possible, not wanting the warmth, the connection, to be broken.

And he stays in me for as long as he can, his breath steadying in my ear, his lips brushing my neck briefly, before he rolls over and pulls out. He seems to barely have enough strength to tie the end together before he gets to his feet and pulls me up.

“Bed. Now,” he says, completely caveman.

I dutifully follow, my legs shaking beneath me as we walk into my bedroom. We both collapse naked onto the bed, and he pulls me toward him, not quite spooning but not letting go either. I tell myself that I’ll eventually have to move, that I can’t fall asleep when someone’s touching me.

But the world goes dark. My dreams beckon warmly. And I fall asleep in his arms.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lachlan

I feel soft fingers at my cheek. I open my eyes, blinking into the dark until I see the shadow of a girl at my side, hazy light coming in from an open window.

Kayla. I swallow, feeling panicked.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah…” I shake my head trying to get my bearings. “Yeah. Why? What…what time is it?”

“Almost morning,” she says softly, her fingers trailing down to my jaw. “You were having a bad dream.”

Fucking hell. How much of it did she hear?

“I don’t, uh, I can’t remember,” I tell her, trying to but only recalling feeling despair.

“Probably a good thing,” she says.

“What was I saying?” I ask hesitantly.

“You were calling out…” she trails off, hands drifting over my chest. “For Lionel.”

I breathe out in relief. “Lionel is my dog,” I tell her.

She cocks her head at me. “You have another dog?”

“At home, yeah.” Though there’s no point in telling her that I most likely wasn’t calling out for my dog in my dream. I was dreaming of being a child again, the day my mum gave me away. But lying here in this beautiful woman’s bed is no place to bring up tragedies.

“You must be excited to go back home to him,” she says, and though she’s hiding it, I can hear the trace of disappointment in her voice. Everything is always more clear in the dark.

I reach for her face, pulling her closer to me. “What I am is determined to make these last few days count,” I tell her as I kiss her softly at the edge of her mouth. “I’m far from done with you.”

If anything, Kayla has unlocked a part of me I rarely, if ever, tap into. It’s been months since I last slept with anyone, and back then it was some bird I picked up at the bar. I was drunk and in a bad place—the two are mutual with each other—and feeling sorry for myself. I shagged the chick in the bathroom, and that was that. Before that, I can’t remember. Once I’d decided to quit the meaningless one-night stands, sex was put on the back burner.

Now, I am burning, raging like an inferno, and long overdue. When I showed up at her door, I wasn’t sure how she was going to take things, but I knew it was time to stop pretending that she hadn’t gotten to me, that I didn’t want to have her in whatever way I could.

And, bloody hell, she was ready for whatever I gave her. The words that came out of her mouth did my head in, turned me upside down, as if I wasn’t already letting the lust run away with me.

I want more. I want her every day, all the time, until I leave.

“I’m not done with you either,” she says throatily, and the tone makes my cock stiffen, hot and thick and straining against the sheets. Her lips open against mine, and I slide my tongue in, tasting her sweet, wicked little mouth.

I need to fuck her, messy, hot, and wild. I want her body, her touch, her light to replace all the darkness that creeps into my dreams.

“Oh, you gorgeous thing,” I murmur, running the pad of my thumb over her peaked nipple as she arches back, her body begging for more. “I’ll go mad if I can’t get inside you.”

She looks up at me, and in the dim light, I see her coy smile. “I like driving men mad.”

“I know you do, love. But have some pity on me. It’s been a while.”

She jerks her head in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. So have some compassion and spread your fucking legs.”

“Oh no,” she says, putting her hand on my chest and pushing me back. “You lie back. You spread your fucking legs.”

I cock a brow. “What?”

“Believe me,” she says saucily, pushing me flat on my back. “You want this.”

She straddles me, and I wish she was facing the window so I can see those fantastic tits more clearly. “Do you have a condom?” I ask, my voice croaking with need.

“Yes, for later,” she says and keeps moving back until she’s at my knees. “You won’t want one now.” She rakes her nails over the hard planes of my stomach, my abs tensing from the abrasion, before she settles in between my legs.

My cock juts straight up, nearly obscuring her from my view. I prop one arm beneath my head, my other hand sinking into her hair, wrapping the silky strands around my fingers.

She takes my length in her hand, and my blood pulses against her palm. The feeling is nearly too much to bear. Her mouth opens, those lush lips sliding over the tip, pushing me into a flurry of lust that sends my eyes back into my skull. Fuck she’s good, sliding her tongue over the veins, over every hardened ridge, like she can’t get enough, like I’m a fucking ice cream cone on a hot day.

“Fuck,” I mutter, eyes pinched shut, pulling on her hair. “Don’t fucking stop.”

She pulls her mouth off, a wet sucking sound, and I think for a terrible moment that she is stopping, and every part of me tenses in frustration. Then her hand comes down over my cock, sliding like silk, pulling back to the base until I think my head might explode. I jerk my hips up, craving release.

But she has more planned. She lowers her head and slowly, gently takes my balls into her mouth, while stroking me off with her hand.

Jesus. Thank you. Thank you. Rare is the woman who will suck on your balls like candy. I wonder if I can smuggle Kayla back in my carry-on. She’s small enough.

I don’t want to come though. I lift my head, trying to speak. My throat is so dry, my thoughts scrambled. Everything is being redirected to primal instinct, the drive to come and come as hard as I can, and it doesn’t help that I have this shadowy view of her head between my legs, tongue and lips sucking my thin skin until I don’t know my own name.

“I want to be inside you,” I manage to say, my tongue feeling heavy.

She shakes her head, the vibrations driving me mad. I grip her hair tighter. I want her to stop and I don’t at the same time, but she’s the one in control.

“Kayla,” I say, before I moan as another wave of pleasure robs me of speech.

She just pumps her fist harder, and I know I’m a goner.

It sneaks up on me, like someone tackling you from behind. I’m thrown into metaphysical space, my balls emptying, shooting my load somewhere, who knows. It doesn’t matter because I’ve gone off like a detonation, light bursting behind my eyes, and the groans out of my throat are loud, hoarse, and deafening.

It takes a few moments for me to catch my breath, for my heart rate to stop galloping like an animal on the run. My thoughts won’t gather; I can only lie here while Kayla extracts herself and lies down next to me, her head propped up on her hand, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest.

“Hey,” she says.

I clear my throat. “Hello.” Even so, my voice is rough like sandpaper. “That was…”

“I know,” she says, completely confident in the many ways she just undid me. “It was the least I could do for three orgasms last night.”

I lick my parched lips and tilt my head to stare at her in the dimness. Her eyes are so wet and dark, and I know I have a bad habit of staring into them for too long, but I can’t help it.

I reach over and take a strand of her hair between my fingers and gently brush it off her face. There’s something about her that makes me tender from time to time. She tries her hardest not to show it, but I can see it, how vulnerable she is deep down. How badly she fights to cover it up with brevity and cynicism, but I know it’s there. It brings out my ever-present protectiveness.

“I guess you should be going soon,” she says softly.

I’m taken aback. Like a dog, my hackles go up. “Okay…”

She curls her hand around the back of my neck and leans in closer. “I don’t want you to go. But you do have two dogs at your apartment and I have to get up for work soon.”

I nod. Right. The dogs. She’s right. I’d never planned on staying the night, it just happened that way. Coming inside her was like taking a massive sleeping pill, and the fact that I just came again—all over my stomach—means I’m apt to fall right back asleep.

“Do you have a towel or tissue paper?” I ask her, nodding at my stomach, at the cum that glistens in a pool. I’m lucky I didn’t get it in my eye.

She gets out of bed, her sleek, curvy body like a woman’s silhouette in a spy film. She tosses me a tissue box from her bookshelf and I quickly mop up the mess.

“Need a shower?” she asks when I’m done. Her voice drops a register, getting all Scarlet Johansson-ish. “I could use one.”

It’s a tonic to my dick, and I feel it pulse, despite how exhausted it has to be. But I’m not exhausted. I also have no intention of going home right away if I can help it. It’s still so early, the dogs should be sleeping. They’ll be okay for a little bit before I return. I don’t know how many more minutes of Kayla Moore I get in my lifetime.

“Sure,” I tell her. She takes my hand in hers and pulls me off the bed. Now that I’m looming over her, she looks so willowy, tiny, and dare I say, helpless, even though I know she’s anything but.

She glances down, sees the stirrings of another erection.

“The hell,” she says. “How is that even possible?”

I stand there proudly before her. “Anything is possible with me.”

“You really are a beast,” she comments.

“Funny,” I tell her, “that’s my nickname on the field.”

“And in the bedroom, I guess.”

“No,” I tell her, putting my hands on the soft small of her waist and pulling her in. “Only with you.”

I can tell she’s grinning at me. She steps out of my grasp and does a sexy walk, her hips swaying back and forth, all the way to the washroom. She flicks on the light then throws her hand in front of her face, blinking hard.

“It’s a bit bright,” she says.

“All the better to see you,” I tell her, following her in.

Her bathroom is about the size of a shoe box, with a sink, toilet, and glass-encased shower. A large mirror extends along the entire wall, adding depth. I stare at our reflections. I look so giant next to her, the scars, my messy hair, the scores of tattoos. I look like a bruiser, a fighter, a reject. She looks like a princess compared to me, so delicate and soft and pale. I really am the beast here.

Thank god she likes it. She’s meeting my eyes in the reflection, and her lips part just enough for me to get a glimpse of her tongue.

“Get in the shower,” I tell her. “Lather up.”

She frowns, walking over to it and turning it on. “What are you going to do?”

“It’s barely big enough for the both of us,” I tell her. “I’m going to watch you clean yourself. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you silly.”

She tilts her head, appraising me with a look of wonder on her sweet face. “Who are you again? The insatiable man?”

“Perfectly paired with the insatiable girl.” I give her a half-smile and jerk my head at the shower. “Go.”

“All right,” she says slowly with a raise of her brows. She steps in the shower and lets the water run over her. Her neck goes back, her back arches, the water streams over her perky breasts, her tight little arse, over every soft and curvy part of her body. It’s like watching fucking porn but it’s live and in front of me, and for now, for these last hours of morning, she’s all mine.

I lean back against the sink, and in no time my cock is rock hard again and hot between my hands. I watch as she squirts body wash on a sponge and runs it all over her body, the white lather dripping between her tits and down the curve of her hips and pelvis.

“Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice coarse with lust.

She smirks at me. “You’re really bossy.”

“Again, so are you.”

Kayla gives me a triumphant look then keeps her eyes locked with mine as her hands and the sponge dip between her legs. At this point, most girls would look away, feeling like they are display, exposed. But she has no problems baring all to me. She stares deep into my eyes until her own pleasure makes her break. Her head goes back, her eyes pinch shut, that gorgeous, fuckable mouth opens as she moans.

Yeah. I can’t handle much more.

I walk over to the shower and she shrinks up against the wall to give me room.

“Keep the door open,” I tell her. “Brace your hands on the edge.”

“The floor will get soaked,” she says, but still complies.

“You have towels.”

She shrugs, and I see a hint of tension in her brow. It’s not quite worry—she just doesn’t know what’s coming next.

“Should I go get a condom?” she asks.

“It depends,” I say. I grab her hair and force her head down so she’s bending at the waist, and her slick, soapy arse is pressed against the length of my cock. She fumbles for the handle of the open door, holding on with both hands. The mirror across from us displays us perfectly, though it’s slowly getting fogged up.

“Depends on what?” she asks, but I can tell she already knows what I have planned.

I slide my fingers between the cheeks of her arse, up and down, probing at her cunt and then further up. “This okay?” I whisper, tracing my fingers around in circles.

She nods but doesn’t say anything. I slowly push a finger in, then take it back out, making sure it gets extra slick and soapy before it goes back in. She clenches around me, and I have to breathe in deep, making sure I don’t lose it before my cock even has a chance to slip inside.

I squeeze a dollop of the body wash in my hand, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror as our features gradually fog over. I rub it along my length and then with one hand holding her hips and the other at the base of my cock, I push myself in the tightest space imaginable.

She gasps but pushes back into me to let me know I should keep going. I take it as easy as I can, my movements slow and deliberate.

“This still okay?” I murmur, hoping she’s at least getting some thrill out of it, even if it doesn’t match mine. Before she has a chance to answer, I let go of her hip and my hand slides between her legs. It’s hard to tell if she is wet from the shower or from her own arousal. I like to pretend it’s all for me.

She immediately relaxes into my fingers, her feet taking a wide stance on the slick tiles. The muscles along the length of her back smooth out, and her head hangs down limply as she gives herself to me.

“Look at yourself,” I whisper to her gruffly. I want her to look at her reflection, at us, at the juxtaposition of our bodies. The darkness and the light. “Look at me.”

She carefully raises her head, and I meet her warm eyes, holding them in place. I push in and out, and her arse is so goddamn tight that I don’t have much time—I’m lost to her slick grip, the full milky skin of her cheeks. I’m lost to her.

Thankfully I can multitask. My fingers work faster as I pump harder, with as much control as I can muster. I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs, and the lights are starting to flicker, even though it’s all in my own head as I try not to break eye contact with her in the mirror.

I know she’s close to coming when her face begins to contort, her jaw open and locked, her eyes fluttering, fighting to keep staring at the foggy version of me when all they want to do is close. She comes hard, shaking so violently she almost falls to her knees, and I manage to keep her upright, all her weight on my hand, my arm straining while my fingers extract every last drop of pleasure from her swollen clit.

I don’t look away. Not once. I’m going back to Scotland alone, and I need every single memory of her ingrained in my mind.

I come fast. Abrupt. It catches me off-guard, and my cries echo in the washroom and I pour into her. It feels so bloody good, I can barely stand. When I manage to open my eyes again, Kayla’s blurry reflection is staring back at me in the mirror.

“You’re a dirty boy,” she says. “A lucky boy,” she adds. “Anal already?”

I can’t help the dazed grin on my face. I shrug before slowly pulling out of her. “I’m not missing an opportunity with you around. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was spending every spare minute from now until Sunday with you.”

“Too bad you can’t come to my office in a few hours,” she says. “Maybe go down on me under my desk.”

I lick my lips. “Just say the word and I’m there.”

She grabs a towel and wraps it around her waist, leaving her beautiful tits bare. “Don’t tempt me. I’m so close to quitting my job already.” She nods at the shower. “Take your time,” she says, then walks out of the washroom.

I quickly put some body wash in my hair, not too picky with what goes on my head, and in minutes I’m out and toweling off.

I stride into her bedroom naked. Flaccid, yes, but from the look in her eyes, she’s still damn impressed. Somehow she’s already dressed for work, and the sun is just starting to rise in the east.

“You’re fast,” I tell her.

She gives me a quick smile as she puts an earring through her ear. “Might as well get ready.” Her eyes trail over my body. “So, the next time I see you, I hope you’re ready to finally tell me about your tattoos.”

My smile falters. I swallow, not ready to bare myself in that way. “I’ll tell you some stories. The rest will bore you to tears.”

“Lachlan,” she says, and the way she says my name nearly makes me hard again. She saunters over to me and puts her hand at my jaw. “You are the furthest thing from boring.”

I grunt, shrugging. She can find me as fascinating as she wants for the time I have with her, but I’m not about to sink into the truth. She’s becoming one last, much needed fling before I return to rugby, dogs, my normal life. In this kind of limited arrangement, there is absolutely no room for reality.

I grab her hand and kiss her palm. “When am I seeing you again? Can you come over after work?”

She seems to think about that for a moment. “How about around eight or so?”

I nod. “Sounds perfect.”

Her hands trail to my chest, running her fingers over my tattoos again, like she’s reading Braille. “Do you want a ride home? You’re not far from my work.”

Normally I would insist on getting my own ride, but I don’t for some reason. I’m starting to squeeze the minutes here. “That would be lovely,” I tell her.

It’s not long before I’m dressed in the suit from last night, and she’s dropping me off at my flat. The sun is shining down on the city and not a hint of fog is in sight. Everything sparkles with new clarity. Everything.

I lean over and put my fingertips under her delicate chin, tilting it toward my lips. I kiss her softly. “Thank you.”

She flushes, the pink creeping into her cheeks, and she nods. “I feel like I should be thanking you. A lot.”

“For what?”

She smiles. Embarrassed. “For finally succumbing to my charms.”

I grin at her and shake my head. “I succumbed to them a while ago, love. I was just waiting for my brain to catch up. I’m glad it did.” I kiss her again and give her a wink before getting out of the car. On the sidewalk, I lean over so I can see her in the driver’s seat. I raise my palm in a wave. “See you.”

“See you,” she says before biting her lip and driving off. I watch her go for a moment before I suck in the morning air, the only time the city doesn’t feel as dirty. I head into my flat, ready to tackle the dogs and whatever else the day is going to throw at me.

I have to admit, I’m kind of useless the rest of the day. I do what needs to be done—taking the dogs to the vet, following up on a possible adopter for Ed, hitting the gym—but my brain isn’t really into it.

It’s a change for me, to be so singularly focused on a person for once instead of rugby or the rescues. It feels good, actually, because it keeps unwanted thoughts and urges at bay. Normally, my brain feels scattered, like every neuron is shot through a prism, and instead of light and rainbows, there are different shades of black and grey. Again and again I’m drawn back to the bleak, to somewhere deep and unsettled, and it takes a lot to pull me out, to scatter those thoughts back into the light.

I know what tames that beast on my back, the one that wants me to backslide. But to pay it too much attention is to give it too much power. But with Kayla…I may still be a jittery mess with a raging heart, but at least she’s the cause of it all.

I’m out on another walk with the dogs, trying to teach Emily how to heel. It’s not easy since she’s afraid of every person, car, and object we come across. Sometimes the dogs pick up on my energy when I’m too wound up, for better or worse. I decide to try again some other day. I head back to the flat, when the truth is, I could walk forever and never burn out.