I’m going to hell. The vivid reminder of what we just did causes a surge of wetness between my legs. It’s not quite a moan that escapes my mouth, but it must sound like it because I swear flames leap in Walsh’s eyes.
“You want it again, don’t you?” he murmurs as he studies me closely.
I shake my head in a bald-faced lie.
“Micah’s baby sister, all grown up, and I’m betting drenched for it again,” he mutters.
Shit… I can feel something warm running down the inside of my leg, so I press them together.
“You’re squirming, Jorie,” he taunts.
“I’m not,” I lie again.
Walsh is pissed this happened, but that anger is waning. Instead, the more he talks, the more his eyes become heated. His voice is sensual, not condemning.
“Will it help if I admit that I want you again?” he asks, but rather than wait for my answer, he’s dragging my hand to his crotch where I feel his hard thickness pressing against his jeans.
I swallow hard, and even though I should pull my hand away, I curl my fingers around him and squeeze. Walsh’s eyes flutter closed and his forehead wrinkles with what appears to be pained distress.
“Except I can’t fucking have you because you’re Micah’s little sister,” he snarls as he tears away from me. He paces back and forth, scrubbing his fingers through his long hair to pull it away from his face before letting it go again as he turns to me.
He stares at me thoughtfully for a moment and then asks, “Where’s your friend?”
“That was Elena,” I say quietly.
“That was Elena?” he asks through gritted teeth. He knows Elena as well since she’s been my best friend my entire life.
I nod. “She said she’d meet me in the Social Room.”
Walsh nods curtly. “Alright… let’s go.”
“Where?” I ask as I push off the locker.
“I’ll escort you back to her, then you two are getting the hell out of here and never coming back,” he mutters as he holds a hand out to me.
I’ll admit, I’ve been more than a bit rattled since Walsh revealed himself to me. But I’ve taken about all his domineering ways that I can handle for today.
“Go to hell, Walsh.” I put my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes. “You aren’t my keeper. I don’t do what you say.”
Wrong words, apparently, because he’s on me in a nanosecond, backing me right into the lockers again. “You don’t do what I say? You fucking impaled that sweet pussy on a dildo because I told you to, Jorie. You were so hot for it, you would have done anything I told you to.”
I know Walsh is only trying to get me out of here, but his words are incredibly shaming to me. He has no clue what it took for me to come here and give into this challenge for myself personally.
For my fucking self-esteem.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, pushing past him and starting for the locker room door.
“Jorie, wait,” he calls, an apology in his voice. That just pisses me off even more, and I walk faster. My hand hits the handle to swing open the door, but his palm is there, holding it shut. “Just… wait a minute, okay?”
I don’t turn to face him, feeling the heat from his body against my back. “Let me out,” I murmur.
“Why did you come here?” he asks again, this time almost pleading. “And please tell me I didn’t scar you for life with that… that…”
I whip around to face him, and he takes a cautious step back. “With that impaling of my sweet pussy?” I ask with derision.
He ignores my taunt and, to my surprise, lifts his hands to my face. His fingers run along the feathers from my temple across my forehead, and then he finds what he wants. He carefully peels the cap off my head, releasing my hair, which I’m sure looks horrid after being stuck under there. I give it an unconscious shake, and the flat crop of bangs that are cut severely over my forehead falls forward.
“You cut your hair,” he says as his eyes roam over me. I had indeed cut my long, almost black hair to just below my jawline in an angular bob. Vince had been all about the long hair, but it clearly wasn’t enough to get his dick up, so I had Elena lop it off a few weeks ago.
I lift a nervous hand, tucking the hair back on one side, but I don’t respond.
“Why were you here?” he asks for a third time, dropping his hands to his side.
“It’s personal,” I return, my gaze dropping to the floor.
“Come on, Jorie.” He pushes my face back up with his fingers under my chin. “It’s me.”
“It’s you,” I agree. “But I don’t know you anymore. Haven’t seen you for ten years. You didn’t even come to my wedding.”