Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Raffa

Jogging around this quiet town feels like the one thing keeping me sane these days. Thirty minutes of cardio, doctor's orders. And yeah, I'm taking it slow. Real slow. I've been doing the responsible thing—reading, helping with the damn Pumpkin Festival. It's not like I hate the thing anymore, but let's not kid ourselves, I'm still not thrilled. Pumpkins. Who the fuck gets excited about pumpkins? But it's keeping me busy, keeping me from losing my mind while I'm stuck here.

My breathing is steady as my feet pound the pavement. Kentbury's so damn peaceful in the mornings. Too peaceful, maybe. It gives me too much time to think, and lately, there's only one thing my brain's been stuck on—Meadow.

Just as I'm turning the corner near the park, I spot her up ahead, standing by the coffee shop, looking down at her phone. And fuck me, she's wearing this low-cut sweater that's hugging every curve like a second skin. Her hips, her ass, and those perfect, full tits practically spilling out. My dick twitches at the sight of her, hardening before I can stop myself.

I try to play it cool, slowing down my jog, but all I can think about is how much I want her. How badly I need to get my hands on her, to feel those soft, full breasts in my palms, squeezing them as she moans. The way they'd fit perfectly in my hands, how they'd bounce when I fuck her. Jesus. I'm half-hard already just picturing it.

But it's not just about getting her naked. No. I want to bury my face in her tits, suck on them until she's squirming under me. And fuck, I want to wrap her breasts around my cock, thrust between them while she watches, her lips parted, her tongue teasing the tip of me as I slide in and out. I can practically see it—the way her tits would feel slick and tight around my shaft as I fuck them, harder and harder, until I'm groaning her name, marking her skin with my cum.

The thought of it alone has me rock hard, throbbing against my joggers, and all I can do is grit my teeth and try to get a grip. But it's impossible when she's standing there, looking like that, completely oblivious to how fucking desperate I am for her.

It's embarrassing, really. A grown-ass man, walking around like a horny teenager. But damn if she doesn't make it hard—literally—every time I see her.

It doesn't help that we spend most evenings together now, working on the festival. The more time I spend with her, the worse it gets. And it's not just about her body, even though, yeah, that's a huge part of it. There's something about the way she looks at me, the way she moves . . . it's driving me fucking crazy.

I shake my head, trying to get the image of her out of my mind, but then I'm closer, and it's too late. She looks up, meeting my eyes, and that smile . . . God, that smile. My cock twitches, and I inwardly curse. Great. Just what I needed.

"Raffa," she says, smiling brighter as I approach. "Out for a jog?"

"Yeah," I grunt, trying to keep my voice even, trying not to let her know that I've been mentally undressing her since the moment I saw her. "Doctor's orders. Thirty minutes of cardio, taking it slow."

She laughs, and damn it, I love the way she sounds when she laughs. Her sweater dips just enough to make my eyes drift lower, and I have to fight to keep from staring. The curve of her breasts is right there, teasing me. All I can think about is how badly I want to push that sweater down, expose her, and bury my face in those perfect tits.

It's a fucking problem. A big problem. Because when I'm not thinking about her boobs, I'm thinking about what it'd be like to fuck her while she looks up at me with those big eyes, moaning my name. My pulse quickens just imagining it.

"Are you okay?" she asks, tilting her head, that sweet concern in her voice snapping me back to reality.

I clear my throat, adjusting my joggers because, fuck, this is not the time to be getting hard. "Yeah, just . . . tired." Tired of thinking about her and not being able to act, because my sister is right.

I should probably leave, finish my jog, and cool off—literally and figuratively. But my feet? Yeah, they're glued to the damn spot. "You, uh . . . you heading somewhere?"

"Oh, just grabbing some coffee," she says, gesturing toward the shop behind her. "Want to join me?"

Fuck. Sitting across from her right now while I'm trying to will my dick to calm the hell down sounds like pure torture. "Can't drink caffeine, remember?" I blurt out, probably a little too quickly.

Her smile falters, just for a second, and instantly I feel like an asshole. But it's for the best. If I sit with her, all I'll be thinking about is what I've been fantasizing about all week—how her boobs would bounce when I'm deep inside her, how it'd feel to hear her moaning my name while I bury myself in her. Yeah, no. I can't handle that right now.

"They have green juice," she says, totally unfazed. "You can drink that, and there are parfait cups. Greek yogurt's good for your condition and so are berries."

"My condition?" I repeat, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you're grumpy because you can't have a normal diet," she jokes, flashing me a teasing grin. "I noticed there are still a lot of things you can eat or drink, even with it. I will teach you how to enjoy life and eat again without missing out."

This is not what I expected so I have to ask, "How do you know?"

She shrugs, all casual. "I googled it, of course. Did you know you can have sex within one to two weeks after a heart attack, as long as you check with your doctor first? You're good to go if that's what you need, just make sure to wear a condom."

I blink, completely thrown. Did she . . . did she just google my condition to better my sex life? My brain short-circuits for a second, trying to figure out if she's giving me a factoid or dropping some kind of hint.

"Uh . . . Are you insinuating we should . . . I mean, I would love to have sex, but you're too young."

"What?!" she squeaks, her eyes widening in pure horror.

"Wait, no, I didn't—" I stammer, realizing how that sounded. "I just meant?—"

"Oh my God." She gasps, turning bright red as she waves her hands in front of her. "I didn't mean that you and . . . I was just—oh my God, no, I—where are my invisible powers when I need them?"

Her face is so flushed, I half expect steam to start coming out of her ears. She's backing up, practically stumbling over her own feet in her rush to leave. "I— Uh, I have to go," she says, turning on her heel. "Like, right now."

"Wait, Meadow, I didn't mean?—"

But she's already retreating, not even stepping into the coffee shop. I watch her go, half laughing, half dying of second-hand embarrassment.

"Guess that's a no on the green juice or sex," I mutter to myself, still standing there, feeling like a total idiot.