Jake by Rian Kelley

belt had jerked against her throat. She had walked and kept on walking and Jake had been glad for it. He had risked their lives for the rush it had given him. He would never do that again.
                  Ivy followed the winding path and Jake suddenly lost sight of her. It snapped him out of the past. The splintered boardwalk under his feet, the rolling surf beside him and the vast emptiness in front of him surfaced, their sharp edges rubbing out memories and fantasies.
                  He’d let Ivy get away from him. He fell back on years of discipline, clearing his mind and stepping up his speed. He felt his lungs tear for air and the burn in his quads as he ate up the distance between them. She had the quality of liquid, but he wouldn’t let her slip between his fingers.
                  He caught sight of her before she slipped into the cover of palms and dunes. He couldn’t give her what she wanted. Not completely. Because the loss of control, for him, had disastrous effects. But he would make up for that with other things.
                  He caught up with her before the next bend. Her arms were pumping, her legs falling into long strides that cleaned the dust off of him. He adjusted his pace to fit hers and noticed her focused gaze, the determination in her features. And knew that her persistence, combined with her natural effect on him, could easily shatter his resolve.
     
                  “You were playing with me,” Ivy accused when she had breath to speak. They were walking off their endorphins, easing their muscles back into common demands. She ignored the brush of his arm against her shoulder and the warmth that spread there.
                  “Not true,” he replied. “I really slipped up out there. I lost focus.”
                  She turned so that she could look him in the face. His blue-green eyes were full of sincerity.
                  “Hmmm,” she murmured doubtfully.
                  “Really,” he insisted.
                  “Yeah? So what were you thinking about when you should have been focused on the finish line?”
                  “I was focused on the finish. Remember, I’m results-oriented?” He paused a beat and an odd tension entered his voice. “Oral sex.”
                  Her heart kicked against her chest. Her lungs, not fully recovered, struggled for breath. “Me or you?” she managed.
                  “Oh, definitely me. On you. I’m here to serve,” he reminded her. She didn’t look at him, but could hear the smile in his voice.
                  “And I was going for this?”
                  “You loved every minute of it,” he assured her.
                  A sudden burst of heat exploded at her core, releasing a tremor she felt to her fingertips. He must have noticed it, too, where their hands were joined, because he said,
                  “Exactly. Only bigger, better.”
                  “And what will I owe you in return?”
                  He shook his head. “There’s no payment plan on this, Ivy. When I make love to you it’ll be because I get as much pleasure out of it as you do.”
                  “Wrong choice of words,” she agreed, and wondered why she thought of it—sex—as a costly thing. Maybe because with Trace it had cost her. Towards the end, she’d paid for it with her self-respect. She would never risk that again.
                  “He must have been a prize,” Jake observed.
                  “Who?”
                  “The man you were married to.” She had thought so, when she was sixteen and on the run. It didn’t take long for her to realize her mistake; but too long to take responsibility for it.
                  “Were you ever