Interrupted
1153 Words
Reza
The gym is too warm.
Or maybe it’s just him.
Aaron’s hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once. Strong, deliberate, infuriatingly slow. He doesn’t rush. He never does. His restraint is a weapon, and he knows exactly how to use it.
My back hits the padded wall with a soft thud, and the sound barely registers before his body brackets mine, heat pressing in from every side. I can feel him, solid, unyielding, close enough that every breath feels shared.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with control stretched thin. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
His mouth curves, not a smile. Something darker.
“Liar.”
His hands slide down my arms, unhurried, deliberate, thumbs tracing slow arcs that light my skin on fire. Every place he touches becomes electronically charged and sends little shocks throughout my body. I can feel the careful calculation in every movement, how he avoids rushing, how he avoids giving me exactly what I want.
When his hands reach my waist, he stops.
Not because he has to.
Because he chooses to.
His fingers spread there, wide and possessive, holding me still like he’s bracing himself. Like he’s deciding how much he’s allowed to take before he loses control completely.
Starla is frantic now, pacing hard beneath my ribs.
- Don’t stop. Don’t let him stop.
I tilt my head back against the wall, exposing my throat without thinking, a silent invitation I don’t mean to give and don’t know how to take back. His breath hitches when he sees it. I feel it like a ripple through the bond. His wolf pressing hard against restraint.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he says quietly.
“Doing what?” My voice is already unsteady.
“Giving me reasons,” he answers.
He lowers his nose into my neck and inhales deeply, right on the sweet spot where his mark will be once we are willing to answer the call of the Goddess, once it is safe and we are both fully committed without all the background noise.
His hands move again.
Slowly.
Devastatingly.
They glide over my hips, thumbs brushing teasingly over my inner thighs, just enough to make my knees threaten to buckle. His touch is deliberate, testing, like he’s mapping my reactions instead of my body. Every nerve in me feels tuned to him, waiting. Wanting.
He slowly drags his fingertips over my folds, my legging the only thing that saperates his fingers from my skin, warmth is starting to pool, my breath hitching every time he strokes me light as a feather.
My breath is uneven now, chest rising too fast, too shallow.
“You feel this,” he says softly. Not a question.
“Yes,” I breathe.
That’s all it takes.
His palm presses firmly against me, massaging my sweet spot, heat flares sharp and immediate. The contact isn’t hurried, it’s precise, knowing exactly where pressure will unravel me fastest. A sound tears out of me before I can stop it, raw and loud in the empty space.
Aaron swears under his breath.
The sound vibrates against my skin, low and dangerous. His jaw tightens, control visibly fracturing even as he reins it back in. His hand moves again, slow and devastating, the pressure deliberate, relentless, designed to make me feel everything without crossing a line he’s still refusing to step over.
My body betrays me instantly.
Heat pools low, sharp and urgent, my muscles trembling as sensation builds faster than I can manage. I clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging in, grounding myself against him because standing suddenly feels optional.
My head falls back against the wall.
“Oh..”
I don’t even finish the sound.
His forehead presses briefly to my shoulder, breath hot and uneven, like he needs the contact to stay anchored. “You have no idea,” he mutters, voice tight, strained, “what you’re doing to me.”
His hand starts moving again, sending sparks straight through my spine. The friction, the warmth, the proximity, it’s all too much and nowhere near enough.
My legs tremble.
Every coherent thought dissolves into sensation, into want, into the awareness of how completely he has me pinned, not with strength, but with restraint.
I moan.
The sound echoes off the walls, too exposed, too honest, and I feel it ripple through the bond like a shockwave. Aaron freezes for half a second, just long enough to register how close we are to losing everything.
Then his other hand comes up, bracing beside my head, boxing me in completely.
“You’re not allowed to make sounds like that,” he growls quietly.
“Why not?” I manage, barely.
“Because someone will hear,” he says.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and burning. “And because if you keep doing that, I won’t stop.”
Starla surges hard, wild and feral.
- Let him!
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.
The admission hangs between us, heavy and dangerous.
Aaron inhales sharply through his nose, like he’s pulling himself back from the edge by sheer force of will. His hand stills, not withdrawing, not advancing, just holding me there, reminding me how close we are to crossing something that can’t be uncrossed quietly.
“That is exactly why I should,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t understand what happens if I don’t.”
“Then tell me,” I say. “Don’t decide for me.”
For a moment, I think he might.
His gaze drops to my mouth again. His grip tightens once, pulling my hips against his, letting me feel how badly he wants this to go further too, let me feel him enough to make my breath stutter and my vision blur at the edges.
“This ends badly,” he says.
“Everything does,” I reply.
Something breaks in his expression then, not shattering, but bending. Acceptance, maybe. Or surrender, just a fraction of it.
His mouth dips toward my ear, close enough that his breath ghosts over my skin.
He kisses my earlobe, and then whispers hoarsly,
“Jason is on duty tonight.”
The words barely register through the haze.
“So?” I ask, reckless.
“So he doesn’t miss things,” Aaron says.
And then..
Footsteps.
Firm.
Measured.
Close.
The sound cuts through the haze like ice water.
Aaron freezes instantly.
Not slowly. Not reluctantly.
Instantly.
His hand stills. His body goes rigid, every line of him snapping back into control even as the bond screams in protest. The air shifts, heavy, alert, dangerous.
The footsteps stop.
Right beside us.
I can feel the presence without looking. Controlled. Watchful. Unyielding.
Jason.
No words are spoken.
But the moment is over.
And the silence that follows is sharper than any interruption could ever be.
- Writer
