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Well. It seems I wasn’t the only one affected by the training session after all.

I should leave. I should thank him for the lesson then get out of here.

“Er…” I swallow. “I think we should probably stop for the night.”

I say this to his shorts. To what I can see through his shorts. My eyes simply refuse to go anywhere else.

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you say that to my face instead of my dick?”

My head snaps up.

He’s grinning, but the grin fades as our eyes meet. His eyes go dark. There’s heat in them. Want. He looks at my mouth, then back up.

I hold his gaze. My body hasn’t forgotten where his face was a minute ago. Something low in my belly pulls tight.

I could still go. The door is right there, and running for the door is, after all, what he’s just spent the last hour teaching me to do.

Instead, I crawl the small distance between us and swing one leg over his hips. The hard length of him presses against me, sending a bolt of heat straight through my stomach.

I lean down and kiss him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

RYAN

So much for the lesson.

I sink back onto the mat, and whatever restraint I managed for the last hour—hands where they needed to be, eyes on her feet, voice flat as a coach’s—goes straight out the window. My hands find her arse, and I grind her against me. She lets me. More than lets me. She rolls her hips, and the friction through our clothes has me groaning into her mouth.

Her lips are soft, but there’s nothing soft about the kiss. She opens for me, her tongue sliding against mine, and I tighten my grip on her arse and set a rhythm for her. She catches on fast.

Her hands are braced on my chest. Her curls have come loose from that bun and fall around our faces. She smells like she always does. Clean and green, like the inside of her shop.

This is a bad idea. She’s my neighbour. She’s sweet. She talks to plants. She’s exactly the kind of lassie I leave well alone. Yet knowing that only makes me want her more.

I break the kiss. We’re both breathing like we’ve done five rounds in a cage.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I tell her. “I’ve thought about nothing but your sweet wee pussy since I opened that parcel of yours the other day.”

It’s crass, and I bet it’s not at all how Briony is used to being talked to. But if she’s going to bolt, I’d rather she bolted now. If she can’t cope with me saying “pussy”, she can’t cope with what comes next.

Her face goes red right to the roots of her hair, and I think she’s going to tell me off. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t stop moving either. Her hips keep rocking against me, and Christ, that’s hotter than anything she could have said back. Scandalised by my mouth and still rubbing herself against my cock.

Good. She passed the first test.

I take hold of her hips and stop her moving. She makes a wee sound of protest. I don’t lift her off me—my dick is still wedged between us, hard as a rock and complaining—but I need her attention.

“Briony. Listen to me a minute.”

Her eyes find mine. Big and blue and dazed.

“If we do this, it’s a one-time thing. I don’t do more, and I’m no gonnae pretend otherwise and let you find out after. I need to know you’re all right wi’ that before we go any further.”

I have my doubts Briony is built for casual, but that’s not up to me. She can get up and go right now if she wants. Probably should.

But she says, “Okay.”

“Aye?”