The fog of sleep fled my body in a heartbeat.
I stared at him. He stared back.
The silence thickened between us, and I braced myself for the part he’d curse me out and drive me away with words. But no. He didn’t. Instead, his gaze remained calm and unreadable, as if it were perfectly natural for me to be standing there while water cascaded over him, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary and he wasn’t standingstarknaked under the shower with his cock gripped in his fist.
My stomach cinched, heat curling low in my body as my breath caught sharp in my throat.
I had walked in on him masturbating.
I had walked in on the Soulless Man, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking with the slow rhythm of someone who didn’t care he had an audience. He didn’t look offended or even affected by it one bit.
My legs had gone weak by the door as I watched him, his eyes pinned on me in that predatory way that felt more dangerous than anger, his strokes growing a little rougher, jaw tightening.
With a swallow that burned down my throat, I summoned courage and closed the door softly, sealing myself inside with him. The air grew heavy, his presence consuming the room like smoke. My mouth dried at the sight of water trailing over his chest scar, over muscle carved into perfection, down to where his fist worked his length, veins straining beneath as he hardened further. My gaze fell lower to his muscled legs, the sight of his whole body making my thighs clench.
He was gloriously devastating.
Need slammed between my legs unbearably, my clit throbbing. I wanted to touch myself so badly I could scream. I was wearing just an oversized sleep shirt, but my skin was burning hot with heat.
The weakness in my legs had me leaning against the door. And he watched, aware of what he was doing to me. I’d seen only two men naked in my life, and none of them had come close to looking as powerful and lethal as this man did. None of them could hold themselves like a god of war unravelling in front of me.
His hand moved faster, each stroke more rough, and my mouth went dry, hips pressing to the door like I could grind the ache away. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him breaking me apart with that cock, my body no match for the eternal length he held in his hand. The thought made me ache with violent need, even as I knew there was probably no chance it’d ever come close to me at all.
But a girl could dream.
The bathroom counter and the bathing chamber stood on the left side of the wall, while the toilet was on the right side, far end and closely opposite the chamber.
His grip tightened, dragging from root to tip. I swallowed hard, my hand sliding down, desperate to ease the pulse between my legs.
Thrax’s eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“Don’t.” His voice was dark enough to rip fireflies through my chest. “You’re a walking time bomb already.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I froze, my fingers twitching against my thigh. My pussy throbbed so badly it hurt, slick pooling where I clenched my thighs tighter and tighter. He was torturing me with nothing but his voice, nothing but his cock in his hand.
“Eyes up,” he ordered.
I dragged my gaze away from his length, from the veins swelling under his fist, up to his face. The veins in his neck stood out, jaw tight, his expression dark and destructive. His hungry eyes burned into me, as though he could barely restrain himself from taking me and breaking me open against the door. It felt like he’d rip me apart if he lost control.
“You want me to touch myself,” I whispered.
“That would kill me.”
I held my breath, those words affecting me more than they had the right to. “How?”
He didn’t respond like I predicted. My clit swelled harder, my body screaming for just a touch.
I asked, “Am I the first to see you like this?”
He didn’t answer again. He just stared, gaze dropping to my lips, my breasts, as if every inch of me was pulling him closer to the edge. His strokes turned more violent, fist pumping his cock with a desperation that looked painful.
His jaw clenched, face shadowed with darkness so intense it unsettled me. A whisper broke from him, almost soundless, as if it had slipped free from the thoughts in his head.
“The things you do to me.”
I almost didn’t hear it. Almost. My breath stuttered. My gaze fell again, shameful and unstoppable, to the gleam of precum slippingfrom his cock. I nearly whimpered, my thighs squeezing together until I could feel my wetness soaking me. I wanted him so badly it hurt. I wanted to rub against my own hand and ease the uncomfortable swell between my legs.
“Eyes on me, Sanora,” he gritted, voice fractured with the violence of his own restraint. His strokes turned savage then, as if his plan was to wring his life through his cock.
