While I know I shouldn’t lust after the woman, my cock doesn’t know the difference. It wants only one thing—her.
I haven’t always wanted her. Not that it makes it any better, but after so long, I realized I started caring about things I haven’t about another woman. Before I realized what I was doing, I softened my edges whenever we shared the same space. Bloodied my hands to get her justice. Became a man I never thought I could be.
Someone who truly wanted to be good.
The dream was always there, but she was there to remind me any time I felt doubt. Listened to my goals and got excited with me rather than doubting like many others. Celebrated my wins and tended my wounds during my losses.
Almost like a partner would. Just the thought is enough to make my cock swell, pulsing right along with my heart. Fuck.
I’m going to need to get her out of my system.
Wrapping my fingers around my cock, the weight is thick and heavy against my fingers. By now, I should have it memorized, this very same scene playing out too many times throughout the week.
This is the first time I’ve had her so close to me. I should be ashamed, hell, I should hate myself for it. However, just thinking about the way she smiles at me is more than enough to bat away any of the evil thoughts.
The water only feels hotter as I start to stroke myself. Shutting my eyes tighter, I can’t stop a groan from slipping past my lips.
My rhythm quickens, my breathing turning ragged, matching the frantic pulse of my blood. I can almost hear the hitch in her breath, see the parted lips, the dazed look in her eyes as she’d watch me suffer with nothing to satisfy these hunger pains but my fist.
My hips twitch and jerk as my imagination gets me through this moment of weakness.
A guttural sound catches in the back of my throat, swallowed by the drumming water. My release is a blinding wave, a pleasure so intense it borders on pain, spilling down the drain along with my resolve.
Left swallowing down my next few lungfuls of air, the shower wall does nothing to cool down the heat of my forehead as I use the wall for support.
Hearing her water turn off, I stay a minute longer so I can hide the shuffle of her changing while I’m under the stream. Then, I’m out, hoping she didn’t hear a peep.
Once I’m out with my old outfit tucked beneath my arm, I catch her waiting for me. Her skin is flushed, even past theshorts she’s wearing, and the t-shirt is swallowing up most of her top half.
Can’t tell if it’s the air making me this hot, or if it’s her. Definitely her.
Getting dizzy just looking at her, my body moves on its own toward her, like there’s a physical pull on me.
I don’t miss the way she sucks in a breath, not when she’s getting an eyeful of my chest. On a typical night, I don’t go flaunting myself. Instead, I head straight to bed, barely passing anyone long enough to let them enjoy the view.
Can’t walk past Pen when she’s looking at me with such wide eyes. Full of surprise, and possibly something else, I don’t think about covering up all the ruined pieces of my body.
Her eyes don’t leave me as she steps in my direction, meeting me halfway. Coming to a stop, I swallow the lump that forms in my throat when she reaches out.
I should stop her from touching me, but when have I ever told her no? I’ve kept my hands to myself to protect her, but she’s always been the curious type.
“You don’t…” She lets out a shaky breath as her fingers graze a slit against my side. “You sleep without a shirt?”
I don’t make a habit of flaunting my scars like some of these men. While they’re proud of theirs, showing them off like proof of survival, mine feel more like moments of weakness. Moments when I’ve let my guard down enough to take damage. Having slept alone, I don’t usually have to worry about any watchful eyes.
No one looks at me like this woman currently is.
As her fingers slide up my stomach, toward my chest, I grab her wrist before she can reach the bullet wound I despise the most without thinking.
A gasp leaves her lips, and I can feel her pulse racing against my fingertips. She doesn’t look panicked, thank goodness. However, I can’t find the strength to uncurl my fingers.
“Does it hurt?” The question comes off as a whisper. Her eyes lock onto the faded white markings on my skin, most from the surgeries it took to save my life.
“Every day.” Admitting the truth comes out far easier than it should.
“What happened?” Her eyes lift, worry filling them. “You’ve never… This happened before I met you.”
Thinking about telling her the truth or brushing it off, I chew on my options. I shiver when she ignores my hold, reaching to run her thumb against the old wound.
