“Don’t come in here,” he says. His eyes are near black. “I’m too… fuck. I don’t have the patience for bullshit.”
I look down at the clear outline of his erection. At his arms braced against the sink and the tense line of his jaw. “You need to come.”
“How observant you are.”
“And you’re cruel,” I say with a smile, “when you’re hurting. Because that hurts. Doesn’t it?”
He doesn’t admit it. He just takes a deep breath instead, his chest expanding. “Some cocktail of drugs mixed into the shots. That’s why you don’t touch them, Paige. Never touch them.”
I take a step closer, and his focus sharpens. Like he’s aware of every inch between us. “So you’re just going to… jerk off in here until it goes down?”
“Yes,” he says in a short tone. “Unless you have a better idea.”
My hand aches again. I think of the hardness beneath me, of his lips on mine. Of the hand between my thighs moving and his satisfied tone.You’re wet.
“Let me,” I say, and I slide up beside him on the counter. I’m good at being reckless, and this feels like recklessness itself.
He goes still. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Do you not want me to?”
“You can’t touch me, Paige. I won’t… I can’t…”
“I’ll just help out,” I say. “Lend a hand. That’s it.” I run my fingers along the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw. His pupils are blown wide. “I did promise to be the perfect wife.”
“You’re being sweet,” he says. “Which means you want something in return.”
“Maybe I just want the satisfaction.” I run my hand down his chest to his belt buckle. It feels like playing with fire. My fingertips buzz where I touch him.
“You’ll make me pay for this later. Won’t you?” He shakes his head slowly but doesn’t move away. He looks down at my hands undoing his belt, reaching for his zipper. “But I can’t resist. That’s victory, isn’t it? You’ll win this one.”
It is.
He’s right about that.
And I’ll let him focus on that so he doesn’t realize just how quick my own breathing is. He helps me, roughly tugging his boxer briefs down.
My breath catches.
His cock is large and hard, and he’s already glistening at the head. He bobs out against the coldness of the marble vanity. A few snaking veins run up his length.
My hand finds him immediately, and I wrap my fingers around him. He’s hot to the touch.
Rafe releases a hissed breath. “Careful, Wilde.”
“Is that what you want?” I slide my hand down his length, soft skin and hardness beneath and smooth over his slick head. My stomach tightens. Handsome here too, and so painfully hard that it makes my mouth dry. “Careful?” I ask.
His hand is still gripping the vanity’s edge like it’s a lifeline. I stroke him with barely there pressure and tease the head. “Is thatreallywant you want?”
“Paige,” he mutters, and his lips part. “Putain,no. I don’t want careful. You know I don’t like careful.”
And I do.
Even though he presents as controlled, and refined, and elegant, beneath the surface, he’s as wild as I am.
I tighten my grip and twist my hand on the next stroke. He chokes out a groan like it causes him pain, and his arms tense. I stroke him firmly, rhythmically, but not too quick.
He’s never looked at me this much before.
