His eyes linger everywhere. My lips, my neck, my breasts, my legs, my hair. Everywhere they brush, I grow hotter.
He’s the one on display, but I feel naked beneath that gaze.
“You’re the cruel one,” he says when I grip him so tight that he winces. But he doesn’t move away.
I reach below to grip his balls. He groans again, and the arms braced against the sink tense. He’s still wearing his shirt. I want it off so I can see more of the chest I’ve come to crave. The dark chest hair, the abs, the scar.
“Off,” I tell him, and pull at his shirt with my free hand. He doesn’t hesitate. He tears it off, tosses it behind him.
Here in the bathroom with me, his dark hair mussed and eyes hooded in pleasure-pain, he’s more handsome than I’ve ever seen him.
“You’re doing so well,” he tells me in a hoarse voice. I speed up.
He groans like I’m ripping his soul apart. I take it all in, this man in all his uncontrolled glory. What would it feel like to have him inside me?
When he’s this hard, this pained, this needy?
“I’m going to come.” It’s a half-barked order, his face only inches away from me. “Please.”
I consider stopping, and I revel in the thought of causing him more pain, before I decide to give him the relief he’s asking me for. I want to see him come too, and I’ve never been able to delay gratification.
So I keep stroking him.
He groans, an agonized sound, and spasms in my hand as he comes into the sink. I stroke him until the weeping tip stops spewing, still duskily red.
He reaches down and circles my wrist, stilling my movements. I think he’s going to pull it away. But instead he tugs my hand to his bare chest and flattens it against his heart.
It’s pounding beneath my palm.
There’s high color on his cheeks. “Do you feel like being cruel,” he asks, “a few more times?”
He comes twice more.
His groans grow harsher each time, and the room smells thickly of sex. The throbbing low in my stomach has intensified. The shot was his, and the mistake his, but I wonder if some of it hasn’t transferred over to me.
Rafe’s eyes are half dazed, and he takes my hand away with a wince. He’s only half hard now. The last orgasm, he’d barely come anything at all, but he’d still groaned like it was necessary.
“I need a shower before I try to sleep,” he mutters. “Do you want one too? You can go first.”
Is that because he’s planning on staying in there for a long time? To use the cold water?
I could use a shower to cool off myself.
I nod and step toward the large shower. His eyes arelocked on me. I’ve been swimming in them for the last half hour. His want is a palpable thing.
I pull my dress over my head and drop it to the ground. It’s not the first time I’ve stripped in front of him. But the last time was with anger, and frustration, and a desire to punish him.
Now I want to keep bathing in his gaze.
It feels better than winning. It feels like triumph, to have him watching me like I’m the only thing he wants. The only thing he needs. He leans back against the counter, shirt still off, pants hung low around his hips, and his cock back in hand.
I never knew he could be this… undone.
Now that I know, it undoes something in me too.
I shimmy out of my panties and undo my bra, and step into the shower. He keeps watching me. There’s fire in his eyes.
He grimaces in pain. “Fuck,” he mutters. My eyes dip down, to where he’s growing hard. Again.
