I pressed myself harder against the tiles. Shaking my head, I squeaked, “Stay there. Don’t—don’t come any closer.”
His face darkened; a flash of temper etched his features. “It’s not like I haven’t seen what you’re hiding, Ms. Weaver. Or are you forgetting that I’ve stuck my tongue in your cunt and driven my cock deep inside? I’ve tasted you. Ridden you. Made you moan.”
Shit.
My core spasmed, greedily latching onto his words—seeking the final push for the orgasm living in my blood. It would be so simple to let go. To tell him what I truly wanted and to hell with the rest of it.
They’re rotting up there while you fuck the oldest son.
Common-sense threw freezing water onto my overheated libido. With all the power I possessed, I ordered myself to ignore the tantalizing release and step back into the real world.
Seemed Jethro had come to the same conclusion as the aching awareness between us solidified into obligation. “Get dressed. We’re late.”
Swallowing hard and cursing my heavy body, I asked, “Late for what?”
With an unsteady hand, he held out the towel. He had the willpower of a saint or perhaps he was just as crazy as I feared because he didn’t move to touch me.
Damn him.
His eyes narrowed as his fingers tightened around the towel. “Polo.”
“Polo?” Images of men on horses whacking a ball around a field gave me something else to focus on.
“But...it’s Monday.”
Jethro cocked his head, chuckling under his breath. “You think the day of the week influences the crowd who play with us?” He shook his head. “If you hadn’t have told me it was Monday, I wouldn’t have known. Work days and weekends mean nothing when everyone obeys our schedule.”
He’s so damn arrogant.
Why do I find that so hot?
His eyes fell to my wet body. “Drop your hands.”
“No.”
“Obey me.”
“Why?”
Because you’ll end my anguish and give me what I need?
“Do it, Ms. Weaver. I won’t ask again.”
My tummy twisted. “Just because you’ve seen me doesn’t mean you have the right to see me again.”
He pursed his lips. “I can see and touch and do whatever the hell I want to you whenever I want.”
Temper slowly overrode my lust. I stood taller, glowering at him.
Fine.
He was back to being an arsehole. I could be a bitch.
Dropping my hands, I stood proud and defiant. I ignored the hissing showerhead and dared him to say something cruel. “Go on, look.” I spread my arms, twirling in place. “Seeing as you control my fate, I might as well walk around naked so you can always drink your fill.”
He growled, “Knock it off.”
Snatching the towel from him and throwing it to the floor, I snarled, “No.”
