My hand drags over my chest, the tension knotted there so tight it’s as if I’ll snap in two. If only I could loosen it andfeelsomething other than this suffocating pressure, maybe I could breathe again. My fingers press harder against the spot as the steam curls thick around me, wrapping me in warmth.
In my mind, the faceless woman takes form, the one who’s always there to help me ease the tension. Her voice is soft, seductive, and detached from reality.“Be a good boy for me,”she whispers, the words sliding over my skin like a phantom touch.“Touch yourself.”
My soaped-up hand finds my cock, which is rock-hard, and the groan that comes out of me when I grip myself is completely involuntary.
My head falls back onto my shoulders, and I press my eyes closed as my fist works itself from root to tip slowly.
Goddamn.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile as my other hand braces me, keeping me upright. My strokes start tentative, teasing, the shame and need tangling together in a way that feels both unbearable and addictive.
“Faster,” she purrs, and my hand obeys before I can think. The friction pulls soft whimpers from my lips, and I bite down hard to silence them. “Good boy,” she whispers, and the knot in my chest starts to loosen a fraction. Her approval wraps around me, erasing everything else. “Don’t stop. Just like that. Show me how desperate you are.”
My legs tremble as I obey, the pleasure coiling low in my stomach. The edge looms closer with every stroke, every whispered word.
“That’s it, Nico.”My fist tightens around my length, speeding up the strokes as the fantasy behind my eyes morphs intoher. Novalee.
Her voice is softer, sweeter, but no less commanding. It wraps around me like she’s there in the room, pulling every breath from my lungs. “Show me how good you are for me,” she murmurs, her lips curving into that wicked smile I can’t forget.
My strokes falter, then grow faster, the image of her driving me past the point of no return. In my mind, she’s naked and on her knees, her gaze locked on mine, daring me to lose control.
I run my fingers through her hair while my cock glides along the length of her tongue before sliding toward the back of her throat. Her full lips close around me, tongue lapping me up as she sucks like it’s her favorite thing to do.
The vision of her on her knees, sucking me, has my hips thrusting, fucking my fist savagely. My pulse picks up while my hand never slows, even when in my mind, she lets me plop out of her mouth to demand, “Come on my face,”undoing me completely.
“Sweetness,” I groan, her nickname spilling from my lips as I shatter, and my body trembles as I come, painting the shower wall in frantic pulses.
I open my eyes, and she’s gone. There’s nothing but the sound of my ragged breaths and the water rushing over me.
Then it hits.
The guilt.
The fucking shame.
I blink down at the streaks of white washing away in the spray, swirling into the drain like a goddamn metaphor.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
THIRTEEN
“Look, Glitter, if you’re not showing up, you need to let us know sooner. We’re already short this week.”
The phone feels heavy in my hand, weighing me down as I respond to the manager on the other end. “I’m letting you know now, aren’t I?” My gaze flicks to Koen, who arches his brow skeptically from where he sits at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee.
Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I turn away from his penetrating gaze and explain hurriedly, “I’m sorry, but I got hurt. I need a week at most. But I’ll be back.”
My manager doesn’t respond right away, and when I chance a glance at Koen, his lips twitch, and I know exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a damn thing. He thinks I need a longer break.
I narrow my eyes at him because what Ineedis not to lose my job.
Or to be dependent on anyone but myself.
The manager finally lets out a huff. “Fine. But you better call before next week if you can’t make it. We’re not holding spots.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter in agreement, fixing my gaze on the empty plate in front of me. Koen made an early dinner of macand cheese that was so good I’m tempted to lick the plate clean as soon as I’m off this phone call. All that’s left from our meal now is a lone breadstick, golden and perfect, and it’s calling to me.
Koen stands with his empty coffee cup in hand and reaches for my plate with a pointed look, but I’m faster. I snatch the breadstick off it, holding it protectively like a prize, and glare at him.
