Five minutes later, I’m sinking into the steaming water. The heat seeps into my muscles, loosening the tight knots I didn’t realize I was holding, the ache in my shoulders easing as the bubbles slide over my skin, and my head falls back against the tub.
Hunter sits on the stool, his steady hands helping me keep my leg propped on the stack of towels, and I let my eyes flutter shut.
“Fuck,” I moan. “That feels so good.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Shit, honey,” he mutters. “You can’t moan like that.”
I crack one eye open, catching him shifting on the stool, jaw tight, gaze fixed very deliberately on the wall above my head.
A different kind of heat blooms low in my core. I bite down on my lip, my body arching slightly beneath the water in a quiet challenge. His eyes don’t move, and somethingstubborn lights up inside me. I want him to look. I want him to see what he does to me.
Trailing my hands up my sides, the water ripples through the bath, bubbles shifting and parting as my hands find my breasts. I cup them, lingering, just long enough for Hunter’s restraint to fracture. He looks down—just for a second—before his eyes snap back to the wall, a low groan breaking free in the silence. That sound? That’s enough to spur me on.
I let out another breathy moan as I pinch my hardening nipples. Hunter’s gaze finally breaks free, dragging slowly down the length of me before lifting back to my face. When our eyes lock, something raw flickers there. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and he shifts again.
“Please,” he says, his voice turning husky. “Stop.”
“What if I don’t want to?” My voice is quiet, testing.
“You can’t… we can’t.” He stumbles over his words, like he’s trying to convince both of us.
“I think I know what my body can handle and what it can’t,” I say, not backing down.
My hand drifts beneath the surface of the water. Hunter inhales sharply, squeezing the edge of the tub, every muscle in his body coiled tight. Candlelight flickers across his face, shadows deepening in his eyes as he rakes a hand through his hair. For a second, hesitation flashes across his features. Then he exhales, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. His hand drops, adjusting his growing cock, and the sight of it sends a warm rush through me.
“Are you going to touch yourself under there, baby?” His voice is rough, eyes locked on where my hand disappeared.
My breath stutters as my fingers slip over my clit. A whimper falls from my lips before I can stop it, my coretightening as I give into the sensations coursing through my body.
I need this. Need to let go, and if he won’t do it… I will.
“You could always help,” I murmur.
“We can’t get your leg wet.”
“There are other ways,” I say, my gaze dipping below his hips before lifting back to his face.
My fingers slide through my center, and I arch again, a rush of heat crawling up my neck as everything inside me pulses with need.
“What other ways?” he rasps.
“Take yourself out,” I whisper. “Let me watch you while you watch me.”
His eyes dart to my leg, checking it’s still propped safely, before he moves closer, kneeling beside the tub. His hand slips into the water, fingers finding mine and brushing them away. He teases me, tracing the lines of my pussy. The sound that breaks free from me should be mortifying, but the way he looks at me—focused, mesmerized, undone—as he slips two fingers inside, makes it impossible to care. He pumps in and out of me, and I rock into him, need taking over until my leg begins to tremble. His focus shifts instantly, concern cutting through the moment, and he pulls back. The loss of him leaves me aching, and I let out a small, helpless protest. He chuckles as he settles back on the stool, his hand disappearing into his shorts. I watch as he frees his hard cock, his chest rising and falling in rough pants. A needy sound escapes me, my focus narrowing until there’s nothing but him—sweet and dangerous all at once. His jaw tightens as he strokes himself, and a bead of pre-cum gathers at the tip, shining in the candlelight.
I can feel his eyes on me, counting my breaths, watchingevery movement I make in the steaming water. The control he’s clinging to thins with every stroke.
“Baby, do you see what you fucking do to me?” His hand tightens, knuckles whitening as he strokes himself harder. “I’ll do anything you ask. You want to watch me fuck my hand while I watch you fuck yours?”
“Yes,” I gasp, the word breaking apart as it leaves me. “That’s what I want.”
He shoves his shorts down his hips. His forearm flexes as he grips himself, muscles jumping with every stroke. I slide my hand back beneath the water. My fingers toy with my clit, teasing in slow circles that send sparks skating up my spine. My thighs tense. When I slip two fingers inside, my pussy clenches and pulses around them like it’s already begging.
My eyes roll back, a moan tearing free as the air thickens once more.
When I look at him again, he’s watching. His eyes are blown dark, fixed on the way my hand moves, the way my breasts rise and fall. His throat works as he swallows. The muscles in his neck strain, abs tightening as his pace falters, then turns desperate. Every stroke of his hand mirrors mine, the space between us charged and crackling as we watch one another.
