What’s it going to be Beck, your pride or your ruin?
My throat is dry despite the steam. It’s overly hot, and I can’t seem to take a full breath in.
I take one shaky step closer.
CHAPTER 14
BRODY
I can tell he’s there before I see him.
The prickly awareness between my shoulder blades is a familiar sensation. His eyes are on me, tracing every drop of water trickling down my body. Along my shoulders, down my spine and locking on my ass. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to flex.
Instead, I let the water beat down my neck and pretend I don’t notice him watching me.
I rinse shampoo from my hair and soap the last of the chalk and sweat from my skin. My body is loose from practice and the extra reps I took to draw it out, but there’s a tight, insistent pulse between my legs that has nothing to do with wrestling, exercise, or the hot water beating down on me.
I rinse, drag my hands over my face, and only then do I turn.
Beck is standing at the edge of the tile, just inside the entrance to the shower room. Still in his practice uniform with a hoodie wrapped around his waist, hair damp with sweat, and staring at me like I’m something to be feared.
Or like he hasn’t slept in four days. Which, knowing how long I’ve been teasing him, might be true. He’s been more on edge than usual. I’m surprised our last interaction stuck with him as much as it has. He was so incensed when I wouldn’t get him off without hearing him say those simple words, I almost thought I’d actually pissed him off and pushed him away. I thought I’d have to go to him and change the rules so we could keep playing.
I turn off the water, and the sudden quiet rings in my ears. My lips tilt up in an easy grin.
“Need something?” I ask, reaching for my towel like I don’t already know.
He swallows. His eyes flick down my body, then away so fast I can’t help but chuckle. Just to fuck with him, I dry my body with the edge of the towel and focus most of my energy on my hair, leaving my body bare.
My cock is hard and pointing right at him. I know he’s interested because he’s not just cutting his eyes at it in fear or dismay. No, there’s lust there, too. Thick, powerful lust that makes me want to take him and ruin him so thoroughly, he’ll drop all his silly straight-boy scripts and beg me to make him come every single day for the rest of his life.
He already knows I’ll make it so good for him. That no one else can play him the way I can, because I’ve latched on to every nuanced facial expression, every sharp intake of breath and flash of fiery lust in his eyes. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he wants me. He wants me to make him come because he knows his own hand can’t make him free fall into oblivion like I can.
He wants to say it. I can tell. It’s right there, clogging his throat—want and pride, strangling each other.
I’m going to burn his privileged pride to ash, strip away every half-truth and excuse and leave him with nothing but the part of him that belongs to me. The part of him that’s blushing and shaking and begging for more.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. My voice comes out low, roughened by the steam and the way my pulse jumps when I look at him. He looks rough and desperate, but doesn’t seem to notice any weakness on my part. “What’s up?”
Beckett’s jaw works. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He looks like he’d rather chew glass than admit he wants anything from me, but he still takes a step closer.
“I—” He licks his lips. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” I tilt my head, maybe a little cruel. “About what?”
“About what you said in the bathroom.”
“Darlin’, that was almost two weeks ago. Care to refresh my memory?”
His face flushes darker. I witness his battle of internal conflict, rage and pride competing with desperation and devastation. His pride is killing him, but the need is killing him more.
Oh. My. God.
“Becky,” I breathe, astonished. Has he been… holding off entirely? I told him I wouldn’t make him come, but did he interpret that as not being allowed to come at all?
And he fucking obeyed?
He stands there, eyes huge and begging, even though he can’t bring his mouth to say the words. Even though he’s clearly in actual physical pain.
