No fucking wonder he’s been such an asshole lately.
I toss the towel over the wall and consider turning the shower back on to cold to calm myself down.
“Get on your knees.”
He drops. Just like that, without hesitation. No fight. Immediate obedience, like his body has been waiting for the command.
Because hehasbeen waiting for it.
A slow, satisfied heat uncurls in my chest.
“So,” I murmur, looking down at him. “You’ll get on your knees, suck my cock, and lap up everything I give you like a cat, but you have too much pride to say a few simple words?”
His throat bobs.
“Crawl to me,” I growl.
He stiffens for just a second. Then he does it. On the cold, wet tile, his muscles flexing under his clothes, hands squelching through puddles of water, he crawls forward, all the way until he’s barely a foot away from me.
My breath punches a little shorter. I have half a mind to give him what he wants and give him a break. I cannot believe he hasn’t made himself come in twelve days, all the while punishing himself for following a command he thinks I gave him.
When he stops at my feet, I rest my fingers lightly in his hair, softly combing the front back from his sweat-dampened forehead.
“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. “You say no, I back off and we forget this whole thing.”
He squeezes his eyes shut.
“I…” His voice is a strained whisper. “I want to come.”
It’s not all he wants, but it’s a start. His determination is impressive, but I see an opportunity to burn a little more of that bullshit pride away. And I’m damn well going to take it.
I curl my fingers, tug his head back so he has to look up at me. “Then say it.”
He shakes his head, panic flaring in his eyes. “Don’t make me.”
“I’m notmakingyou do anything,” I say calmly, my voice purposefully low and melodic. “I’m offering.You’rechoosing. You want my help? You say the words. If you don’t want to play anymore, you can get up and walk away. Or use your safe word and I’ll walk away.”
His jaw clenches. His gaze drops. He’s breathing like he just finished running sprints for an hour. His silence is so loud it’s deafening.
“Strip,” I say.
There’s a moment of hesitation, the briefest second of time between my giving the order and his brain processing it. He’s on his feet in the next second, cheeks burning as he peels off his hoodie, which was doing a truly poor job of hiding the monster erection he’s packing. He kicks off his wet shoes and socks as he pulls his snug team tank top over his head. The shorts are next, and then he’s down to nothing but his tight white compression shorts. Those last inches of fabric are straining over him, front soaked, clinging to every ridge of his cock so tightly, I can see the thick vein that runs up the length of his shaft.
“I said strip,” I remind him softly.
He swallows and pushes the compression shorts down, baring himself completely. His cock is flushed, heavy, and glistening at the tip. He’s already leaking so much, it drips to the floor.
I walk slowly around him, letting him feel me circling him like he’s prey. Letting the air and the waiting sink their teeth into his already frayed nerves.
“Looks painful,” I murmur. “How long has it been, Becky?”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t?—”
“Days?” I continue as if he didn’t speak. “Weeks?”
Beckett lets out a small, breathy whimper.
“Were you waiting for me? Or have you been touching yourself?”
