He doesn't try to hog the heat or the water. Instead, he presses his back against the tile, arms loose at his sides, and just… watches. Drinks me in like I'm something to savor.
I'd tell myself he's only looking—but his body is already lying for him.
I don't mean to glance down, but there's no way in hell I can't notice his cock. Thick, heavy, hanging there between his thighs. My stomach tightens, and my pussy clenches from just thinking about what it would feel like as my thoughts derail completely.
Somehow, I keep my hands to myself instead of reaching out for him. I need to wash today away. It’s hard to concentrate when his eyes follow every movement as I lather my hair.
Does he even blink when I drag soap down my arms, my ribs, and my hips with my fingers? Then, when I finally tuck my hand between my thighs, Smoke finally cracks, letting out a low, raw groan.
What would he do if I actually touched myself? Pleasured myself with a solo audience member.
My usual teasing wouldn’t cut it. No, I’d be putting the man through a round of torture.
The thought makes me smirk against the spray. I pull my hand away and step back, offering him the water. Curling one of my fingers helps clear the fog from his gaze.
He moves like he's been waiting for permission his whole life.
Once he's close enough that I feel the heat rolling off his skin, I turn my attention to clean the place I’ve been purposely saving for last because of the dread forming in my gut. As I scrub my cheeks until they sting, the last trace of my mask disappears, replaced by suds.
Not many people see me bare-faced. If they did… I don't think I'd get as many second glances. My flirtatious lines aren’t the only thing I manifest to get tips. Every morning, I spend an hour in front of my mirror making myself look nice. Now, all of that work is going down the drain.
Showing Smoke this side of me, the one that’s bare and vulnerable, makes my heart clench. What if he only wanted the idea of me? What if he sees this face and realizes he made a mistake?
Yet… he's not looking away.
He's washing himself with my vanilla soap like he's forgotten how his own hands work. Slow and awkward, like he can’t remember what he’s already cleaned and what still needs to be touched. His breathing is actually getting shorter.
This guy. This grumpy, dangerous man really wants me…
It sounds too good to be true.
I chew my lip and let myself stare now. Watch him work suds through his hair, his beard. I doubt he thought he'd end the day smelling like a bakery, but that's what's going to cling to him for the rest of the night. The smell ofme.
As I bite my lip at the thought, he lets out another groan.
"You keep doing that on purpose..." Cursing under his breath, he pinches his eyes shut long enough to wash away all the suds clinging to him. "I can't even think when you're near me. I've never met a person who has that much effect on me."
Admitting the words, he makes it sound less of a problem than it is. Making it more like a compliment, I can't help the grin that forms on my lips.
Stepping toward him, I flatten a hand on his chest and feel the thump of his heart against my fingertips. Even now, his heart is racing. I swear I've never met someone with such a perfect poker face. If it weren't for touching him, I would never have known how much I'm affecting him.
"Please, tell me more." Grinning, I consider lifting on my toes so I can kiss him. Instead of caving to a sweeter temptation, I go for a more sultry one. One that we'll both enjoy, even if it makes it harder for him to continue.
My other hand snakes lower before I boldly wrap my fingers around him. One squeeze of his cock andI'mthe one sucking in a quick breath. He's a big guy, so I can't be shocked by how much he fills my fingers.
He suddenly stiffens, and if it weren't for his cock jumping against my palm, I'd think he hated it. When his chest swells, his breathing turning heavier, a deep rumble leaves him. Dropping his head, he looks at my fingers and curses.
"You're going to kill me, Bunny." His words get cut off into a choking sound as I start to stroke him. When I move too slow for his liking, heat fills me as he thrusts his hips into my grip.
"I'd rather make you come," I joke, smiling when he forces a laugh. Now's not the time to joke, but boy, do I like that rumbling sound he makes. But not as much as I like the sound he makes as I touch him. A gutted moan catches in the back of his throat next.
The more sounds he makes, the more I want to see this side of him.
Actually, I'm greedier than that. I want to know everything about this man. That includes everything no one else does.
"Can I ask you something?" Turning my stroking into something slower, I bite the inside of my cheek when he grunts, barely able to give me an answer. "What is your name?"
He blinks a few times, realizing what I'm asking him. It's a line laid out, one I want to cross. His throat bobs, and he pauses to kiss me. It's a soft kind of kiss, one that plucks at my heartstrings. Pulling back, his eyes pinch shut, and his breathing grows heavier. "Roland."
