The water runs forgotten down my legs. The wound in my side throbs. I don't care. Can't care. Not now.
All I can think about is her.
Her hands on my chest. Her nails dragging down my back. Her thighs wrapped around my waist as I push inside her.
God.
My head drops forward. Water drips from my hair.
I'm close already. Too close. Two years of wanting her and now I'm in her space, surrounded by her scent, and I can't?—
I think about her drawer.
That dildo.
She's fucked herself with that thing. In this apartment. Maybe in this very bathroom. Maybe right where I'm standing.
Did she think about anyone when she did it?
Did she think aboutme?
The thought pushes me over the edge.
I come hard. Harder than I have in months. My whole body shudders. My hand works faster, milking every last drop.
A sound escapes me. Low. Guttural.
A moan.
I can't stop it. Can't hold it back.
"Fuck."
The word echoes off the tile.
I stand there. Panting. My hand still wrapped around my cock. My legs shaking.
Christ.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm a grown man.
And here I am. Jerking off in a woman's bathtub.
Pathetic.
I reach for the faucet. Turn off the water.
The silence is deafening.
Then—
A knock on the door.
"Dante?"
Marina's voice. Concerned. Cautious.
