Like I’m just now—in this exact moment, with his thumb a whisper on my nipple, and my core tensing—realising the gravity of it.
I’m not a frog to be dissected.
I’m not a newly discovered species to be studied.
The thoughts I shoved down, the way I almost believed he was watching me—
That was the truth.
My throat thickens around a lump lodged in it.
I force down a swallow, words I can’t make sense of or sort into order. Because it doesn’t make sense.
Samick’s touch leaves my breast.
I almost exhale a breath of relief.
But he isn’t done with me.
His fingers travel down my middle, past my bellybutton—and I suck in a sharp gasp.
His touch drags down my hair—the place that has captured his interest before.
I don’t know if it’s the fright that freezes me.
I don’t know why I can’t do anything but stare up at him.
I don’t know why the tears brewing in my eyes are silent or why I fight my own breaths.
I just know that the ferocity of his stare keeps me pinned against the shower pipes, the taps pressing into my spine, and that—no matter how tight I clench my thighs together—his fingers easily force their way through.
He moves closer to me, stepping into the stream of the shower, and his touch intrudes between my legs.
A raspy sound hitches through me.
His eyes flash.
Water running down his face, his lips, his leathers, he forces the pads of his fingers along my slit—and watches every flicker on my face.
A guttural sound escapes me. My face alights with the heat of magma.
He does it again. Drags his touch along my slit, until a jolt of electricity zaps through me.
He stops.
His eyes are flaring in the shadows.
The pressure of his touch is so firm that I swear I can almost feel the detail of his fingerprint.
My thighs clamp together, tighter.
Foot lifting from the soggy towels, I cross my legs and I try to squeeze his hand out.
Samick watches me through the shower rain. Rich, rainforest eyes dance with shadows—and he brushes his thumb over my clit.
A tear falls down my cheek. Fast swallowed by the water cascading down on us.
He repeats, a graze of the thumb, luring out a whimper from my lips. And again—and he settles on a rhythm.
