Page 49 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

The bathroom door didn’t close all the way. It’s cracked open, steam already beginning to curl out into the room. I can see the edge of the small shower stall. Then Garrett shifts in the shower and I catch a glimpse through the gap. Just his back, water streaming down the defined muscles, the curve of his spine.

Heat floods through me. My cock stirs.

What the fuck?

I turn away sharply, focusing on the opposite wall. This has never happened before. I’ve had encounters before with the ladies at the Gilded Lily. Several over the years. But I’ve never looked at a guy and felt this.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I force myself back to checking the room. The floorboards are solid, no loose ones for someone to use to sneak up. Garrett’s still in the shower. I can hear him and the sound of water hitting his skin and the tiles.

I’m not thinking about it. I’m checking the thickness of the wall, calculating response times if someone breaks in, planning escape routes—

The water shuts off.

My whole body goes tense. I hear him moving around and the rustle of a towel. He emerges from the bathroom.

Water beads on his chest, trailing down the defined planes of his stomach. His hair is slicked back, darkened to bronze, and those green eyes find mine immediately. The towel is slung low on his hips.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

I look away fast, but not fast enough. My body has already reacted. I’m half-hard in my leathers and praying to every god that he doesn’t notice.

Garrett sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’ll be useless tomorrow if you don’t rest.”

He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. “I’m fine.”

“Stand watch. Glower at the window. Do whatever makes you feel better. But at least change into dry clothes before you catch your death.” He pulls on a dry shirt from his pack and I risk a glance back.

The shirt clings to his still-damp skin. I can see the outline of his chest through the thin fabric.

I turn away sharply, facing the window. My cock throbs. This is getting worse. Every second I stay in this room with him half-dressed, it gets harder to control.

I need that shower. Now.

“I’ll clean up,” I mutter, grabbing my pack.

The bathroom is barely large enough to turn around in. I strip off my wet boots first, then peel the soaked leathers from my skin. They hit the floor with a wet slap. The mask comes off last.

The malachite crystal embedded in the wall pulses with soft green light, already warming the water Garrett used. I step under the spray. Garrett stood here. He was naked with water running down his body the same way it’s running down mine now.

My cock is fully hard now, aching. I wrap my hand around it, then stop.

What the fuck am I doing?

This is wrong. I’ve never—I don’t get hard for guys. What the fuck am I doing jerking off to thoughts of another male?

But Garrett isn’t just any guy.

He’s fucking beautiful. A masterpiece. Those eyes, that body, the way he moves with lethal grace hidden under noble polish.

My hand moves in slow strokes. I bite my lip to stay quiet. The water covers any small sounds, but I can’t risk Garrett hearing. I imagine touching him. My teeth on his neck, his nipple. Pushing him against this very wall, feeling his hard body against mine.

The image shifts. Garrett fighting back, outmaneuvering me with that infuriating smirk. His hands catches my wrists. I imagine he uses the belt I just unbuckled to tie my hands behind my back.

He shoves me under the shower spray. His boot kicking my knee, forcing my thighs apart. I hiss, fighting the moan rising to my throat. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking once, twice then—he is inside me.

I come hard, my mouth falling open. Garrett’s name tries to escape and I barely swallow it back. The thought of him taking me, rough and demanding, sends pleasure shooting up my spine.