Page 98 of Into Pitch

“Hold still,” I grumble.

“Yes, ma’am,” he purrs and my eyes snap up to him.

“You’re enjoying this too much. It’s meant to strip you down.” I snipe.

“I am stripped down.”

“Figuratively,” I sigh.

“That too.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I try once again to place my focus on the movement of my hand and the creation instead of the actual man in front of me.

“Just so you’re aware,” he sighs and drapes himself languidly against the edge of the chair. Entirely too comfortable having his dick swinging in the wind—room. Chair? Fuck, I don’t know. Just don’t look at it.

“I do enjoy being observed by you.”

“Of course you do,” I mutter.

He blessedly lets me go back to painting without further commentary, but I can feel his gaze as it gores into me. As if he’s not the only one in this room naked and on display.

I can handle it for a solid two hours before the tension grows too much.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today.”

He rises and my eyes traitorously follow the movement.

“Will you finish it?” He asks without bothering to reach for his clothes.

“Yes,” I mutter looking anywhere but down. “Eventually.”

I still when he closes the distance between us, half expecting to reach out. He doesn’t, but turns to look at the canvas instead. A small sigh of relief breaking from me despite the buffer he obliterated with his movement.

“It looks good,” he hums.

“That’s the goal.”

He purses his lips and studies me before sliding past, far closer than is necessary. Leaving me to stand awkwardly in this tension that has seen fit to become a stalemate. We really need to get out of this fucking cabin before I do something stupid.

Like sleep with him.

Getting naked in front of Sadie is like taking a shot straight to the balls.

The heat of the shower doesn’t help, even when I dial it hotter. Letting the steam fill the small bathroom until the mirror fogs and the air grows thick. It beads along my shoulders and runs down my spine, tracing familiar paths over my skin that has known worse sensation and survived without complaint.

It’s poor self-control, but I find that when Sadie is involved I don’t have much of it. My hand sliding down to wrap around the already aching length of my cock as I close my eyes, letting my head fall into the shower wall.

She occupies my thoughts with irritating persistence. Not in fragments, not in flashes—fully. Whole moments replayed with unsettling clarity. My hand stroking slow and tight as I mentally watch the way she held the brush or the concentration in her brow. The way she had looked up past the canvas with eyes that could bring lesser men to their knees.

I groan, bracing one hand against the tile and tilt my head forward, letting the water hit the back of my neck. Heat pulses through me, a reminder of a body reacting long before the mind has sanctioned it.

It’s inconvenient and even if I’m accustomed to desire, it usually has parameters I can control. Specifically inside of the mirrored room where I can fuck and kill without the messiness that comes after. The bodies go away. The tension disappears. But with Sadie, it lives in my fucking mind. It’s packed bags, shipped in, and decided it is to stay.

I growl, my fist tightening at the absurdity of it as I stroke faster. She didn’t even touch me. Not once. She stood feet away, full clothed and focused, and somehow that restraint unsettled me more than any physical contact could have.

I exhale slowly through my nose, water dripping from my lashes to my cheeks, jaw tightening as the image of her eyes tracking the lines of my body surfaces uninvited. And it’s nothing of what I need it to be. It’s raw hunger and submission to things I never wanted to cave to, but now crave.

The water scalds as it tears down my spine, little care for her laugh echoing in my head. Her voice when she told me to hold still and commanded space without realizing what she was doing. I can smell her fucking shampoo, which helps nothing at all. It’s a detail that is unnecessary and yet wrecks me.