Page 77 of To Tango, with Desire

Every night since we’d gotten married, I would wake up to find Zane jerking off in the shower. But it was on the fifth evening that I got caught.

Like a silent alarm, I awoke, as usual. This time it was at 4 AM.

Hearing the shower running, I crept to the door, and there Zane was in all his naked glory. I could see his hand resting on the shower wall, the gold band on his finger glinting in the bathroom light. I had become addicted to this secret show. Watching him jerk off knowing he wanted me had become a kink. I knew I shouldn’t be watching him, but I couldn’t bring myself to bust open the door and jump his bones. Every time I told myself to do it, I pulled back. Things were going well between us. I was enjoying getting to know my husband.

So I watched and I yearned.

Every night, he called my name. Sometimes softly, others urgently. And every night, it made me ache for him in a way that I shouldn’t.

“Care to join me?”

I jumped as his voice echoed across the bathroom.

In horror, I was frozen to spot, watching as he turned. My eyes were glued to his cock, standing proud and hard through the glass. There wasn’t any steam. That was my first thought. He must be having a cold shower for me to see through the glass so clearly.

“You might as well come in instead of lurking.”

I gasped, hiding behind the door. I pressed my head against it, mortified that I’d been caught.

“Come back, Amira,” he called.

“No.”

I heard the shower turn off, and I sat on the edge of his side of the bed, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

Don’t look at his cock. Don’t look at his co—

“Enjoyed the show?”

He was still wet but had a towel wrapped around his waist. I could see the bulge of his erection pressing through the white material, and all I wanted to do was sink down to my knees and take him in my mouth.

What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with me?

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your . . . private time,” I offered, not quite able to look him in the eye. God, why was I being weird about this? I wasn’t shy about sex. I liked sex. I liked fingering myself and pleasuring myself and . . . Fuck, this wasn’t helping.

“So you just happened to watch me every night this week? Curious.”

“You knew!” I gaped at him.

His smug smile got my back up.

“I was waiting to see if you would crack.”

“How did you—”

“The side mirror in the bathroom told me everything I needed to know. But you were so focused on my cock, you had no idea I could see you fingering yourself.”

“Oh god.”

“If the next words out of your mouth are an apology, I’d think again. There’s nothing hotter than having your wife want to fuck you. Given the peep show you’ve been indulging in, I think I should be given the same privileges.”

“What privileges? We have an agreement,” I reminded him.

“I’m not going to touch you,” he replied, sitting down on the armchair. “But you’re going to touch yourself.”

I bit back a moan. “I am?”

“You are. And I can watch.”