Page 36

I push away from the desk, turning off the lamp, casting my room in a grey hue. It’s still only six o’clock, which means I have five hours until I can see my Angel again.

Sauntering into the bathroom, I turn the tap for the shower, mist immediately filling the black marbled space. Stripping my grey joggers off, I step into the rainfall shower, lukewarm water cooling my skin. I breathe through it until my mind clears.

It’s quiet.

Or, as quiet as it can be until Camila’s face flashes in the darkness of my closed eyes.

“Fuck,” I whisper as water cascades through my soaked hair and onto my face.

Another flash. But it’s her on her knees in front of me, running her hands along every rounded curve of her body, exactly how I command her to. Blood rushes to my cock, my hand gripping it out of its own accord.

I’m trying so fucking hard to keep this obsession at bay. It’s eating away at my brain. I don’t want to scare her away. It’s the last thing I want to do. I need her. But I hear the way her breath hitches when I’m near. The heat of her body pressing against mine. I won’t be able to keep it chained for much longer.

I need her.

Every second that passes that she’s not here, the craving gets stronger.

I imagine her spread out on the bed in front of me—wrists and ankles bound to the frame by cuffs.

She’s strong. Stubborn.

And what a delight it would be to have her at my mercy. Begging me instead of keeping me at an arm’s length. Utterly naked and exquisite.

The grip on my cock tightens to the point it’s almost painful. I begin rough strokes as the water rains over my back. My breathing picks up as she smirks at me, pussy glistening, hair already a tangled mess from our previous session.

“Please, Xander. Touch me.”

Her voice echoes in my head like the sweetest fucking sin, and my hand tugs upwards, then down in slow, leisurely strokes. The vision of her bound and naked is so vivid that it doesn’t take long before my balls tighten and shivers spread along my spine. I groan low as release slams into me, and ropes of cum spray the shower tiles. My chest heaves as my body comes down from the high, the picture of her slowly fading, replaced by that soft smile I caught when she was talking to Corrine at the bar.

A loud banging on the door jerks me out of my post-orgasm daze.

“You’ve been in there for fucking ages,” Jacques’ cockney accent drifts through the door.

“I’m coming,” I call back, keeping my breaths even.

I grab the smaller showerhead off the wall and spray down the tiles, trying so fucking hard not to imagine that it’s me wiping my cum off Camila’s toned stomach.

Turning off the shower, I step out and grab a towel neatly folded over the rail and wrap it around myself.

Steam escapes into my bedroom as I open the door, revealing Jacques sprawled out on my bed like a starfish, scrolling on his phone with one of his arms behind his head, wearing all black—as usual.

Not quite who I was just imagining in the same exact position.

“Jesus Christ, you’d think your skin would’ve melted off in that temperature.” He fans himself with his hand.

“Asshole,” I grumble, throwing my old clothes into the washing basket. “I’d rather a one-thousand-degree shower than your colder-than-the-fucking-Arctic ones. And it’s not even that hot.”

“It’s good for your body.” He shrugs, propping himself up against the headboard.

“You’re an insane bastard.”

He wiggles his dark eyebrows at me.

I sigh. “What are you doing in my room?”

He sits up, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning forward on his elbows. “One of our warehouses burnt down last night.”

“What?” I snap.