I couldn’t help the pissed off glare I gave her. “Well pardon me, but there’s no way in fuckin’ hell I’m taking that off you. This is taking all my self-control as it is. So you’ll just have to shower in that fuckin’ thong, because I ain’t helping you out of it.”
“Oh.” She ducked her head back under the spray, rinsing her hair, then wiped her face and peered around the shower. “Shampoo?”
I snagged a bottle from under the sink and handed it to her.
She lathered her hair, occasionally steadying herself against the wall with one hand, or grabbing at me with the other. I was getting soaked by the spray, as was the floor but, fuck it, I didn’t care. Not then. Watching her shower? God, I was the luckiest bastard in the whole fucking world, and the most cursed: treated to the sight of her nude body, all that perfect skin, all those goddamn perfect curves, watching droplets of water slide down her breasts and between her thighs…fuck—but I was cursed, because I couldn’t touch.
And then she glanced at me, considering, thinking. She steadied herself with a hand on the wall, hooked her thumb into the lace of her thong, and worked it down around her hips, then slid her thighs together and wiggled her hips to shimmy it down to her knees, and then it was off and at her feet. She bent to grab it, went off balance, and I had to grab her shoulders to keep her upright, which meant I got blasted by the scalding hot water, and I had my hands on her naked wet skin, and now she was inches away from me, water running down her face and her eyes were wide and blue and frightened and aroused and full of sadness.
But she had her thong in her hand.
And, in that moment, her eyes on mine, her thoughts and feelings running clear as day across her face and in her eyes, her naked wet body pressed up against mine…
She set her soaked thong on top of my head, and giggled.
It dripped hot water into my hair and down my face and onto the back of my neck. I snagged it off my head, wrung it out, and backed away from her. I had to.
That giggle.
Motherfucker, that giggle.
Sweet, innocent, playful, sexy, breathy.
If I could make her giggle like that in bed, tickle her, tease her with my tongue until those erotic little giggles turned to moans, which would turn to begging, which would turn to screams of orgasm as I swept my tongue against her clit, tasting the sugar of her pussy…
I started for her, reached for her, fully intending to toss her onto the bed and make her beg for my cock in that musical voice of hers…
I got so far as to rest my palm on her hip, and then my fingers curled against her skin, and her eyes fixed on mine, and she wavered, fell back against the shower wall, breathing hard, tits rising and falling with each gasping breath, and fuck, fuck, fuck, her thighs were shaking, and I swear to Christ I could smell the desire from her pussy through the steam of the scorching hot water, and she was reaching for me too, but she still had one hand on the wall to keep herself from toppling over, and—
Shit.
You’re a fucking bastard, Sebastian Badd.
I spun away from her before I did anything we’d both regret, but I was so pissed at myself, at her, at the asshole who’d broken her heart…so fucking pissed. Adrenaline coursed through me as I ripped myself away from her.
I lashed out, smashed my fist against the door frame as hard as I could, splintering it so thoroughly chunks of molding split off and hit the floor.
“Jesus, Sebastian! What the fuck!” She was shocked, scared.
I kept my eyes off her, grabbed a towel from under the sink and set it on the counter. “I can’t do this. Sorry. Try not to pass out and break your fuckin’ head open.”
I left the bathroom, closed the bedroom door behind me, and then put my back to it, clutching at my hair with both hands. My fist throbbed like a bitch, but I didn’t care.
I listened to the shower going for so long I thought she’d for sure passed out in there, but eventually the water shut off and then I heard the bed springs squeak as she hit the bed.
“Sebastian?” I heard her voice beyond the door, muzzy, slurred.
“Yeah.”
“Need a trashcan. In case I puke.”
“Got it.” I fetched a trashcan from one of the other bathrooms, and then knocked on her door. “You covered?”
“Mostly.”
I opened the door and moved beside the bed. She was diagonal across the mattress, facing the foot end, and by ‘mostly’ covered, she meant she had the towel wrapped around her waist to cover most of her ass, and she was lying on her stomach with her head over the side of the bed.
“The dress is all you got with you, I’m guessing?”
She nodded. “Yep. And a pair of heels. And my purse, and my broken heart. But no clothes.”