“I get it, okay? I’ll pretend that he didn’t rip my heart out by selling me like a piece of meat. Can I go shower now?”
The sigh he lets out is a show of weary frustration that does absolutely nothing to defuse the resentful ache brewing deep within, and he nods once, turning away to walk to the bed and his luggage.
Feeling slightly let down—not that I wanted him to make a move on me or anything—I close the bathroom door and strip down, letting out a groan when the shower jets roar to life, the strong pulsations loosening some of the tension I’ve been carrying around since I’d looked up and seen Vincent sitting in the diner.
It’s as I’m rinsing shampoo from my hair that he makes his move, confirming my estimation that Vincent the gentleman is nowhere in sight for the foreseeable future.
“Move up.”
That’s all the warning I get before a large hand lands on my ass, gently nudging me into the wall before his big body crowds in and takes up every inch of space.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, covering my boobs like a Victorian era ninny before I can stop myself.
Give me a break; I have to, lest he see the effect his nudity is having on my nipples. If I could find a way to cover my vagina without fear that my fingers would start moving just for a smidge of relief, I would.
Feeling off kilter and strung tight with hate-filled lust, I take a deep breath and concentrate on soaping myself, screamingly aware of Vincent and every inch of water-slicked skin.
When something nudges into the small of my back, leaving a warm stream in its wake, I spin around, slack jawed, to see him palming his thick erection with a smile of predatory delight.
“What are you doing?”
Jesus, be a little more inventive, Cecelia.
“Taking care of business. Unless you’d like to?” he drawls, his pupils dilating with pleasure when his fist tightens and starts a slow up and down stroke over satiny flesh I’m dying to touch.
I resist the urge and sniff delicately.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Like I just said, be a little inventive.
I groan when he grins wolfishly and thrusts his hips forward, his eyes glued to my face as I take in every pull of his fist.
“I am, dove, though I would really rather fuck you.”
I want out of the shower, out of this house, right now, this very minute, but I’m trapped and enthralled and so stupidly needy I can do nothing but stare and clench my legs together as he plants his left hand beside my head, giving me an unobstructed view of his cock.
“Yeah, keep your eyes on me, dove,” he grunts, speeding up his movements when I lick my lips and keep staring.
I can’t breathe or think past the need and hunger invading me when he reaches down and grabs one of my hands from my breast—God, I’ve been feeling myself up this whole time—and wraps it around his shaft, using his own to tighten my grip and start gliding it over his flesh.
I could pull away right now and walk out, leave him in this state of need and lustful desire, but, and it kills me to say it, even if only to myself, I’ve craved this as much as I have the feel of him filling my empty spaces.
I’d become addicted to his pleasure as much as my own, and feeling him thicken beneath my hand in that second before climax is as much a rush as anything he can ever make me feel.
So instead of walking, I do what I shouldn’t and grip him tighter, controlling the movements even as I wrench my eyes back up to his and watch his pleasure.
They dilate further, turning almost completely black before he thrusts against me and stiffens, pouring himself onto my hand and belly. Afterward, as we both breathe in pants and moans, I realize he hasn’t shouted my name, not once, as he usually does in the throes of passion.
The thought wrenches me back to earth as nothing else can, and I pull away, feeling utterly cheap and foolish, violated somehow. Not by him, because, even as I feel it, he starts peppering kisses across my face and neck, his hands stroking down my hips to rest at the juncture of my thighs.
“Open up.”
Chapter Thirty One
For the rest of my life I will never be able to say how I managed to resist the feel of his hands between my legs long enough to rinse his come off and leave the shower stall, my body screaming with unfulfilled desire.
I’d done it though, feeling bitterly proud that for once I’d been the one to give pleasure and walk away instead of just taking. After everything, all the betrayal I’d felt, it’s surprising to be left with nothing but a hollow numbness.
He hadn’t yelled my name. So stupid, and yet I feel like he’s stolen something from me that’s not his to take.
I dress, ignoring his probing looks, and make my way downstairs, hyping myself up for the coming ordeal and the confrontation I know I’m in for with Justin. And maybe Bee too.