The longer she stood there watching his arm move up and down in an obscenely erotic way that clearly showed he was masturbating; she felt her arousal heighten even more. She heard him suck in a lungful of air, saw him slam his palm on the wall in front of him, and wondered if he was coming. He moaned, his arm still moving up and down, but just as she thought he’d found his release, as she could have just watching this, he stopped.
For a moment, it didn’t sound like he breathed, didn’t look like he moved. She was hyperventilating, doing everything in her power not to touch herself as she played the image over in her head on a continuous reel.
And then he was breathing hard again. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as she watched him shut off the water. Maybe Alessandria should have been smarter and left before he saw her, but she was frozen in place. Rooted to the spot, she felt herself grow more aroused as he slid open the shower doors, watched him reach for a towel, and then he was out, towel drying off. With his back to her, she took in the riddled scars.
God, who would do such a thing to him? Probably the same person or people that liked to hurt you.
He had tattoos—frightening designs that showed her this man had a lot of darkness in him, but she already knew that.#p#分页标题#e#
Zeke turned, faced her, and looked right in her eyes; she saw no expression of surprise. He slowly wrapped the towel around his waist, his gaze never leaving hers. She should have said something, anything, but her mouth was incredibly dry, and her throat felt like it was closing off.
“I’m sorry.” Alessandria didn’t know if she was apologizing for being in the bathroom, or watching him, or for something altogether different. She felt like an idiot as soon as the words left her lips, but she didn’t know what else to say. She had just been caught watching him, and instead of shame, she felt a fierce burning fire inside of her, claiming every inch of her.
He said nothing, didn’t break his focus from her either. He grabbed another towel, started drying his upper body and hair off, and the longer the seconds ticked by, the more she felt like she was the one on display.
“I shouldn’t be in here,” she said.
“I think you should be wherever you feel comfortable, wherever you want to go.” He moved a step closer to her. “You’re a free woman, Alessandria. Gerald is dead, you’re safe, and no one will hurt you.
Will you? I want you to hurt me in the way that makes me feel good.
“I should go.” Although she should be at her knees thanking him for saving her life, for not being a lowdown piece of shit person like Gerald, she found herself, instead, turning, ready to leave.
“Stop, Alessandria.”
She did as ordered, her eyes now closed, as she tried to catch her breath. Turning around and facing him was harder than she thought it would be. With her eyes open again, her focus on him, all she could do was take in the intensity of his body, of his size. She pressed herself against the door with enough force that it slammed shut, and she put her hands flat behind her. The wood was smooth, cold.
For a second, all Zeke did was watch her, and then he was advancing on her. When he was just a foot away from her, his hair disheveled and damp, water droplets falling down his golden scarred and tattooed skin, she couldn’t help but lower her gaze. She couldn’t help but note that he was huge, his shaft pressing against the towel, making the material tent almost obscenely.
“I should let you leave, but I find myself fascinated with you, wanting you by my side.”
Her tongue swelled, no words leaving her in a response.
“How long were you standing there, watching me?”
She knew her eyes were wide, but there was no fear. There was only this crazy intense arousal. Should she lie? No, he’ll know, and you want to be truthful with him.
“Not long.” She shook her head. It wasn’t a lie, not really. She inhaled, smelling the soap and shampoo he’d used. He placed his hands on the door, one on either side of her head and leaned forward. She looked into his dark eyes, and although she should have seen the very devil himself, all Alessandria saw was her savior.
She let her gaze travel down his thickly corded neck, over his rippling, hairless chest, along the tattoos, and stopped at an abdomen that had rolling hills of muscles. A trail of dark hair started below his navel, leading down and disappearing beneath the towel. His erection continued to strain against the fabric, causing a fresh gush of moisture to leave her.
“You’re healed.” He made the comment—it wasn’t a question—as if he were pleased, as if he was immensely happy. She could hear that in his voice.