What did shock me, though, was the fact that with a long-suffering-sounding sigh, Primo’s other arm raised, and his hand closed around his hard length.
I could hear my own breath catching in surprise, and stayed statue-still for a long moment, worried he’d heard too, that he maybe looked over, that he knew I’d seen.
It wasn’t like he was hiding what he was doing. I was in clear view of the shower. But I didn’t want him to know that I’d been watching. It would undermine my insistence that I wanted nothing at all to do with him.
There was just no reasoning with a biological reaction, though.
It rarely made any sort of sense.
It was why I had lusted so hard after my bad boy high school boyfriend who treated me like shit, but then had only tepid feelings for the guy I’d dated afterward who treated me like gold, no matter how much I wanted to want him. You just couldn’t argue with your biology.
And some cavewoman part of me responded to the man in the room across from me.
It made sense if you thought about it. He was, objectively, a practically perfect male specimen. He was tall, wide-shouldered, fit, with classically handsome features, a rough, masculine demeanor, and, you know… the great cock.
I told myself I wasn’t going to risk looking again.
But the sound of his breath hissing out had heat igniting through my system, making my skin feel flushed and overly sensitive. The throbbing got worse and worse until I didn’t seem to have any sort of control as my eyes looked up from under my lashes.
His muscles were tense, taut, as he worked his fist up and down his long length.
His other hand balled into a fist on the wall as his breathing got more and more ragged.
I pressed my thighs more tightly together, trying to calm the chaos between—the throbbing, insistent ache that my body was begging me to ease.
My breath felt caught, making my chest tight as I watched Primo take himself closer and closer, getting nearer and nearer to that edge.
Then pushing himself right over.
His fist slammed against the tile, as a low, almost ragged groan escaped him as he came.
My gaze slid away then, knowing he would be less distracted and more likely to catch me watching, even just under my lashes.
Even with my head down, though, the insistent aching between my legs didn’t ease. If anything, it seemed to get even more insistent, making me realize that once he was gone, I was going to need to do something about it if I wanted to be able to fall asleep.
The water cut off a minute later, and I swear I was so hyper-aware of everything at that moment that I could hear him toweling off before making his way in my direction.
Toward the closets, not me.
Except, no, he wasn’t making his way to the closets.
He was walking toward me, then stopping.
I could feel his gaze on me and I swear my skin felt heated everywhere his eyes roamed.
I knew I needed to tell him to fuck off, to get away from me, but I couldn’t seem to get the thoughts to my mouth. And I wasn’t even sure that I meant them.
I mean, of course I meant them on a logical level, just not on that primal, animalistic one that had my sex throbbing along with my heartbeat as he towered over me for a moment.
And then his hand was reaching out, his finger snagging my chin, forcing it up so he could look at my face. I didn’t have to see myself to know what he saw when he looked at me right then. I could feel the flush to my cheeks and the heaviness to my eyelids.
“You like to watch, huh, baby?” he asked, voice smooth and deep, a sound that washed over me.
My lips parted, and some sound did come out, the beginning of an objection, surely. But it didn’t quite escape me.
Primo’s thumb moved out, stroking along my lower lip for a second before he released me.
“I like to touch more,” he told me.
And just like that, his arm was plunging under the water, and his big hand was sliding between my thighs, stroking up my slick and aching cleft.
I knew I needed to push him away, that this kind of thing was only going to complicate things, make it harder for me to set much-needed boundaries.
But my body wasn’t listening.
My thighs parted for him, resting against the cold sides of the tub as his finger started to stroke up my sex, teasing around the edge of my clit, but not quite touching it.
“Did you see how hard you made me?” he asked, the pad of his finger dipping down with his words, doing a quick pass over my clit, but moving right away even as my breath caught at the hint of pleasure.