Whether she did it because it was too much or something else, I’m not sure.
There are a lot of things I can’t pinpoint when it comes to Cecily Knight.
Such as why I’m watching her take a shower, and why the fuck it’s taking superhuman effort to not join her. All while trying to figure how to get rid of the shell-shocked expression on her face.
It’s been there ever since I carried her into the house and planted her beneath the shower.
The moment I pulled the trigger against my temple, she cried the hardest. It was no different than witnessing a breakdown. A person’s disintegration into another universe.
But the tears have come to a halt and she’s crossing into different territory.
Fucking decimation.
She’s not fully into the catatonic state, but if I leave her alone, she’ll definitely reach that point.
“Cecily,” I call with a calm I don’t feel.
She flinches, and I can see the life rushing back to her bright green eyes before she whips her head in my direction. “Huh?”
It takes all my control not to study every nook in her body, every cavity, and every slope. I can still feel her flesh trembling against mine when I fucked her like an animal earlier.
And the time before that.
I’m reduced to my primal instinct when this woman is around and I don’t like that.
Not one bit.
She’s waiting for me to speak, her expression sober, but there’s still the probability of her slipping into an unreachable state.
I crane my chin and point it behind her. “Use shower gel.”
A delicate frown appears between her brows, and I’m almost sure she’ll choose to be difficult just to piss me off, but she reaches behind her for a shower sponge and pours the gel all over it.
She lowers her head as she lathers her shoulders, armpits, and breasts.
“Eyes on me.” My voice roughens despite my attempts to remain unaffected.
And when those mystic eyes fixate on me? Fuck. I honestly wonder why I’m not in there taking over the task.
But then I recall that I need her to be conscious of her actions. If I do it for her, it’ll be easier to dissociate.
A blush covers her cheeks, neck, and even her ears as she hastily runs the sponge over her stomach and thighs.
Cecily might pretend that she’s not affected by me, might deny the palpable attraction between us and say that she wants nothing of what I’m offering, but her body doesn’t lie.
Her nipples have become harder since her eyes met mine, to the point that she winces whenever she touches them.
A soft shade of pink covers her pale flesh and she’s clenching her legs.
“Clean your pussy, too.”
Her throat works with a swallow. “Can I get some privacy?”
“No.”
A slow but steady fire lights up her expression. “I’m uncomfortable.”
“And I don’t give a fuck.”