Page 33

EMORY

H oly shit. Aiden is—well, he’s very naked and very aroused, to start.

The glorious shower has multiple jets and the front is totally open to the rest of the bathroom, which means I get an eyeful of my husband with his hand wrapped around his erection.

He doesn’t move, just watches me through heavy lids.

His chest heaves. His palm presses flat against the deep blue tile.

His hand on his cock doesn’t move as I stare at him, like he’s waiting for my reaction.

He’s a work of art under the water. It runs in loving rivulets down his chest and abs, arrowing down the trail of hair on his stomach, past the tan line of demarcation where his bathing suit must sit.

There’s a twinge inside of me as I take him in.

I’ve never seen all of him before and I can’t stop staring. He’s…beautiful.

Damn him.

“I’m too close to stop. So either watch or turn around,” he finally says. His voice is lust-drunk and rough.

Watch?

Oh god, I want to watch. What does that say about me? I just got done talking myself out of wanting him for the third morning in a row, and now this.

I’m frozen as his hand slips slowly down his shaft until he grips himself at the root, and my breath catches. I don’t respond. I can’t. Steam swirls, curling my hair and slicking my skin. It smells like my body wash. What the hell?

“Are you jerking off with my shower gel?”

He smirks, and then he turns, the muscles of his side flexing deliciously beneath his skin, and takes a generous helping of my expensive product into his hand. His dark gold gaze holds mine as he spreads it over his shaft and hisses a breath.

“Now I am.”

“No wonder it’s nearly out,” I mutter. But instead of annoyed, I feel hot and loose.

He’s still smirking as he strokes himself. His breath shudders out. He pushes into his hand again, and my body tightens. It’s a shame this is going to end, because I could watch him for hours.

He is, without a doubt, the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

I want him beyond reason.

The thought jolts me into whirling for the door, my face flaming.

“Stop.”

“I really think I should go.”

“Stay.” The word is followed by a low sound. Oh god, he’s still touching himself. “You’re not affected by me, remember? What did you say?” His voice is lazy and arrogant, with a rough edge from his desire.

I grip the sink in front of me with both hands.

“Oh right. It was just the adrenaline.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice shaky. “Just adrenaline.” The bones of my knuckles stand out against the skin.

“So what did you come to tell me?” There’s a soft, wet sound, then his heavy breath.

I press my legs together. Is he close? God, I hope he’s close. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

“Nothing,” I say, straining to hear what he’s doing and wishing I weren’t. I came to ask if he wanted to have dinner, but now I definitely need to escape the house.

I so badly want to peek. I want to watch his stomach move like bellows and the veins in his arms pulse, each flex and release of his muscle a symphony of movement with one goal—pleasure. His pleasure.

Does he shout when he comes? Does he moan?

What does he fantasize about?

“Nothing,” he muses. “Seems like a good reason for you to interrupt.”

I force myself to focus on thoughts that seem hazy and ill-formed. “Don’t read into it.”

He lets out a low sound of pleasure.

I imagine he’s edging himself and I press a fist to my mouth. My nipples are peaked and my pulse beats heavy and warm between my legs. I’m so wet. I can feel it, and what the hell is that about? Who gave him this power over me?

There’s a groan from behind me.

“Are you done?” I snap.

“Turn around and find out,” he says, the laugh evident in his voice.

“I’ll wait.” I grit the words around the knuckle I have shoved in my mouth.

“No chance I could get you to take that top off, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thought not.” He chuckles. Seconds pass. The wet slap of skin grows louder. He’s accelerating. This has to be done soon, and then I’m going straight for the vibrator I keep in my drawer.

“Aiden,” I growl. I’m practically trembling with the need to see him. I refuse. He can’t win this. I will not give in to wanting him. Wanting Aiden Prince is the road to perdition and it always has been.

“I’m having some trouble getting there,” he taunts. “Tell me something mean.”

The words zip through me, racing unwilling and hot up my spine. I want to get him there. But if he wants it mean—

“Stop playing, golden boy. Finish it.”

“Fuck. Yeah, that’ll do it.” Those sounds again. “More.” His word is a gasped demand, almost like he didn’t intend to say it.

I’m twisted so tight I think I’d break if he touched me. “Hard, Aiden. I need you to come.” My brain screams in alarm. Standing here is one thing, but participating? That comes way too close to breaking the rules.

“Yeah, fuck,” he grunts. “Like that. Fuck, that’s good.”

He moans.

He actually fucking moans, a low, broken sound that reverberates through the bathroom, raising the hairs on my arms and making me whimper softly in my throat.

He’s coming. I know he is, and praying his eyes are shut, I turn and look over my shoulder.

His body is shuddering, his stomach contracting, muscles pushing at his skin as everything goes taut and his cock jerks in his hand.

He finishes on the tile floor, with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth slack with pleasure.

I turn before he can see me, my pulse pounding. I’m out of breath and flushed and so unbelievably turned on that I’m scared to move.

“Shower is yours,” he says. “Since I’m sure you need it.”

I don’t wait for more before I slip out of the bathroom on shaking legs.