Page 80 of Undeniably Corrupt

I don’t know why I do it. I honestly don’t.

It’s five in the morning, and I should roll over and go back to sleep since I only got about three hours at most. Maybe it’s because of the way I left him last night and the weird, nonsensical guilt I felt. It’s not as if he asked or even wanted me to sleep in his bed.

Yet here I am, standing outside his door, peeking my head in like a creeper and finding his bed… empty. The fuck? I swear, if this man skipped his sheets after I graced them, he’s going to be in—is that his shower running? I pop my head in and listen a little harder. Yep, I think that’s his shower. Lucky him. He was about to lose a testicle.

With an indignation I have no right to, I thrust into his room and waltz straight into his bathroom. But the moment I push the door open and find him standing still beneath the powered jets of hot water, his face cast down and only the silhouette of his fogged body to go by, I falter. I can’t see his cock piercings, but hell, do I wish I could.

He must hear me because his head slowly turns, and crap, what do I do now?

“Um. I got a text from the daycare. It’s closed.”

I nearly wince at how soft and weak that came out.

“Yes. My facilities manager called. Boston is covered in a sheet of ice after the sleet and freezing rain that came overnight. I closed the building.”

“Oh.”

That means I have a snow day at home with Vander. And Hazel, thank goodness. I can hopefully catch up on schoolwork. Something I am woefully behind on.

“Are you coming in?”

“What?”

“The shower.”

I laugh at how ridiculous that is. “No. Absolutely?—”

The glass door opens, and wet and naked Vander comes barreling out, scoops me up in his arms, and carries me back into the shower.

“Ah! What are you doing?”

He sets me down, rips my shirt over my head, and drops it in a wet heap on the floor. “I wanted my shirt back.” His hands capture my face, and his lips come down on mine in a fierce kiss. I hold onto his arms for dear life, suddenly feeling like I’m drowning. I don’t know how to navigate this, and the saner side of me knows I shouldn’t even attempt to.

But I can’t stop.

Not when he kisses me like this.

If this is what drowning in Vander feels like, I’ll gladly give him my last breath.

His lips and tongue quickly dominate, demanding my full submission. My hands get lost in his hair and drag across his skin. I didn’t get to touch him last night. Not at all, and I won’t even lie and say it’s not something I’ve been craving.

Ten years have done a lot to him, physically and emotionally, but his body has only gotten better. He’s tall and lean with arm muscles and pecs that have me drooling. I want to explore his ink and relearn all the places that make him moan and pulse. I want to feel connected to him again, and it pisses me off. To the point where I bite his lip in anger and frustration.

He grins against me, annoyingly cocky as he reads me better than I like.

His lips graze down my jaw and along my neck as he walks me backward until I’m pressed into the wall. His hands are everywhere. All over my breasts and the curves of my hips and between my legs and around to my ass.

It’s as if he can’t get enough and doesn’t know where he wants to touch or kiss me most.

“What time does Hazel wake up?”

“Huh?” The redirection has my head spinning.

He pulls away from my neck and meets my eyes as he lifts me and forces my legs around his waist. “You left last night before I was done with you because you said Hazel might wake up. So I’m asking, what time does she normally wake up? I don’t want you running out on me again.”

Oh. Well, damn.

“Um, on weekends she sleeps till around seven thirtyish.”