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Wishful thinking some might say.
I step up to the door, anticipation building as the thought of seeing my girl getting herself off makes my cock harder than a goddamn rock. Jesus. Mia has always had me tied up in knots, but it’s worse now. So much fucking worse.
Steam billows through the luxurious bathroom. Marble tiles and wooden feature pieces match the rest of the apartment, with a huge bathtub on one side and an expansive shower on the back wall. The glass is slightly fogged up, but Mia’s frame is still visible on the other side, her head tipped back against the wall and her fingers moving slowly between her legs.
Fuck. Me.
I almost come without even thinking to touch my dick. Jesus, I’ve never seen anything as erotic as my girl touching herself, made better because I know she’s thinking about me.
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the groan that threatens to blow my cover and squeeze my hardening length through my sweatpants.
Her free hand travels down her body, stopping at her tits, dragging a soft moan from her throat. Water cascades down her body, and more than anything, I wish there was no glass between us. I wish I could see every expression, hear every moan over the shower, watch as she comes apart beneath her own touch.
She’s magnificent. Every touch, every sound, every fucking move she makes is like a goddamn work of art.
Right up until she lets out an annoyed huff and shuts off the water.
What the hell just happened?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MIA
Ididn’t know it was possible to be this frustrated.
But then again, I’m not sure I’ve ever been desperate to release pent-up tension like I am right now.
For hours last night, I tried to get myself off. I tried so fucking hard. I did everything I could think of, right up to watching porn. But nothing worked. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach my release, and every time it faded away was more frustrating than the last.
When Ace walked down the stairs this morning, bright-eyed after the best sleep of his life because of the orgasm I watched him have, it was the end of my tether.
I need to come.
I need the release.
And I’m going to fucking get it.
The warm water falls around me, soothing my sore muscles, and the rhythmic sound of the droplets hitting the tiles beneath my feet gives me a sense of calm I’ve often craved.
But release never comes.
And each second that passes is more frustrating than the last.
I shut the water off and press my forehead to the cool tiles.
I always knew I was broken. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I can’t do something as simple as get myself off. I’m not destined to feel pleasure, not at anyone else’s hand, and apparently not at my own either.
A sob rises up my throat, and I don’t bother trying to hide it. There’s no one around to hear me. Just Ace downstairs working. I’ve spent a lot of years masking my pain, forcing myself not to cry, not to show emotion, not to show the men around me how broken I truly was. But at least for a while, I let myself feel it all.
Hot tears fall against my cheeks, mourning all that I could have been. The little girl who dreamed of being a nurse, of helping people. The teenager who studied hard despite how awful her home life was. The sixteen-year-old girl who had everything torn away from her. The woman I’ve become, shattered into a million pieces after years of a life I didn’t ask for and didn’t deserve.
For once, I allow myself to feel it all, and each emotion is more soul-destroying than the last until I can’t breathe through the rough sobs that force their way up my throat.
Arms wrap around me, and I’m tugged back into a hard body. “It’s okay, sugar,” Ace whispers, his lips murmuring against the column of my neck.
His touch should startle me. Especially because I didn’t hear him come in, and I have no idea how long he’s been watching. But as it always has, his touch calms me, it allows me to let go and feel the frustration I would normally bury.
His rough hands on my bare skin makes my heart speed up, the organ that keeps me alive is beating so hard in my chest it borders on pain. The toxic cocktail of fear and lust dance together, frustration only making the tears fall faster.
