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In there, I let almost an hour pass, enjoying the fact that it wasn’t a shitty building with a shitty hot water tank that made my showers turn glacial after eight minutes exactly.
And, as all women knew, a shower was a cure-all. I swear as the soap circled the drain, so did all the stress I had been feeling.
I toweled my hair a bit then dried off and wrapped up in the white towel the gym offered that smelled comfortingly of heavy bleach, and made my way out into the dressing room.
“Going for the shower world record, baby? How fucking dirty could you be?”
I shrieked as I jerked backward, my spine crushing into the door jamb as my eyes landed on Shane across the small room from me, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Get the fuck out of my dressing room,” I snapped, too shocked to be anything other than angry, not really factoring in the danger thing. Not because I thought he would hurt me, but because he would do just the opposite of that. And I wanted that a bit too much.
“No.”
“No?” I sputtered. “What do you mean, no? Get out or I will scream for management.”
“Won’t do you any good.”
“Why not?” I asked, my belly clenching a little, having a feeling I knew what was about to follow.
“Because I am management. I own this gym.”
Of course he did.
The man owned everything in my fucking life.
“Regardless, you’re being a creep right now. Get out.”
“I don’t think you mean that,” he said, pushing off the wall and closing the four or so feet between us. He seemed to suck up all the air in the room, making my chest feel tight and my head feel light. He moved into me, but didn’t quite make contact, his entire body a mere whisper from mine. One of his hands braced on the wall beside the top of my head. I swallowed hard, trying my best to stand my ground, not duck down under his arm and run from the building in my towel and shower flip-flops. “Right?” he asked and I literally could not remember what he was supposed to be wrong about. Though I wasn’t too stupid to know that he was definitely, definitely wrong.
“Shane, I…”
“Skipped out on that incredibly transparent set-up after your outing with Fee?” he asked, his free hand sliding down the side of my ribs. “I saw that bag she came in with. Phallus-opy, huh? Wonder what you might have picked up there.”
“Nothing,” I lied, my skin buzzing where his fingers drifted, across my belly, then down toward my hip, sinking in slightly.
“And I bet I can tell you who you were thinking about while you were pressing a vibrator against that pussy,” he said, voice low, rumbling; the sound reverberated through my body and settled with a very strong pressure in my lower stomach. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his face getting closer to mine. At my hesitation, his lips pressed into mine hard. His tongue pushed forward and parted my lips, sneaking inside to toy with mine. My body arched into his, my hands going up and around his neck, angling my head up to give him better access. His hand moved down, toying with the skin of my knee before sliding upward, inching the scratchy material of the towel up. His finger slipped inward up my inner thigh. My sex clenched hard just a second before I felt his finger finally move to where I needed it most, sliding up my slick cleft.
And it was right that second that I realized something.
And it was an ice bath to my overheated system.
Because his hand was between my thighs.
Where I hadn’t shaved in months.
Months.
Jesus Christ.
“Stop,” I demanded against his mouth, dragging my hands from around his neck, and pressing them into his chest until he went back a step.
Shane’s brows drew together as he looked at me. “You alright?”
My hand moved up and clutched at the tuck in my towel, resisting the urge to die of complete and utter mortification. I had been shaving since I was freaking twelve years old. Never, never did I miss a day. Not even when I was between men. “I’m… fine. I just don’t want this,” I said, my voice cracking a bit in the center at the obvious lie. He had felt how much I wanted it. I had moaned how much I wanted it against his lips.
“Lea…”
Oh, God. He needed to not say my name in that sex-gruff voice of his.
I pressed my thighs together hard and took a deep breath. “Please go,” I said and my voice held a sort of sadness that I couldn’t really understand. But Shane’s shoulders went a little slack at the sound and he nodded, moving toward the door.
