“Trust me?”
Cockiness pelts through me with enough intensity to cause a goddamn motherfucking earthquake when she nods her head without pause for consideration. Trust is a valuable commodity, so I wasn’t anticipating to have hers just yet. Don’t get me wrong; I’m pleased, but I’m also wary. I’m not a trustworthy guy because it isn’t something I’ve ever been given, so I don’t understand the repercussion I could face if I lose her trust.
Saving my hang-ups for a more appropriate time, I stray my eyes to the double glass door of Justine’s balcony. When she follows the direction of my gaze, I whisper, “Outside.”
She once again nods, acknowledging she understands that these walls have ears capable of undoing the little bit of good I did last night.
When Justine’s cell phone commences hollering again, I hit her with a frisky wink before throwing open her bedroom door. “I’m going to take a shower. Perhaps you’ll join me after your call.”
With how hard her nipples bud from my comment, I can only hope she’ll take me up on my offer multiple times once we’re no longer being scrutinized by a man I’ll hate more than I will ever respect.
Chapter Eighteen
When the soap slips from my hand, I curse it as I did Roman’s smug grin when Dok assured me Justine’s faded memories have nothing to do with her fall, and everything to do with her mixing anti-anxiety medication with alcohol.
Roman cited the same thing when he busted me sneaking out of Justine’s room, but since he isn’t a doctor, his opinion didn’t count.
My veins will run dry before I’ll ever admit I was wrong, so instead of telling Roman Dok agreed with his assessment, I told him to clean up the mess the Popov housemaids missed before entering the bathroom to have a quick shower. I don’t want to wash Justine’s scent off my skin, but I need to eradicate the funk halving its allure.
So much shit is happening right now—fucked up crap that should have my cock taking a leave of absence, but no matter how often Roman warns me I’m walking into a tornado with my eyes closed, I can’t get the fucking thing to stand down.
Even now, after placing myself on a flimsy limb to have Justine’s brother transferred to the medium-security prison Justine mentioned last night, I’m as hard as a fucking rock.
Maddox’s transfer is costing me millions, but I’m not worried about the money. Evoking the favor I did is unheard of in my industry, even more so when you doing for a man who has ties with your rivals.
Justine thinks Maddox is innocent, however, Roman’s research the last two days reveals his record isn’t as squeaky clean as he wants his family to believe. He wasn’t just cruising by the Petretti compound and happen to stumble upon his sister’s cries for help. He was there, as a participant, only switching from perpetrator to a savior once he realized who was being punished.
He did what needed to be done. He fell at the heel of a man undeserving of his respect, but what he did after that is where he went wrong.
If you take anyone’s debt, no matter how small the liability, you’ll be expected to repay the debt in full.
Maddox only kept one side of the deal.
He killed for Col… but he failed to pin his victim’s murder on the appropriate person.
Even with Col dying years ago, until the debt has been fulfilled as cited, Maddox will remain indebted to the Petretti’s, which, in turn, means his sister is as well. The thought alone should be enough to soften my cock, but, alas, just like I know Justine’s debt won’t remain the Petretti’s for long, so does my cock.
The situation goes from bad to worse when I replace the insubordinate bar of soap with the shower puff hanging on the outdated faucet. I didn’t add any bodywash to the squishy pink puff. I didn’t need to. The suds coating my skin aided in its glide over my body, much less the pre-cum seeping from my cock.
Instead of the shower puff washing Justine’s scent from my skin, it coats me in it. The scent of her floral shower gel mixed with my manly, virile smell has my cock standing to attention as painfully as her delicious mouth.
I could shut down the faucet and pretend my nuts aren’t aching. I could act as if the bathroom has a surveillance device like every other room in Justine’s apartment. But instead of doing either of those things, I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a long, strangled tug, pissed I’m stroking one out in the shower like I’m twelve, but loving the responsiveness of my dick.
Even by my own hand, this is the best hand job I’ve ever been given.
As my tongue darts out with the hope of sampling a smidge of Justine’s mouth on mine, I pump my fist in rhythm to the pulse I felt between Justine’s legs. It’s a brutally fast pace that would only feel better if each stroke was piercing my cock’s head between Justine’s plump lips. Or better yet, her no doubt tight cunt.
I increase the pressure of my thumb on the vein feeding my cock as a zinging sensation roars through my veins. My cock throbs with want, its need seeping from the crown. After balancing my empty hand on the dated yet spotlessly clean tiled wall, I lower my head under the stream of water. It flattens my hair on top of my head, glides over my tattooed pecs, then puddles around my fist sliding up and down my shaft.
The fast, frantic pace I stroke my cock has me chasing release even quicker than I did the first time I fucked a girl. I picture Justine standing in front of me, her fingers sunk into the glistening slit between her legs, her eyes closed. She’ll match the strokes of my cock pump for pump, finger-fucking herself as erratically as her cunt is dying to suck at my dick. I can imagine how the steam from the shower would increase her scent—so sweet yet oh-so- tempting. She’d come with a whispered roar like she did on the door, her knees buckling a mere second before I transfer her weight onto my cock.
When I moan, it comes out with a growl. The image in my head is so erotic, my balls tuck in close to my body, preparing for release. While increasing the speed of my pumps, I close my eyes, enhancing the intoxicating visual gripping every inch of my sack. Justine is beautiful as she is, but the image of her peering up at me like she did after we kissed took her sexiness off the Richter scale. There’s not a number high enough to describe the sleepy sex-kitten look her eyes get when she’s on the cusp of ecstasy.
A kiss brought her to the brink of insanity.
A teeny tiny inconsequential kiss.
Mykiss.
