Yes.
No.
I don’t answer him. I can’t. Instead, heart racing, I wait for him to get near enough to me that I can shove Connor out of the bathroom. He doesn’t fight it, but I don’t like the suddenly thoughtful look on his face as I close the door behind him before turning the lock with asnick.
That’s it, I decide, reaching for another hand towel so that I can do a more thorough job scrubbing the toilet seat before I can finally pee. I live in the bathroom now.
When the alternative is returning to the living area of the basement and letting Connor figure out just how ready I am… yeah. I totally live here now.
I makeit twenty-five minutes locked in the bathroom before a strange mixture of curiosity and dread has me reluctantly climbing up from the toilet. I wash my hands, swipe them on a third towel, then take a deep breath before I open the door.
I expect to find Connor waiting for me on the couch while wearing that smirk of his. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when I step out of the bathroom only to realize that he… he’s not down here any longer.
Good. That’s a good thing. I didn’t mean to be such a voyeur, and I need to figure out a way to apologize to Connor for ogling him when I caught him touching himself. It’s not like he did it in front of me on purpose. He told me he was going to the bathroom. I’m the moron who banged on the door, causing it to fly open like that.
So he was right when he guessed that seeing him pleasure himself… it made me interested. Hell, it made me want him. But I can’t… right?
Right.
I think.
Giving my head a clearing shake, I decide that the best thing I can do is return to my sanctuary. I’ll lock myself in there, hopefully get some sleep, and forget that I walked in on Connor masturbating?—
At first, I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. It’s a fantasy. A mirage. There’s no fucking way that Connor Heyward is butt-fucking-naked, sprawled out on his back on the dark sheets in the panic room, his hands stretched out his head thanks to the handcuffs tethering him to the wrought-iron headboard.
There’s no way.
There’s no way…
I blink. His smirk—that damn smirk—deepens. He waggles his eyebrows.
Shit. His cock, already erect again, bobs as he wiggles his hips.
“Hey, baby. Like what you see now that you can see all of it?”
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
Picking my jaw up from the goddamn floor, I spin on my heel and dash out of the panic room.
“Haven?” Connor’s slightly panicked voice chases after me. “Where are you going, Haven?”
You know what? I could leave him there. I could shut the door and pretend like I didn’t just see a naked Connor Heyward sprawled out on the bed, handcuffed to the headboard, completely at my mercy. I could… but, damn it, I have a naked Connor Heyward at my mercy.
I’m not at his. That’s the difference. It’s a small one, but it counts, and with the power imbalance suddenly shifted in my favor, I’d regret it forever if I shut that door and ran away.
Less than a minute later—and before I lose my nerve—I return to my sanctuary, clutching a notepad and a pen. I can’t help but notice the flash of relief that dances across Connor’s handsome face… even if I’m still way more distracted by everything else he has on display.
He exhales, then, in a sing-song sort of voice, says, “I knew you’d be back.”
Yeah? That makes one of us.
I poise the pen to the pad. For a second, I don’t even know what to write. I sure as hell can’t find the words to ask, either, until finally I jot down the most pressing question I have in mind:
Why do you have handcuffs?
His eyes seem to laugh at me though he’s careful not to frighten me off with another of his wicked grins after he reads that. “A memento from the chief of police, I’m thinking. Or maybe it was just something else my parents used for their nighttime activities. I’m not really sure, and I don’t like to think about it too hard. Let’s just say, I found them, and I think I figured out the best use for them.”
I can only imagine what that is to a man like Connor.
