Page 117 of Lost & Found

I murmured to myself, “It’s normal, for fuck’s sake.”

But Normal didn’t mean wise. It certainly didn’t mean I was ready for the consequences of letting it happen that way. That sobered me enough that I reached forward and pulled the plug. The water drained in a loud, rushing spiral.

My skin was flushed dark pink, almost red from the heat. I grabbed the detachable shower-head and rinsed away the lingering soap, watching the water bead and slide down my body, causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin. I glanced down at the handy tool and shrugged.

Fuck it. I was alone.

A part of my mind had made the decision before I even stepped foot into the bathroom. I looked down at the shower-head in my hand. My date for the night. Without overthinking it, I angled the spray lower. And held it there.

Despite my history and hangups, pleasuring myself wasn’t one I clung to. At first, maybe, but I’d learned as I got older it relieved tension. And to be honest, who in their right mind could resist the pull of a handy detachable shower-head with multi settings?

Not this girl.

The combination of warm water and pressure was everything. I secretly loved the way my body would feel after. How my clit would get so sensitive that even after it was said and done, I’d feel it. I had at least another forty minutes before Pasha would be back. Plenty of time for some self-care. My legs trembled as I adjusted the jet settings.

The ache had never been this intense before, and I gave into it. I stifled my moans as I rocked my hips against the stream. Within seconds I was there, feeling torn between wanting to finish quickly for relief, or to savor it and take it slow.

I moved it away from my clit to give myself a moment, to pause it, wanting to draw it out. But my arousal was too strong. Too demanding. So I moved it back and let out another moan. This one louder.

How many orgasms could I give myself in forty minutes? The thought came out of left field, strange and foreign. I only ever got off once, and mostly to relieve stress, but tonight was different.

I was feeling greedy.

My life had become an anomaly, and part of me was smart enough to know that once we arrived home, things wouldn’t be this intense. Pasha would go back to being one of the guys and I’d end up on MingleMe. Maybe I’d even go on a date with the Jax Teller look-alike from the club.

Would he wear a leather cut for me? Let me tattoo him? In my head, I tried to visualize him, but beautiful amber eyes replaced blue ones. Blond hair was replaced with rich brown. The cut discarded for gray sweats. Whatever tattoo he had replaced with a roaring lion.

I moved the wand around in my hand, writhing under the warm, pulsing water. It was so damn intense tonight. Despite knowing how sensational coming was going to be, I pulled it away again.

My chest heaved as I tried to calm down. I turned the setting higher and then spread my lips. Throwing my head back, I crept it back into position, imagining being naked with Pasha.

“Ooh,” I moaned. “Oh, god. Fuck me, Lev.”

My eyes were screwed shut as I gripped the shower-head and fucked the stream of water. My groans filled the room and echoed off the walls.

“Princess?”

His voice cut through my haze—low, confused, and filled with something else I didn’t want to name.

Yelping, I dropped the shower-head. It clattered in the tub, spraying water across my legs. My hands flew up, shielding my breasts and pussy. When I finally forced my eyes up, I froze.

He was leaning casually against the door frame. One shoulder braced on the wood. Arms crossed over his massive chest.

God. How long had he been standing there before he spoke? What was he doing here?

“Don’t stop on my account, printessa,” he murmured, his Russian accent wrapping around the word.

My pussy spasmed by that alone.

I swallowed. “I…what…are you…did you forget something?”

My face burned so hot. His gaze didn’t lift to my eyes. It lingered. Especially on my hands, covering myself.

“You’re getting water everywhere,” he said.

He pushed off the frame. Oh God. Each step toward me felt choreographed. Unhurried and controlled. That look from earlier—the one from the roller coaster—had returned. Only this time there was no adrenaline masking it.

He stopped close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. He reached past me for the shower-head. The spray shifted, warm as he trailed it up my thighs.