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My breath hiccups when I see it. When I see how round it is. How tight and honey-colored like the rest of him. There’s a curve to it that I wanna run my hands over.
And then there are his thighs.
His heavy, powerful thighs, and just the sight of them makes me wanna clench mine. Because they are so muscular and big, dusted with dark, springy hair.
I was right about them.
They are so big that I can easily perch my tiny self on them.
I can straddle my little body over one of his mighty thighs and I can rock against it. I can rock and undulate and rub my needy core against his flesh until I become so wet that I’ll glide. I’ll sail over his limb and his coarse hair will rub against my oh-so-swollen clit and I’ll come.
I’ll cream all over his tree trunk of a limb.
God, I so wanna do that. I so wanna ride his thigh that I’m dying with the need.
I’m so dying with it that I almost miss something important. In fact, it’s the most important thing.
I miss the fact that his hand is holding something. Something big and thick and hard.
Oh my God, his hand is holding his dick.
Although, it’s not a dick, nope.
He was right. It’s a cock. For some reason, dick makes me think of something narrow and something pale and thin.
So unlike this.
So unlike his cock.
Somewhere in the past few seconds I’ve been staring at him, he’s moved and now I can see the front of his body too. I can see his cock.
It’s wide and big and his fingers are wrapped around the base of it. Not only that, they are moving. They are moving up and down and for a second I think, I’ve caught him washing his shaft.
But that’s not true.
I’ve actually caught him masturbating, I think. Because his hand is not moving, it’s pumping. It’s stroking and going up and down so fast that it makes me think that he’s angry at his cock.
Mr. Edwards is mad at his erection and so he’s beating at it and beating at it. And all the muscles on his body are standing taught and beautiful. I can even hear the slick sounds of his frantic movements, which is crazy because the shower is loud.
My breaths are louder. Louder than his hand jerking off his cock.
God, he’s jacking off and I don’t know what to do.
How to simply stand here and not go to him.
I’m salivating for it. My mouth is full of saliva and I’m biting my lip and licking it.
I’m gasping and probably rolling my hips in the air and that’s how he knows I’m here.
He catches me perving over him while I’m making noises.
Yikes.
As soon as his eyes hit me, his face goes from flushed to furious in a split second and he whips around, his shaft hard and pointing toward me. “What… What the… What the fuck?”
I don’t flinch. I don’t act ashamed or afraid.
My shyness as always is a thing of the past when it comes to him.
“Were you thinking about me?”
His expression scrunches up and he snaps at the shower curtain and covers his lower half. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“The door was open.”
“And you thought you could just walk in?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You couldn’t have waited until I was done?”
I shrug, watching water rivering down his chest, slicking his dark hair against his flesh. “I could’ve but the thing is, I didn’t want to.”
“Get out. Out. Right now.”
He’s angry, understandably so. I intruded on him.
But I’m not going anywhere.
I won’t.
Until he accepts it too. Until he’s free and at peace.
Until he admits he wants me too and it’s okay to do that.
“You never say you hate me.”
“What?”
I swallow and fist my hands. “You called me a nightmare. You said my face took away your peace. But you never say that you hate me. Not once have you said that.”
All day today, I replayed his words over and over. I thought of everything he said to me. Every little detail. I analyzed it to death and I realized that he never said it.
He never said the word hate ever.
I’ve said it but he hasn’t. Not once.
Shutting off the shower, he scrubs a hand over his face. “Violet. Get the fuck out right now.”
I take a few steps in. “It’s because you don’t hate me, do you?”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
My legs are overcome with a strange current and I can’t stop myself from walking in further and further, until my bare toes bump with the ceramic bathtub and he actually has to take a step back to get away from me.
He doesn’t go easily though. His chest heaves; his fists clench; his jaw grinds; and he glares at me like I’m torturing him.
