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My mouth goes dry as my eyes sweep across every edge and divot of his abs and down to the delicious V above the towel. A water droplet slips down his abdomen, cascading over his tattoos, and I want to lick it up. His torso is an intricate scene that reminds me of a painting you may find on the inside of the Duomo. There are angels, a Madonna, clouds, eagle wings, and rays of light all blended together in a tapestry of black and white.
“Harlow.” His voice is low and husky and tinged with warning. I drag my gaze away from the towel slowly tenting and up to meet his eyes. The raspy, desperate way he says my name prickles my skin. “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that every time I’m shirtless—which is a lot in my own damn house—then you better be prepared to be fucked.”
“Wha-what?”Breathe, remember to breathe.
“A man can only take so much,Harlow.”There he goes again saying my name like that, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “And I’m hardly a patient man when I’m at my best.”
He walks closer to me, his fresh, clean smell making my stomach flip and my pussy clench.Jesus Christ, Harlow, get it together.“Do you know how badly I want to spin you around right now and fuck you against the wall? Do you know what a fucking vision you would be with your hair wrapped around my fist while I force you to take every. Fucking. Inch?”
He holds out a hand and stupidly, without thinking, I take it, caught up in trying to read the words down his ribs—something in Irish maybe. With fast and sure movements, he whips me around by the hand and pins me to the wall, my wrist above my head in his grip. My chest heaves as my breasts press into the hard surface, and my pulse hammers all the way down to my throbbing core.
“Now spread your legs,a chuisle.” I do as he says, and he clutches my hip with his other hand, pulling my ass out and arching my back. He gently thrusts his cock against my covered ass and my whole body is tingling, waiting, ready for him to rip down my pants.
“Good girl,”he purrs, and my heart spins like a top in my chest. “And do you know what happens to good girls who follow directions?” His breath tickles behind my ear and I shudder.
“They get fucked?” It's barely more than a shaky exhale. In fact, I’m not even sure I actually said it until I hear his dark, rumbly laugh.
“That’s right, baby. But instead of my cock, I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers until you drench them like my good little slut.” He lifts my other hand above my head, “Don’t fucking move.”
Then one of his hands slides to cup my braless breast, teasing the nipple through my shirt and the other slips inside the front of my sweatpants. He finds my pussy bare and wet, and moans. “Fuck, and no panties either…”
“Cash,”I whimper, the anticipation getting to be too much. I either need him to fuck me or let me go because I feel like I’m about to lose my damn mind.
“Yes, baby?”
“I need it.Now.”
“Fucking hell,”he hisses at my demand and sucks hard on my neck at the same time he thrusts two fingers into my begging pussy.
“Ah,”I gasp, mumbling incoherently as he fucks me with his fingers while grinding against my ass. Tension coils in my core with every thrust of his fingers, the heel of his palm rubbing against my clit.
“I want your words,a chuisle. Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how badly you’ve wanted this.” His words grate against my neck, and it feels absolutely pointless to deny him, but I’m not ready yet to admit the way I’ve craved his touch long before seeing his alibi.
“You caught me at a moment of weakness, that’s all.” The words are acidic and bitter like bile as they crawl their way out.
He rips his hand from my pants and wraps it around my throat, his grip trembling and wiping my own arousal on my neck. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Harlow. You think I wasn’t watching last night? You think I don’t know that when you touch yourself, you come tomy fucking name?” Humiliation like I’ve never known floods me.How could I be so fucking stupid?
He shoves me flat against the wall, my arms stretched painfully above me and his bare chest searing my back. His hand on my throat slides up to my jaw and the other knits into my hair. Forcefully using both grips, he wrenches my head to the side. “Lie to yourself, lie to the world, lie to fucking God himself, but don’t ever lie to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, the way he’s pulling my hair making my eyes prick with tears.
“I don’t want your apologies. I want your goddamnsoul,” he rasps, and then he’s gone.
I’m left catching my breath, both frightened and on fucking fire. He disappears so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it all. But the slick coating my inner thighs is all the evidence I need.
“Fuck,” I huff and squeeze my thighs together, tension that moments ago was delicious is now frustratingly aching.
There’s no rational thought left when it comes to him. Part of me wants to chase him down and demand he fuck me the way he’s promised. But the other part of me wants to storm out of here and take my chances with Russians.
Like I said, there’s no rational option here.
Thirty minutes later, Cash comes into the kitchen where I am finishing a bowl of cereal—yes, three boxes of Cheerios showed up the day after I mentioned them. He’s still tucking his white dress shirt into his slate-gray slacks as he walks in. He looks up, almost startled to see me.
“Listen, Cash—”
“Harlow, you have to understand—”
We speak at that exact same time, stumbling over each other’s words. He glances to the side, his tongue in his cheek, and he has that same almost-bashful look he had the morning he made me breakfast.
