I could hear my own breath catching in surprise, and stayed statue-still for a long moment, worried he’d heard too, that he maybe looked over, that he knew I’d seen.
It wasn’t like he was hiding what he was doing. I was in clear view of the shower. But I didn’t want him to know that I’d been watching. It would undermine my insistence that I wanted nothing at all to do with him.
There was just no reasoning with a biological reaction, though.
It rarely made any sort of sense.
It was why I had lusted so hard after my bad boy high school boyfriend who treated me like shit, but then had only tepid feelings for the guy I’d dated afterward who treated me like gold, no matter how much I wanted to want him. You just couldn’t argue with your biology.
And some cavewoman part of me responded to the man in the room across from me.
It made sense if you thought about it. He was, objectively, a practically perfect male specimen. He was tall, wide-shouldered, fit, with classically handsome features, a rough, masculine demeanor, and, you know… the great cock.
I told myself I wasn’t going to risk looking again.
But the sound of his breath hissing out had heat igniting through my system, making my skin feel flushed and overly sensitive. The throbbing got worse and worse until I didn’t seem to have any sort of control as my eyes looked up from under my lashes.
His muscles were tense, taut, as he worked his fist up and down his long length.
His other hand balled into a fist on the wall as his breathing got more and more ragged.
I pressed my thighs more tightly together, trying to calm the chaos between—the throbbing, insistent ache that my body was begging me to ease.
My breath felt caught, making my chest tight as I watched Primo take himself closer and closer, getting nearer and nearer to that edge.
Then pushing himself right over.
His fist slammed against the tile, as a low, almost ragged groan escaped him as he came.
My gaze slid away then, knowing he would be less distracted and more likely to catch me watching, even just under my lashes.
Even with my head down, though, the insistent aching between my legs didn’t ease. If anything, it seemed to get even more insistent, making me realize that once he was gone, I was going to need to do something about it if I wanted to be able to fall asleep.
The water cut off a minute later, and I swear I was so hyper-aware of everything at that moment that I could hear him toweling off before making his way in my direction.
Toward the closets, not me.
Except, no, he wasn’t making his way to the closets.
He was walking toward me, then stopping.
I could feel his gaze on me and I swear my skin felt heated everywhere his eyes roamed.
I knew I needed to tell him to fuck off, to get away from me, but I couldn’t seem to get the thoughts to my mouth. And I wasn’t even sure that I meant them.
I mean, of course I meant them on a logical level, just not on that primal, animalistic one that had my sex throbbing along with my heartbeat as he towered over me for a moment.
And then his hand was reaching out, his finger snagging my chin, forcing it up so he could look at my face. I didn’t have to see myself to know what he saw when he looked at me right then. I could feel the flush to my cheeks and the heaviness to my eyelids.
“You like to watch, huh, baby?” he asked, voice smooth and deep, a sound that washed over me.
My lips parted, and some sound did come out, the beginning of an objection, surely. But it didn’t quite escape me.
Primo’s thumb moved out, stroking along my lower lip for a second before he released me.
“I like to touch more,” he told me.
And just like that, his arm was plunging under the water, and his big hand was sliding between my thighs, stroking up my slick and aching cleft.
I knew I needed to push him away, that this kind of thing was only going to complicate things, make it harder for me to set much-needed boundaries.
But my body wasn’t listening.
My thighs parted for him, resting against the cold sides of the tub as his finger started to stroke up my sex, teasing around the edge of my clit, but not quite touching it.
“Did you see how hard you made me?” he asked, the pad of his finger dipping down with his words, doing a quick pass over my clit, but moving right away even as my breath caught at the hint of pleasure.
“Do you know how difficult it’s been,” he started, doing light strokes over my clit, “to wake up to you draped over me in the morning?” he asked as my breathing got faster and more shallow. “How I have to keep my hands to myself when what I want to do is tear off your panties and slip inside you,” he told me. “Like this,” he added as two of his fingers thrust inside me, making a surprised moan escape me. My muscles clenched around him, making a low groan escape him. “One day, you’re going to squeeze my cock like this,” he told me just before his fingers started to thrust.
It wasn’t slow or sweet or explorative.
He fucked me with his fingers until my hips were writhing against his touch, until my whimpers became loud moans, until my hand slid down, pressing his palm against my cleft, engaging my clit with his motions.
His fingers got rougher and more demanding as I got closer and closer, my walls tightening around him as he pushed me toward that edge that, with one more little push, would send me free-falling into oblivion.
“Nope,” he said, his fingers slipping out of me. “If you want to come, Isabella, you’re going to come around my cock,” he told me, shooting me a devilish smirk as he pulled his hand out of the water, then made his way back toward the bedroom.
Alone, the embarrassment had a weak, pathetic whimper escaping me as my hands rose, covering my face, not sure how the hell I was ever going to be able to face the man again after that.
It would have been bad enough if I’d had an orgasm. But it was somehow much worse that he’d denied me it.
“Damnit damnit damnit,” I grumbled to myself, opening the drain, and sitting there until the tub emptied completely while calling myself any number of things, but all of them having to do with being a complete freaking idiot.
Cold and frustrated, I toweled off. Then took a really long time to lotion, brush and braid my hair, do my skin routine, then finally get dressed for bed.
Long enough had passed that I figured there was no way the man could possibly still be awake. I cracked the door and listened, hearing the steady, deep breathing that said I was right.
Then I scurried right the hell out of there and down the stairs to curl up on the couch instead.
Remnants of the party were all around. The tables were all set up. The bottles of liquor, both full and empty, were still on the makeshift bar they’d set up. The glasses were lined up beside the sink and the dishes were in it, but I figured they would stay that way until Primo’s housekeeper showed up to deal with it.
The housekeeper that sucked his dick the day of our wedding.
I had no right to feel as pissy about that as I did as I snatched my jacket off the rack to use as a makeshift blanket.
I tried to tell myself it was just a matter of tact. How the hell was I, the wife, supposed to exist in the same space as her, the housekeeper, and sucker of my husband’s cock? It created a weird dynamic. I wasn’t looking forward to navigating it.
Maybe I’d find some excuse to get out of the house the next day before she showed up. I would have someone on my guard shift. They could take me somewhere.