Page 68 of The Love Destroyers

Oh,of coursehe did. He did it for the same reason I kept pulling his flask out of my garter belt the night of Anthony’s wedding. It’s part of our dance—one step toward, two back. Around and around we go.

I can hear the water pounding against the ceramic tiles of the shower stall as I start pacing the small room. I can’t stop thinking about the hot water rolling over Seamus’s body, turning his hair wet and glossy before traveling down his defined abs, over his tattoos, and then—

A smacking sound filters from the bathroom.

Holy shit. He’s going to make himself come just to torment me.

I creep closer to the bathroom door, my heart pounding. The smacking sound continues over the deluge of water. I need to know if he’s really touching himself, or if I’m imagining it. The need infests me.

I take another soft step, then another—the floor creaking beneath my slippered feet like the traitor it is. Another stepbrings me still closer, but it’s accompanied by an even louder sound. I pause, frozen, and the smacking sound pauses too.

Everything in me seems to stop, suspended between flight or fight.

“I know you’re at the door,” Seamus says at last, his tone amused. There’s something else behind it, though, feral and untamed. It makes similar feelings light within me.

“I’m not,” I say thickly. “I’m at least three feet away.”

“I don’t mind if you watch me, Emma,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “If touching’s off limits, we should at least be able to watch, don’t you think?”

I swallow again.

I’mtempted. So ridiculously tempted, but I think of what Rosie said. Of him going to lunch with another woman earlier this week. They could have met for an afternoon delight, for all I know. Given the number of blabbermouths in our combined family, I’d know if he had any kind of girlfriend, so I’m guessing that woman has no claim over him. But I don’t either, and I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. My ego wouldn’t like it if he fucks me today and backs another woman into the broom closet tomorrow. I’d have to burn some of his shit with the lighter I stole from him just to feel okay about the world.

“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m going to watch TV.”

I turn it on, and turn it loud, although it’s not loud enough to totally tune out the smacking of his hand moving over himself. Or the pounding of the water against his hot, perfectly sculpted flesh. I literally have no idea what’s playing in front of me—just that it’s sound and noise and light.

He makes a guttural noise that shakes me from my stupor. I register that I’ve been pretending to watch an infomercial for some sure-to-break cooking implement called the Fabgadget, and I’ve barely flicked off the TV before I find myself on my feet again. Everything inside of me is attuned to what’s happeninginside that door. To him, naked in the shower with steaming water pouring over him. I take a step toward the bathroom. Then another. I peer through the crack in the door and see nothing, so I nudge the door slightly with my foot. Steam billows out, hiding him from my greedy eyes for another instant.

The first thing I see is a sliver of the shower stall. The glass has steamed over, but not enough to completely hide him from me. I see the black of his hair, his head thrown back to bathe in the deluge of water. Then my eyes travel down his abs to where he’s fisting himself—his hand rough and sure as it moves up and down, up and down.

Oh God, this was a mistake. Because there’s a fierce pounding between my legs—an instant, animal need that I’ve never experienced before. Not like this. It’s at once exciting and terrifying. His eyes find mine through the clouded glass, and his smile is a predator’s smile, which makes my feeling of need blossom into something even stronger. He turns so he can better face me, his hand moving up and down on his cock. Long and thick and hard.

Hard for me, I hope.

“The glass,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper. “Clear the glass.”

Watching me, he keeps stroking himself while lifting the other hand—and draws a dick on the glass. I’m rolling my eyes as he sweeps it away with his palm, revealing his body to me. His eyes soak me in while he strokes up and down again, taking good care of himself with his hand, his arms flexing and his tattooed chest rippling.

I want to bite his neck. I want to swat his hand away from his dick and take over for him, moving my curled palm over his slick flesh.

I want to take him in my mouth and drive him crazy.

I swallow against a dry throat and take another step inside.

“If you get to watch me, I want to watch you too,” he says, his voice a raspy thing, the words barely comprehensible. “Say yes, Emma. I know you’re a woman who believes in being fair.”

I want to be generous with him. I want to feel his eyes on me while I pleasure myself, but if I do it now, with him naked and in the shower, I know how it’ll end.

I’m not prepared to cross that final boundary, even if I leapt over this one. So I step back. “Not now.”

“Later,” he insists, the word no question.

“Later,” I agree as his hand strokes back up toward his tip. I watch, mesmerized. “You have a beautiful body.”

He turns, giving his back to me. “Are you sure? A woman once told me I have a flat ass.”

It’s a perfect ass, and the view of his long, bare, muscled back is a beauty to behold. I’m guessing he knows it. But right now there’s something I’d rather see. “Turn back around, Seamus,” I say, my voice low and needy. Demand ringing through the words.

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