Page 69 of The Love Destroyers

“I like it when you tell me what you want,” he says, turning back around as he tugs on his dick. And then he plants a palm on the glass door, his head hanging down, and keeps thrusting into his hand, until the fingers of his other hand curl against the wet, clouded glass. My gaze is riveted to them. To every last wet, delicious inch of him.

I half expect the glass to break from the force of him—of his hand, and of his orgasm. I watch as his mouth opens and his hand moves over his dick one last time, cum spurting onto the glass.

I’m in shock. I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but watch and feel as the water washes the traces of him away from the glass. The feeling between my legs is so overpowering that I almost give up and succumb to it on the spot. Death by orgasm denial. I hang on to the side of the door as he steps out of theshower in a cloud of steam, his body wet and proud. His dick still half hard. And I watch as he wipes off with the towel he stole from the closet.

“This is nothing any brother-in-law and sister-in-law wouldn’t do,” he says with a smirky smile as he wraps the damp towel around his waist, tucking in the end.

I want to touch him.

I want to pull that towel away and claim what’s under it. But I’m afraid of what it would mean if I do—and also the possibility that it would mean nothing.

“You must come from a pretty fucked-up family,” I say through my dry throat.

“You’re part of it now,” he says with a snort. He moves past me while I stay put, my body stone, and his bare chest brushes against my arm. My pulse hammers and my knees feel weak, but I’m still standing as stiffly as a sentinel, and I watch as he grabs a change of clothes from his duffel bag, which he left at the foot of my bed. There’s a tattooed Celtic knot next to the hatchback, and he has a scar on his upper right chest.

He unwinds the towel carelessly, as if he’s not reveling in my eyes on him, and changes in front of me. I watch every piece of fabric being pulled over him. When he’s done, he runs his long, talented fingers through his hair.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks at last, meeting my gaze again. His gaze is smoldering, a giveaway that the casual act is just that.

A tremble works through me, but I straighten my back again and say, “You told me I got to watch. I plan to do it thoroughly.”

“I’ll bet you do everything thoroughly,” he says, taking a step toward me. I take a step back, toward the bathroom, then force myself to stop. I will not retreat. Not from anyone. Not anymore.

I clear my throat. “This was completely inappropriate. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” That much is true, at least. I have never done anything remotely like this before.

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes holding mine. “No, you’re not sorry. I’m not either. And I take promises seriously. You said I can watch you later. That’s the deal. I get to watch you glide your hands over your body and fuck yourself. I get to watch you fall apart and put yourself back together. I want all of it, Emma. Start to finish. If I can’t touch you, I can live with that, but I need to see you. I want to memorize you.”

“You’re not normal.”

His eyes gleam at me. “We’renot normal.”

A shiver works through me. “Seamus, this thing we’ve been doing. It’s not—”

The alarm on his phone goes off, and he swears, then dips back into his bag for something. It takes me a second to realize what it is—the black ski mask.

My pulse pounds harder at the thought of him pulling it on. Of kissing him through it. Of watching his eyes get molten and needy as I get down on my knees and take him into my mouth.

I dig my nails into my palms to refocus. “The people at the brewery are going to think you’re holding them up.”

“Nicole said she’d warn them about the mask.”

“Ellie’s going to pretend you’re her new boyfriend, huh?”

I don’t intend to sound jealous, but the words come out that way. Maybe because the sight of him naked, stroking himself for me, is burned into my retinas. I’ve memorized him already, the way he wanted me to.

“Sure, but she thinks I’m gay,” he says with a low laugh, picking up his leather jacket.

“What?” I ask, frankly floored. “Why would she think that?”

He shrugs the coat on and stuffs the mask into his pocket. “Because she tried to kiss me, and I pushed her away. I think it was the only way she could make sense of it.”

My mouth drops open.

Ican’t make sense of it.

Ellie is sexy as hell, and from what Rosie told me, Seamus always has a different woman around. So why wouldn’t he take what was freely offered?

“Why?” I ask, my heart pounding.

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