Page 60 of Wild Card
Through the window, I watch Gwen follow him down the hall, and I stay outside, letting the chill seep in. Letting reality seep in too.
Eventually, I sneak back inside and dart upstairs, into the safety of my room, where I lean up against my door and try to wrap my head around what just happened.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GWEN
When I return to the kitchen after helping Clyde get settled, Bash is nowhere to be seen. The remnants of our poker game are scattered all over the table, my glass of wine sits innocently next to the pot of lavender.
Hands on my hips, I take a deep breath, head just a little fuzzy, skin just a little hot, heart still beating fast. Because I’m pretty sure I was about to blow Bash in the kitchen.
A smile quirks my lips. Fucking Clyde. Total cockblocker.
I quickly dump my wine, deciding I’ve had about enough of that for one night, and tidy the table while perseverating on the things that Bash said to me in the heat of whatever the hell that moment just was.
You that fucking eager, Gwen?
I’ve got a laundry list of ways I’d like to watch you work for it, and none of them involve poker.
I really should not want you this badly.
By the time the kitchen is tidy, I’m hot and bothered.
Deciding I have a date with my vibrator upstairs, I shut off the majority of the lights, check the locks on the doors, and head up to my dreamy room.
I pad softly down the hall, not wanting to make any noise. My gaze drifts to Bash’s door as I pass it, half expecting to see light filtering from beneath it. But I don’t.
He’s clearly not waiting up for me, but that was probably very wishful thinking. I shake my head at myself as I continue to my room. The man might want me, but he definitely hates that he wants me. I’m not oblivious to the fact that he’s torn up about it.
And still I wonder if he dreams about breaking the rules the way that I do. He’s locked up tight, but if he let himself feel something—feel wanted—maybe he’d see things differently.
Maybe he’d feel like I was worth the risk then.
It hits me, as I enter my room, that we’re both scared. Afraid we’re not enough. We live in fear of the same type of rejection, and eventually, one of us will have to take a chance or this ship is going to sail.
And I’m not sure I’m ready to give up hope just yet.
With that in mind, I turn and walk back out of my room. Only a few steps down the hall to his. My fingers wrap around the doorknob and then I think better of just marching in. My opposite hand lifts to knock but a noise brings me up short.
I lean closer, pressing my ear to the door.
A groan. A labored breath. The whispered brush of skin against skin. “Fuck yeah,” he murmurs roughly.
Heat crawls up my chest and flares down through my hips, curling deliciously in my pelvis. Because I suspect I know exactly what Bash is doing.
But knowing isn’t enough. The need to see him drives me forward.
I blame the wine for what I decide to do next. My hand twists before I can even think twice. As silently as possible, I ease the door open, just a sliver.
Silvery moonlight streams into the room, highlighting the harsh lines of Bash’s naked silhouette. I can see him in fullprofile. He’s standing at the end of a massive bed, posture slightly curved as he fists his dick. Pumping and breathing in time.
I shouldn’t stay and watch, but I also can’t look away. I’m entranced and lean closer.
I watch as his palm twists over his length crudely. He moves from base to tip with harsh, jerky movements. The head of his thick, throbbing cock flares out, a drop of wetness glistening at the end.
I lick my lips and heat suffuses my entire body as my eyes catch on the tendons that flex in his forearms as he works himself into a frenzy. My core clenches as I take him in, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch a fantasy play out right before my eyes. I can’t decide which view is the best. My eyes jump from his face—all furrowed brows and concentration—to his cock, to his hand that’s dropped to grip the sheets as he holds himself up.
But it’s his round, well-muscled ass flexing as he thrusts that’s enough to put me over the edge. I now know what I’ll be thinking about every single time I finish for the rest of my life.
