Page 18 of Pawn's in the Bishop's Game (Checkmate 1)

Two minutes, then I can go to bed and not worry that I might fuck her against her will.

Maybe.

Sliding my hand along my aching cock, I chastise myself for thinking about a bra and panties –what am I, fuckin’ twelve?– but childish or not, my cock throbs and seeps with want. Circling my dick and squeezing, I fight to keep my eyes open as pleasure zings through my blood, the warm water sliding over my neck and dripping off the end of my nose.

Biting my lips closed to stop any noise that might wake her, I slide my hand to the tip, then down to the base until my pinky slides along my balls.

Eyes open, eyes on the door, groaning, I slide my hand back to the tip, then with the imagination my father tried to beat out of me, I imagine Jess walking into my bathroom. Her shocked eyes. Her matching fuckin’ bra and panties. I don’t think of the stitches I’d hurt by slamming her against the wall. I don’t think about the limp in her walk; it won’t matter, anyway. I’ll pick her up. I’ll carry her weight. I’ll control her movements.

Fuck me, she was a stranger yesterday.

Today, she’s a stubborn little shit who got in a knife fight and told no one. She’s an attorney with files full of information on me. She’s waiting to take me down. To run to her big brother the chief and have me arrested. To have me fall in their quest to take Hayes.

And yet… that butt plug comes to my mind, the thought of her asshole stretched wide just for me.

Byme.

Leaning against the wall, I watch the door and slide my fisted hand along my cock. If she wasn’t injured, if she wasn’t so damn innocent, I’d beg her to come to me.

Slide inside her pussy.

Stretch her wide and fill her up.

Faster than the first time I touched a woman, my release steamrolls to the surface and in jutting spurts, forces me to bite back my groan as it slams against the shitty tiles. I watch as the milky white liquid rolls down the wall until it hits the floor, the shower spray funneling it down the drain.

Shutting off the taps no more relaxed than when I started, I snatch a ratty towel from the rail and work it through my short hair.

Her innocence, herallurepisses me off.

Why can’t she be easy? Why does she have to be sorespectable?

Anyone else, and I’d have already fucked her and sent her on her way.

Anyone else, and I wouldn’t have given her a second thought after she bolted from my alleyway last night.

But no. She had to look at me with innocent eyes. She forces me into the hero role, and as payment, I’m now whacking off in the shower all alone.

You know what they say about nice guys…

Picking up a little extra attitude because her unintentional emasculation enrages me, I step out of the bathroom with my towel slung over my shoulder, and absolutely nothing else on.

I want to be an asshole.

I want her to wake and see me standing over her with my still standing cock. I want her to want me, then I’ll tell her no. Or better yet, I’ll tell her yes, fuck her, get that incessant fucking need from beneath my skin, then send her on her way.

But of course, none of that happens, because she doesn’t wake.

Standing at the end of my bed, naked as the day I was born, I watch her plump lips smack together while she sleeps. Her delicate shoulder blades pop, and her toned stomach extends forward with a tiny paunch as gravity once again does its job.

Her skirt rides up and her ass cheek teases me – if she were awake, her ass would be in my hands. Palming the creamy flesh, I’d lift her up and slam her over my cock.

But she’s not. She’s asleep. Injured. Defenseless.

And her bandaging is already blood stained and aging me.

I care that she lives.

I’m a fuckin’ sucker.

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