Page 106 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

Her eyes watch me as though I’m some deadly predator. Maybe in her eyes, I am.

But there’s new curiosity in her expression now. A thirst to know more.

She’s still dripping wet, and she’s made no attempt to dry herself, so I put the clothes aside and grab the towel. I’m intensely aware that we’re both stark naked. But I’m in no hurry to change that just yet.

Elyssa stiffens as I bring the towel to her body and start wiping her down. Every time she thinks I’m not looking, she watches me unblinkingly.

I can still feel her gaze, though, hot and piercing against my skin. My cock jumps accordingly.

“Enjoying the view?”

She jumps at the first words either of us have spoken in minutes. A blush rips through her cheeks, too bright and sudden for her to hide it.

“I… I…”

I smirk. She just blushes a deeper scarlet.

“You’re hard,” she points out in a tremulous voice. It’s as though she wants to remind me that she’s not the only one here who’s aroused by the situation.

“I am,” I reply without hesitation.

I look at her with raised eyebrows, refusing to be ashamed of my body or my needs. She meets my gaze with another blush, and for the first time, she reaches for the clothes next to her.

I step back and allow her to get dressed. My eyes stay glued to her ass as she lifts one foot into each leg. The pants are so big that they barely stay on her. She has to tie a tight knot to keep them on.

Finally, when she reaches for the t-shirt, I decide to get dressed myself. I pull on my own sweats, but I don’t immediately reach for my t-shirt.

Her voice stops me. “Thank you.”

It’s soft and uncertain, but I can hear the sincerity in her words.

“Swimming is a necessary survival skill, you know,” I say. “You need to learn.”

“I had no one to teach me.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Her brow knots together, but she doesn’t turn away from me. With my nakedness shielded from view, she can focus on other things. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for myself. My cock strains against my sweats, riled up and desperate to bury itself between her legs. I push down the desire, annoyed at my baser instincts.

She seems fascinated by my tattoos. Her eyes linger on one in particular. “That’s beautiful,” she says, pointing to the intertwined angel wings over my right pec. “What does it mean?”

I freeze. Of all my fucking tattoos, she had to go and ask about that one.

“That’s none of your business,” I snap harshly.

The atmosphere splinters like glass and her eyes turn distant immediately. And because I don’t want to see the hurt in her, I do what I do best: I push more distance between us.

“Go to your room,” I order. “And try not to trip and fall down the stairs while you’re at it.”

She doesn’t say a word. I can feel her looking at me, wondering if I’ll retract my harshness. If I’ll show her the side of me she’s so desperate to find again.

I give her nothing.

A moment later, she turns and walks out of the room.

Sighing with frustration, I bring my closed fist down on the table. The swirl of the washing machine masks the sound of the thin wood splintering.

I stand there for a long time after she’s gone, listening to the chugging and swish of the machines. My cock is still pulsing with need. And my head is filled with images of Elyssa.

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