Page 74 of Powerless
But I fail.
Miserably.
I let my eyes wander over his broad, toned shoulders, the way his muscles ripple in his back as he walks.The indent down the column of his spine. The grayscale tattoos that wrap around his arms and a lone one that peeks out on his ribs. I can only see it because he lifts one arm and runs a hand through his hair, but it looks an awful lot like . . .
No.
I shake my head and turn back to my bag. When I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, I drop my towel and quickly slide into a pair of black Calvin Klein sleep shorts and a tight black tank top. No bra. My breasts aren’t big enough for it to matter. This stretchy material presses them into place without issue.
I sit on the cot, and a spring pokes my ass through the flimsy mattress. It’s fine. I didn’t torture myself in pointe shoes for years to be put off by a minor discomfort.
As I lie back on the squeaky cot, the glimpse of Jasper’s tattoo keeps popping up in my head. I’ve always known Jasper has a lot of tattoos. What started out as one grew into many. They cover his biceps, twist over his shoulders, and crawl down his forearms. They’re all black, the older ones more faded than the newer ones.
For me, they just add to his appeal. Men like Sterling don’t get tattoos. They get facials. Jasper isn’t “one of us” as my dad would say—a comment that rings a lot more offensive now that I’ve removed my blinders.
Jasper is nothing like the men I grew up around.He’s raw and dirty and loves so hard he hurts himself in the process.
And I want to know what that fucking tattoo is.
I stand, storm across the room, and toss the bathroom door open, stepping into the space.
One strong hand props Jasper’s hulking form up against the shower wall while the other grips his cock, pumping up and down slowly.
His head turns to me.
Wet caramel hair frames his face, and the spray from the shower lashes his spine before streaming down in rivulets over his tightly muscled back and perfectly round ass.
I always knew Jasper’s body was great, that he spent long hours training and working and taking care of himself, but he’s . . . magazine worthy. His body looks cut from stone.
Right along with his cock.
“I’m sorry,” I say instantly, frozen on the spot, staring at his well-proportioned body. He’s a big man and so is his . . .
“No, you’re not.” His eyes hold a wicked glint as they fixate on me. He straightens, but his hand keeps twisting languidly, casually, like it’s perfectly normal for him to jerk off while I watch.
“I didn’t mean to barge in here.”
“Yes, you did.” He smirks at me now, and my knees go a little weak.
He knows me too well to pull off playing stupid.Plus, I promised myself I’d stop apologizing for being myself.
And myselfreallywants to see Jasper naked.
I stand here, mouth popping open and closed like a fish out of water, not sure what to do now because . . . his hand is still moving. The muscles and veins in his forearms ripple as he pumps.
“Sloane, close the door and sit on the counter.”
Pump.
“Pardon me?” My heart thrashes wildly in my chest.
“Shut the door.”
Pump.
“And put that tight little ass up on the counter.”
Pump.
