Page 75 of Powerless
My cheeks flame.
“We both know you want to watch.”
I want to deny it, tell him he’s crazy and out to lunch. That we’re friends and I don’t want to ruin our relationship.
The truth is, though, I want to ruin it. Badly.
My brain might be in bitch mode, but my heart? My heart is in slut mode.
I take a couple of steps and lift mytight little assonto the counter.
Pump.
“Good girl,” the toned Adonis in the shower praises me, and my fingers tighten around the edge of the counter hard enough to snap a nail.
He’s so brazen, so unlike the quiet, broody man I know. His eyes lick over my skin like fire, and he never stops jerking himself as he incinerates me. Every muscle in his body is held taut, every line defined. His pecs. His abs. Those sharp V-lines that trail down to where all the action is taking place.
A prim voice inside me tells me the polite thing to do is look away.
But tonight I’m not being the polite woman I’ve been told I should be.
So I stare. I take it all in. The round, smooth head. The thick girth. The smattering of hair that leads to his toned stomach.
I absently lick my lips and he groans. My gaze snaps up to those navy eyes I know so well. They hold me captive. They’re simmering with a heat I’ve never seen. He’s done a good job of looking at me like I’m a friend, but he isn’t right now.
He’s looking at me like I’mhis.
“Sloane,” he rasps as his fingers curl into the vinyl wall. “Look at me. Talk to me.”
I lick my lips again, shifting and feeling how slick I am from watching him. If I slid a hand into my shorts, I could make myself come in seconds. “Keep going,” is all I say back, squeezing my thighs together as I revel in the wet slapping sounds of his increased pace.
“You wearing anything under those shorts, honey?” I didn’t think his voice could get any lower, but it does.
“No.” My heads shakes rapidly and I swallow.
Jasper’s responding groan is pure masculinity. “I could so easily pull them to the side and see it all.” His words vibrate through my body, hitting my core with an almost painful pang of longing. Forthat.Exactly what he’s describing.
His gaze drops and I squirm under the weight of it. He stares hard at the apex of my thighs, where my shorts are wedged up just a little too tightly. Then his heated stare snags on my hard nipples, the frantic rise and fall of my chest, before he dives back into my eyes.
The eye contact is unnerving.
It’s erotic. He looks wild and undone.
“Fuck,” he curses before murmuring, “Sloane,” again. His body grows rigid, every hard edge of him strung tight as he tugs at his cock savagely.
And then the first shot of his cum sprays onto the glass wall in front of him. A moan erupts from my throat at the sight. Another surge. And another.
It feels messy and animalistic, and my body is a fiery ball of nerves as I watch him fall apart in front of me with my name on his lips.
I’ve never felt more important to someone, and the man hasn’t even touched me.
His chin drops to his chest, and I watch him pant, his body heaving. I’m in the same boat. It’s like I just went through an entire choreography at full intensity.
My eyes bounce between his body and the cum slipping down the glass.
He shifts the showerhead, muscles flexing as he rinses the glass before turning the shower off and stepping out of the water. He doesn’t bother covering himself. There isn’t an ounce of self-consciousness in him.
In fact, when he sees me staring, hesmirks.
