-Thank you. “I hear him moving around the room, the floorboards under the carpet creaking as he passes.
I try to force myself not to turn and glance at him as he goes.
But failure.
Miserably.
I let my eyes roam over his broad, toned shoulders, the way his muscles ripple across his back as he walks. The groove that runs along the spine. The grayscale tattoos that circle his arms and a lone one peeking out on his ribs. I can only see him because he raises one arm and runs a hand through his hair, but he looks an awful lot like. . .
No.
I shake my head and return to my bag. When I hear the bathroom door click shut, I drop the towel and quickly throw on a pair of black Calvin Klein sleep shorts and a tight black tank top. I’m not wearing a bra. My breasts aren’t big enough for it to matter. This elastic material presses them without problems.
I sit on the cot and a spring goes through the flimsy mattress and pinches my ass. No problem. I didn’t torture myself with pointe shoes for years just to get discouraged over a little annoyance.
As I lie back on the creaky cot, the image of Jasper’s tattoo keeps appearing in my head. I’ve always known that Jasper has a lot of tattoos. What started as one became many. They cover your biceps, twist over your shoulders, and trail down your forearms. They are all black, the older ones more faded than the new ones.
To me, they only increase their appeal. Men like Sterling don’t get tattoos. Facial treatments are done. Jasper is not ‘one of us’, as my father would say, a comment that sounds much more offensive now that I’ve taken off the blinders.
Jasper is nothing like the men I grew up with. He is raw and dirty and loves so much that he hurts himself in the process.
And I want to know what that damn tattoo is.
I get up, cross the room, and yank open the bathroom door, stepping into the space.
One strong hand supports Jasper’s burly frame against the shower wall while the other grips his cock, pumping it up and down slowly.
His head turns towards me.
Wet caramel hair frames his face, and the spray of the shower hits his spine before squirting down his muscular back and perfectly round ass.
I always knew that Jasper had a great body, that he spent long hours training and working and taking care of himself, but he is… magazine worthy. His body seems to be carved from stone.
Along with his cock.
“I’m sorry,” I say instantly, frozen in place, staring at his shapely body. He is a big man and so is his. . .
“No, you don’t.” -His eyes have a wicked shine as they focus on me. He straightens, but his hand continues to spin languidly, nonchalantly, as if it were perfectly normal for him to masturbate while I watch.
“I didn’t want to barge in here.”
“Yes, you did. -Now he smiles at me, and my knees weaken a little.
He knows me too well to play dumb. Also, I promised myself I would stop apologizing for being myself.
And I really want to see Jasper naked.
I stand here, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water, not knowing what to do now because… his hand keeps moving. The muscles and veins in his forearms ripple as he pumps.
“Sloane, close the door and sit at the counter.”
Pumping.
-Sorry? My heart flutters wildly in my chest.
-Close the door.
Pumping.
“And put that tight little ass on the counter.”
Pumping.
My cheeks burn.
“We both know you want to watch.”
I want to deny it, tell him he’s crazy. That we are friends and I don’t want to ruin our relationship.
But the truth is that I want to ruin it. A lot.
My brain may be in slut mode, but my heart? My heart is in slut mode. I take a couple steps and lift my tight little ass onto the counter.
Pumping.
“Good girl,” the toned Adonis in the shower praises me, and my fingers press against the edge of the counter with enough force to break a nail.
He is so brash, so different from the quiet, brooding man I know. His eyes lick my skin like fire and he doesn’t stop shaking as he incinerates me. Every muscle in his body is tense, every line defined. His pecs. His abs. Those sharp V lines that descend to where all the action takes place.
A primitive voice inside me tells me that the polite thing to do is to 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 head is round and smooth. The thick circumference.
The mop of hair that leads to his toned belly.
I lick absentmindedly and he moans. I look up into those navy blue eyes I know so well. They have me captivated. They are boiling with a heat I have never seen. She’s done a good job of looking at me like she’s a friend, but right now she’s not.
He looks at me as if I were his.
“Sloane,” he snores as his fingers curl around the vinyl wall. Look at me. Tell me.
I lick my lips again, moving and feeling how slippery I am from looking at him so much. If I put my hand down my pants, I could cum in a matter of seconds.
“Keep going,” is all I respond, squeezing my thighs as I delight in the wet sound of his accelerated rhythm.
“Are you wearing anything under those shorts, darling?”
I didn’t think his voice could go any lower, but it does.
-No. My head shakes rapidly and I swallow.
Jasper’s answering moan is pure masculinity.
“I could push them aside so easily and see everything. His words vibrate through my body, hitting my core with an almost painful pang of longing. Of that. Exactly what you are describing.
His gaze lowers and I writhe under his weight. He stares at the apex of my thighs, where my pants are too tight. Then he notices my hard nipples, the frenetic rise and fall of my chest, before fixing his eyes on mine again.
Eye contact is disconcerting. It’s erotic. He looks wild and undone.
Sloane curses before muttering again . Her body stiffens, each of her hard edges tensing as she tugs on his cock wildly.
And then the first spurt of his cum splashes onto the glass wall in front of him. A moan leaves my throat at the sight. Another spurt. And one more.
It feels messy and animalistic, and my body is a burning ball of nerves as I watch him crumble 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 falls to his chest and I see him panting, his body heaving. The same happens to me. It’s as if he had just done an entire choreography at full intensity.
My eyes bounce between his body and the semen that slides down the glass.
He moves the shower head, flexing his muscles as he rinses the glass before turning off the shower and stepping out of the water. He doesn’t bother to cover himself. He doesn’t have even a shred of self-awareness.
In fact, when he sees me looking, he smiles.
The water droplets hug her skin in a way that makes me irrationally envious.
Then he grabs a towel and I go back to him.
The tattoo.
“I came because I wanted to see that.” A trembling hand points to his ribcage.