His hand comes to his cock, but he hesitates before he touches it, fingers twitching. As if he lost some battle, he grips it and a shudder runs through his body. I hear a stifled moan. The mirror’s fogging up from the steam and I don’t want to lose my show.
I lick my lips. “Is that for me?” Lordy, my voice sounds husky.
He drops his head further, a rueful laugh echoing against the walls. “Believe it, sweetheart.”
“Why don’t you open the curtain so I can watch?”
He freezes, hand in his cock, as if he can’t believe what I just suggested. Then the curtain flies open.
I’m misted by a light spray of water, but I don’t mind. I get to see Sam’s naked body in all its glory. Wet. Powerful. Rippling with lean muscle.
He bends his forearm up against the wall and rests his head there, pumping his cock. “This is all for you, Layne,” he rumbles. “You have me so out-of-fucking-control, I can’t think straight.”
Even though I just orgasmed, my hips grind over the countertop with excitement.
“Are you going to… give it to me?”
Wow. Did I really just say that? I’m definitely channeling porn-Layne now. But it’s what I want. Now that I know how skilled he is with his fingers and mouth, I’m dying to know how he gives it with his manhood.
Again he pauses in his masturbation and when he resumes it’s with a furious rhythm. “I can’t,” he grits between clenched teeth. “Wish I could, sweetheart.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in his voice I don’t understand. “Best I can do is keep you alive until Smyth is dead and this research is shut down.”
That was a mood-killer. Which I assume was his intention. Apparently, it hasn’t dampened his need, though, because his trapezius muscles are corded up, a vein popping over them as he abuses his manhood.
A growl comes out of his throat, echoing off the tile walls. He closes his eyes, jacks his hips and comes. Ribbons of his essence coat the tile in front of him, mingling with the water and running down the drain.
He flicks off the water and stands there dripping, head hanging.
“I’d hand you a towel, but-you know-I’m taped to a sink over here,” I say dryly.
When he finishes, he swivels his head to look at me, and I swear there’s an accusation there. Like he’s angry over his attraction to me.
A ghost of a smile curls his lips and he steps out, grabbing a plain white towel from the rack and drying off.
“Okay, doctor.”
Ah, so we’re back to doctor now.
He yanks on his black jeans and shoves his cock in, although he doesn’t zip and button them. I stare in the mirror at his glorious body, the curling golden hair dusting his chest, the happy trail leading down to the V of his zipper. A tattoo winds over one of his pectorals and I see it, too, hides scars. Burn marks.
He sidles up behind me, caging me once again between his arms. He rips the tape off my hands in a quick yank.
“Ow!” I yell, louder than necessary. I’m mad at him, but not sure why. Maybe for holding back from me.
He turns me around and grabs my hands. His forehead furrows with concentration as he rubs the irritated skin with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “I never meant to hurt you, Layne. I just… I just don’t want you to become another casualty of Smyth.”
Before I can answer, he attacks my mouth with his, grasping the back of my head to hold me still for his onslaught. His tongue sweeps between my lips.
“We can’t do this,” he says when we break apart.
I blink up at him. Huh? He kissed me, not the other way around. Like he can’t help himself, he dips back in for another passionate kiss and this time I forget his words and surrender. His hand is in my hair, mouth commanding. My knees go weak again.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmurs. His irises glow yellow, like a wolf’s. He kisses along my jaw, down the column of my neck. He jerks away, like he’s wrestling with part of himself. “I can’t… be with you.”
“Fine.” I sound way more defensive than I’d like, but he’s acting like a crazy man. Of course, that is his modus operandi.
“It’s not possible for me to be in a relationship.” His hand is still in my hair, fingers opening and closing, pulling it out of the ponytail.
“Yeah, me neither. I don’t want anything like that.”
His eyes return to blue, and they hold a world of pain. Sorrow I can’t begin to comprehend, not that I understand much about this man.
“I think it’s okay for us to give each other a little pleasure, though, don’t you?” I’m still horny as hell after the shower show and round one with his mouth and fingers. Despite his mixed signals, I crave his touch. To feel alive and beautiful and sexy in the unique way he shows me.
“Yes.” He pulls my mouth to his again, kissing me hard as his other hand tugs up the hem of my dress.
In a flash, he has me sitting on the countertop, dress hiked to my armpits, bra cups peeled down and his lips suctioned over one of my nipples. I arch into him, moaning.
“No.” He shakes his head, eyes glowing yellow. His hands squeeze my breasts, weighing them. He rubs his thumbs across the stiffened peaks, treats the other nipple to his mouth. “I can’t. Layne-” He strokes his palms up and down my bare sides. “I’ll hurt you.” He pulls me off the counter and walks me backward toward the door, his body pressed right up against mine.
“You mean you can’t with a human?”
“Can’t with you,” he rasps, his voice deep and growly.