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He’d scooted from beneath me after giving me a quick kiss, disappearing into his bathroom, losing every item of clothing, and stepping into the shower he blasted.
This chair wasn’t somewhere I could stay, my legs beneath me needing to follow him.
I lasted all of five seconds, if that, before I was in the bathroom, too. The steam mixed with the scent of sex. Remi’s showers were always so hot, and I genuinely didn’t think that was because his past made him feel unclean. I always guessed he just needed the water to run as hot as his blood.
And his blood was so hot, his body so ready for sex constantly.
It was exactly how I felt right now.
It wasn’t all that long since we’d reunited. It would be too soon for many people. But not me, not after he’d cared for me with my physical injuries and spent the month disregarding his own needs to honor mine.
My tongue graced my lips, leaving a wet smear before I even realized I was slumped against the wall, lusting for him.
Remi’s hand was wrapped around his cock, his fingers tight, moving quickly. The friction pulled a moan from his mouth.
He didn’t know I’d joined him.
I shook—my whole damn body—as I pulled the ruined hoodie over my head, leaving me in nothing but wet panties.
I turned to the mirror, my heavy breaths adding to the condensation on the glass, blocking out the view of myself that I was utterly terrified to see.
I smeared a hand through the condensation and appeared distorted in my view—an abstract mess. I couldn’t see the beauty I might have once had. The pieces of me that Remi still managed to find attractive.
The warped reflection made my boobs appear even more uneven, and my lips looked bigger.
“Suck me, fish lips.” Rothbart invaded my head, causing my focus to linger and my opinions of myself to darken. “I want those weird fucking eyes on me while I fuck your face.”
Vomit rose up my throat, but no tears appeared in my weird eyes.
I blinked myself in, the disgust not settling when another of Remi’s moans slipped into my ears.
Rothbart—a man so disgusting, he made my skin cells want to die every time his cigar-stained fingers aggressively touched me—his opinions on me shouldn’t matter, wouldn’t matter going forward. Not when a man who looked like Remi was still aching, still hard, still craving kisses from my lips.
The ring on my finger—the proof of what I meant to him—shone under the bathroom lights, much brighter than the bedroom.
I pushed my underwear down my legs and stepped out of them. Moans led me to the shower, growing louder and louder.
I pulled off the ring, placing it next to Remi’s hearing aid on the nearby shelf because paranoia had me thinking the water might ruin it, and then glanced down, hating how bare my finger already looked without it. I realized what a ridiculous thought that was and slid it back on.
Remi stood, one palm flat to the tiles, the other still around his cock. His height was lower, and his body hunched over himself.
Cum coated his stomach and dripped off the ridges of his abs.
His hand moved, fast and then slow. His pressure altered, too desperate to find what he needed to get himself off again.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t used my body to do that. He hadn’t forced me to please him. Maybe that was why I wanted to.
My feet splashed through the water, and the tight expression on his face turned to me, revealing strain I couldn’t understand.
“Are you okay, Remi?”
“Cat.” His eyes dropped to my exposed breasts, drifting from right to left, high to low.
Self-consciousness gave me a brutal kick. “Remi…?”
What was he thinking?
A single step pulled me towards him, my knees going weak and almost buckling beneath me.
