Page 61 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

His hand moves. His head drops lower. The tension in his shoulders shifts from the weight he carries as a powerful mafia man to a need he won’t allow himself to sate.

His breathing changes, audible even over the water, and the rhythm of his hand is deliberate and unhurried. Rowan Volkov does everything with patience. Including pleasuring himself.

This morning in the doorway was for me. He wanted me to see what I do to him, wanted to watch my face while he gripped himself and let the pre-cum slide over his fingers. That was a dare wrapped in a show and he walked away before I could call his bluff.

This is different. He's not performing. He's not watching for my reaction. His head is bowed, his breathing ragged, and every stroke carries a desperation the doorway version didn't have. The man in the doorway was in control. The man in the shower has none.

Thick fingers wrap around a thicker cock and he’s working his long, fully aroused length with hard, fast jerks.

I can't move. My body locks in place. Heat pools low in my belly. My thighs press together. My fingers grip the edge of the doorframe.

Then my name falls from his lips.

He steps from the water, throwing his other hand up to brace against the glass wall. With the water now hitting his back I appreciate the pinched expression on his rugged face. His eyes are still closed and his lips peel back with a low, animalistic growl. He strokes his beautiful cock, the head swollen and angry-looking.

He strokes, hard, fast but the explosion of his release doesn’t come. I can help him, that’s why I came here. But should I? Self-doubt has me second-guessing my actions. He walked away from me when he had a chance to have me.

I chance a look up and at that exact second ice-colored eyes slam open and pin me in place.

"Cora."

The artery in his neck thumps fast and erratic.

My thighs squeeze tighter against the throbbing need pulsing there. Showtime. Can’t run and hide like a little girl now.

I should close the door. I should look away.

But that is not what I do.

I raise my gaze to his. And then I close the door behind me.

Twelve

Cora

The click of the latch is soft within the confinements of the stone room.

There are times in life when you literally have to take it by the balls and give it a little squeeze. This is that time.

Steam caresses over my face and the world outside this room fades to background noise.

The sight of Rowan's fully aroused, naked body anchors me to this moment. I visually caress every cut line, and deep groove shamelessly. Water runs down his jaw, over the ropes of muscle in his neck, across the Bratva ink that disappears beneath the surface of the spray. His hand hasn't stopped moving. His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven pulls like a man caught in a private act who doesn't care enough to pretend otherwise.

Despite the warmth from the steamy shower, the cool air from the overhead vents mixed with my arousal has my nipples pressing tight against the confines of my sweater.

Blue eyes meet mine through the steam.

"You shouldn't be in here, Cora."

If I were smart, I would heed the warning in his tone and the piercing burn of his unchanging eyes. But my brain isn't in control here.

"Not unless you're planning to do more than watch."

He's daring me. Silly man. I'm inexperienced, yes, but I've had fantasies and the one about seducing a bad boy is about to come true.

"Then it's a good thing I'm planning to do more than watch."

A dark smile curls the edges of his lips.