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“Just like that, Trouble,” I muttered, breath ragged, hips bucking into my fist. The heat built fast, coiling in my gut.

God, I wanted her.

Wanted to pin her down and fuck her senseless, hear her beg for more. My strokes quickened, rough and desperate.

A soft moan cut through the noise, and my head snapped to the side, attempting to see through the fogged glass.

TWENTY-SEVEN

GRACIELLA

NOW WE KNOW WHY HE WALKS LIKE IT’S HEAVY…

This is wrong.

This was so wrong. I was supposed to have yelled through the door that we needed to talk. Needed to reset the professional boundaries from my moment of weakness the night before. But then I heard it.

Heard Monroe moan the nickname he had for me, and I couldn’t stop myself.

Steam wrapped around me, thick and humid, carrying the clean scent of body wash. The glass shower door was fogged, but not enough to hide him standing under the spray, head tipped back as he worked a hand up and down his cock, stroking slow and deliberate.

Fuck, he was gorgeous.

My breath caught in my lungs, pussy clenching. Water trailed down his broad chest, over those ripped abs, dripping from the dark hair trailing to his cock. His eyes were closed, moans falling from his parted lips.

I should’ve backed out, but my feet rooted to the spot, nipples hardening under my shirt, pussy slick with arousal. Each pull of his hand sent another rush straight to my core.

A moan slipped out, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, but wasn’t quick enough to catch it.

His eyes snapped open, locking on mine through the glass. My heart stopped.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? Tell him, “Sorry I walked in on you fucking your hand, please don’t stop on my account?”

A slow, possessive grin spread across his face.

“Graciella.” He did another drag up and down his shaft, teasing himself with a twist at the head. “Enjoying the show?”

My mouth went dry, heart slamming in my chest.

I should leave. Turn around and run, pretend I hadn’t known exactly what he was doing in here, and come in any way. But last night had cracked something open in me, and fuck—the way he looked at me now, like I was the only woman who mattered? It made my core throb. My heart throb…

“It’s all right, I guess.” I shrugged, like watching him masturbating was no big deal, but my breathy voice gave me away.

“Bullshit.” He chuckled, heated eyes raking over me, lingering on my nipples. “Does me fuckin’ my hand make you wet, Trouble?” He pumped his fist at an achingly slow pace, the slick sound obscenely taunting.

I bit my lip. “Drier than the Sahara.”

“Prove it.” He tugged at his balls, eyes closing for a brief second before training back on mine. “We won’t even touch. You can stay right there and finger that pretty pussy while I jerk off to you.” His gaze burned, possessive.

Fuck. I’m playing with fire.

I shoved my shirt up my thighs, exposing my lace panties. The bathroom was damp against my heated skin. I hooked a finger under the fabric, pulling it aside, and gasped as I grazed my swollen clit.

“Fuck, I’m dyin’ to bury my face there,” Monroe growled, his strokes picking up pace, eyes glued to my hand. “Dip those fingers into that pretty cunt. Show me how wet you are for me.”

His words crooning out in that slight Texas drawl had me staggering, leaning against the sink for support. I spread my legs wider, the marble cold against my ass as I dipped two fingers inside.

“Nope,” I moaned. “Not wet at all.”