27. Graciella
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.”
His deep chuckle wrapped around me, pooling low.
“Then let’s change that. Deeper, Graciella. Fuck yourself like it’s my cock stretchin’ you. God, you’re so fucking gorgeous. It’s hard not to come just lookin’ at you like this.”
He squeezed his base, clearly holding back, veins in his forearm straining.
My inner walls clenched at his words, pleasure building. The wet sounds of my fingers plunging in and out mixed with his grunts and the slap of his hand.
“Josh,” I whimpered, every part of my skin on fire. Head swirling with a lusty fog as thick as the steam rolling off the shower. “I’m gonna c—”
“No. I want more from you. I want to watch you squirm, so you better slow those fucking fingers,” he commanded, his own hand easing off, edging us both. His dominance sent shivers through me.
Maybe I didn’t mind a man telling me what to do.
“Fuck you, Monroe,” I said, but slowed my pace, teasing my clit. The ache was building to a desperate throb.
“Always such a brat.” He chuckled, and a droplet rolled off the tip of his pec, landing on his taut abs before gliding down the channeled groove leading to his cock.
Fuck did I want to be that droplet.
“Eyes up here, Trouble.” My gaze snapped from where he’d done another languid pull, up to the sinful smirk spread out on his face. His eyes were so heated and dark that they reminded me of the ocean. “Atta’ girl. You’re so good for me, huh? Tell me you’re my good girl.”
“I’m your good girl.”
The words slipped out as if I were possessed.
Wanting to satisfy him. Needing to.
“That’s right, Graciella. You’re all mine, even if I can’t touch you,” he drawled, voice heavy with lust.
My clit ached for his touch, and my chest pressed forward, like there was an invisible string pulling me toward him.
“Kneel and take your shirt off,” he ordered, voice strained.
I dropped to my knees on the bath mat in front of him, the fabric soft against my skin, yanking my shirt off to expose my bra. Fingers still buried deep, I rubbed frantically now, chasing release.
“So bossy,” I teased, inner thoughts screaming for more of his commands, his touch—his everything.
“You like it.” He groaned, jerking faster, water splashing as his hips thrust into his fist. “Come for me. Let me hear you.”
My orgasm hit hard, crashing through me, pussy pulsing around my fingers, his name falling from my tongue. The scent of my release was heady and raw.
Monroe shoved the shower door open.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned as spurts of cum landed on my chest, sticky and warm.
It was possessive and filthy.
And I fucking loved it.
Panting, he reached out and pulled me into the shower. Water plastered my bra and panties to my body.
He kissed my forehead, lips lingering, warm and reassuring. “You okay?” he asked, grabbing a washcloth and gently wiping his cum from my skin.
I nodded, coming down from my lust-filled high and straight into a spiral. “Yeah, but Monroe, we shouldn’t have don—”
A kiss to my lips cut me off.
“We’ll figure this out, Graciella.” He stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and grabbed his clothes. “See you downstairs on the Draft floor soon.”
I stood there, heart aching, and my forehead hit the glass, cooling my skin. Damn it, this had only deepened the pull.
I wanted him.
What if being together was another bad decision?
Fuck…what if walking away from him is worse?