Chapter Nila
Nila
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MONDAY MORNING.
I stood in the shower, letting warm water cascade over me.
The past few days had disappeared with no event and the weekend was a distant memory.
Not that I had any reason to hate Mondays anymore.
I had no deadlines, no runway shows to organise, or orders to fill.
My new life was a constant holiday, interspersed with fabric sorting and designing that was a passion rather than a chore.
Yet I couldn’t stop my body from waking up and hurling me into work mode at dawn.
I’d never been able to sleep past sunrise—a curse that Vaughn didn’t share.
He was a night owl where I was the morning starling.
Leaning my head back, I opened my mouth and welcomed water to trail over my lips and across my tongue. It felt good. Almost as warm as Jethro’s tongue when he kissed me.
Ever since tattooing each other, everything turned me on. My bra rubbed against my nipples. My knickers whispered across my clit. I ached with the need to release but had no idea how to give myself an orgasm. I needed to come, but there was no way I would sleep with Jethro again.
I couldn’t. It was too dangerous.
My finger, with its glowing JKH, had scabbed and healed enough for me to bear the itch as my skin acquainted itself with the foreign ink.
What does he think of his tattoo?
After sneaking down the corridor and watching him disappear, I’d battled every night with the need to return to the unknown floor to investigate the unknown room and interrogate the unknown woman.
He’d gone into her room but didn’t come out.
I hadn’t waited long—I couldn’t. After all, cameras watched my every move. But I needed to find answers, and I had a horrible feeling that everything I needed to know was in that boudoir on the second floor.
Just thinking of Jethro sent a spasm of desire through my core.
Dammit, what’s happening to me?
A daydream of Jethro slamming to his knees before me and wrenching my legs wide stole my mind.
It was so vivid, so real—a trickle of need ran down my inner thigh.
I gasped as I imagined his tongue lapping at my clit, his long fingers disappearing inside me—the same finger that I’d tattooed with my name.
Would I come harder knowing he touched me with a finger branded by me? Or would I hold on as tight as I could and make him work for it?
Oh, God.
I needed to get rid of this satanic desire. I needed to be free.
My eyes opened, latching onto the detachable showerhead.
I could do it myself...
My heartbeat whizzed with need. I couldn’t fight the churning demand any longer.
Reaching upward, I unhooked the showerhead and turned the water temperature down so as not to burn myself.
Feeling awkward and ridiculous and a hundred times guilty for what I was about to do, I braced my back on the tiled wall and spread my legs a little.
My teeth clamped on my bottom lip as the water pressure tickled my clit.
Oh. My. God.
My eyes rolled back as I grew bolder and pressed the stream of heavenly water harder against my pussy.
Water cascaded down my legs while my torso shivered from sudden cold. My nipples stiffened as I wickedly angled the jet down and down until water shot inside me. Every jet and bubble aroused sensitive flesh, sending my muscles clenching in joy.
I moaned.
Loudly.
My legs trembled as my neck flopped forward and I gave myself over to the exquisite pleasure conjured by an innocuous showerhead.
Starbursts flashed behind my eyelids; Jethro loomed into my mind.
I pictured him shrugging out of his black shirt, prowling toward me while unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.
I moaned again as my daydream shed his clothing and stood proud and naked before me.
He grabbed his cock, pumping himself hard and firm, while his eyes feasted on what I was doing.
He didn’t say a word, only watched, then crooked his finger and beckoned me closer.
My heartbeat exceeded recommended limits as I forced myself higher and higher, locking my knees against buckling as an orgasm brewed into being.
I rocked the showerhead, biting my lip as the pressure spurted over my clit and then inside me.
The rhythm I set was exactly like fucking and I daren’t overthink how I looked or how depraved I felt getting off this way.
My daydream forced its way past my misgivings. My forehead furrowed as I trembled, both welcoming and fighting an orgasm.
Daydream Jethro crept closer, working his cock, a dangerous glint in his eyes. The moment I was within grabbing distance, he captured my waist. “I need to be inside you, Nila.” I put words into Jethro’s mouth, but it was his voice I heard in my heart.
I moaned again, angling the showerhead harder against my clit.
“How do you want it?” my fantasy whispered in my ear as he spun me around and pressed me hard against the wall.
I swallowed hard, answering in my mind. “Fast and...”
“Filthy?” Daydream Jethro’s nose nuzzled the back of my ear, sending shockwaves down my spine. “I can fuck you filthy.”
I couldn’t speak. But I didn’t have to. My fantasy knew exactly how I needed it. Jethro bit the back of my shoulder, spreading my legs wider with his.
“Fuck me, Jethro Hawk,” I whispered.
“Oh, I will. Believe me, I will.” Without further warning, he dug his fingers into my hips and slammed inside me.
My fingers went numb as I slid the showerhead from clit to entrance. I cried out as water shot inside at the same time as Jethro thrust into me from behind, sliding deep and fast, stretching me deliciously painfully.
My heart exploded with bliss. An orgasm squeezed every atom, getting ready to hurl me into the stratosphere.
Jethro thrust again and I rode my new friend the showerhead.
“Oh, God. Yes,” I hissed, rocking harder. “Yes, yes...”
A masculine cough sounded. “You continue to surprise me, Ms. Weaver; at least this time, I rather enjoy it.”
Everything crashed into awareness. My daydream shattered, fracturing by my feet like broken glass. I squealed and dropped the showerhead. It turned into a water snake, spewing water left and right, wriggling like some terrible demon.
Jethro snickered. “You’re using up the entire Hall’s supply of hot water. Are you planning on saving some for the rest of the inhabitants of my home?”
I couldn’t. I can’t. The horror. The shame!
“What the hell are you doing in here!?” Embarrassment painted my cheeks. I wished I could curl into a ball and die. With trembling arms, I tried my best to hide my decency. Slapping one arm across my chest, I positioned a hand between my legs, exceedingly careful not to touch my throbbing pussy.
So close!
I was so close to coming.
So close, in fact, I wanted to scream.
One more stroke and I would’ve found peace. Now I was even worse—vibrating with tightly strung desire, fogging my every thought.
The showerhead continued to hiss and spurt by my feet, slipping me further into disgraced hell.
This can’t be happening. Please don’t let this be happening.
Jethro leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and a smile on his lips. “Don’t stop on my account.” He waved at my flushed skin. “By all means, finish. I can wait.”
My daydream interlinked with reality and all I could think about was pulling Jethro fully clothed into the shower and impaling myself on his cock. I wanted him so damn bad. I wanted to be ridden, taken filthy and wrong.
My head throbbed as mental images of slippery bodies granting pleasure invaded my normally rational mind.
Jethro laughed quietly. “You look in pain, Ms. Weaver.” He lowered his head so he watched me beneath hooded eyes. “Do you need help?”
I almost moaned at the thought of him filling me, fucking me. “I—” Yes, I need help. Get in here and take me. Fix me so I can get over my horrible infatuation with you.
I shook my head.
Dammit, Nila. Get a grip!
Jethro’s jaw tightened; joviality disappeared, replaced with thick, thick lust.
My nipples turned from pebbles to diamonds, so hard I swear they would slice anything that touched them. I couldn’t move as he continued to drink me in. With every second that ticked past, the air changed until the steam around us shimmered with barely veiled hunger.
Jethro’s gaze drifted down my front. “Fuck,” he breathed.
I almost puddled to the floor. I didn’t trust myself to say anything—not one word. I’d betray everything I’d promised myself over the past few days. I would crash to my knees and beg him to put me out of my misery.
I would never be able to live with myself again.
We stayed silent, devouring each other but making no move to deal with what we wanted. My eyes fell to his trousers and his straining erection. It was so proud, so big.
Wait. He’s wearing jodhpurs.
I blinked, trying to make sense in my sex-hazed brain. “Are—are you going somewhere?”
My voice snapped him out of whatever fantasy he’d been having. My scalp tickled as his golden eyes radiated intensity. “Yes. You’re coming, too.”
My eyes snapped closed.
Coming.
Yes, I’d love to.
He laughed softly. “Perhaps the wrong choice of words.” In a rustle of clothing, he pushed off from the doorjamb. “Or the right ones, depending on how the next few minutes go.”
A full body clench tore a small pant from my lips.
My eyes flew wide as he grabbed a fluffy towel and stalked toward me.
I pressed myself harder against the tiles. Shaking my head, I squeaked, “Stay there. Don’t—don’t come any closer.”
His face darkened; a flash of temper etched his features. “It’s not like I haven’t seen what you’re hiding, Ms. Weaver. Or are you forgetting that I’ve stuck my tongue in your cunt and driven my cock deep inside? I’ve tasted you. Ridden you. Made you moan.”
Shit.
My core spasmed, greedily latching onto his words—seeking the final push for the orgasm living in my blood. It would be so simple to let go. To tell him what I truly wanted and to hell with the rest of it.
They’re rotting up there while you fuck the oldest son.