29. Chapter 29
I waited all of five minutes after he left before closing my sketchbook. I hadn’t been lost in the ocean skyline I’d drawn like I pretended to be. I’d been hiding. When he kissed the top of my head, something inside me softened.
It was so natural for us. So easy. There was never any pressure or expectation. Just solid Pasha. And that made what followed between us more confusing. For reasons I couldn’t fully articulate, I’d shut down on him.
Then, not knowing how to reopen the door without looking unhinged or unstable, I retreated further. Pride was a bitch. A dangerous one when paired with stubbornness.
Was I embarrassed? Yes. There was no denying that. I had dragged his hand up my thigh on a public ride and begged him to distract me. That wasn’t exactly subtle. But that wasn’t what hollowed me out afterward.
Not even close. The truth was far less virtuous and more primal.
I was frustrated.
The damn ride had ended too soon. Another loop. Just one more loop and one more drop. Sixty more seconds. That was all I needed. What would it have felt like to come under his fingers like that? Suspended in the sky with him anchoring me, the world screaming around us while I let go completely?
And now I’d never know.
I groaned and tossed the pencil onto the table. My body ached from the miles we’d walked, but it wasn’t the soreness that had me restless. A bath would help. I pushed away from the table and walked into the bathroom.
His body wash still lingered in the air, warm and clean. Undeniably him. There was no escaping him. No wonder Sebastian didn’t want us sharing a room. The thought of my brother was the dash of cold water I needed to clear my head. The sobering was immediate.
Thank you, brother.
I put on a playlist, turned the faucet on and watched the tub fill. The water climbed steadily, and I took my clothes off. After easing into the warm water, I let the heat settle into my muscles. My head tipped back against the porcelain.
Breathe.
After several long minutes, my head was clearer. I washed up, massaging the soreness from my calves. My stomach growled, reminding me of dinner. What had Pasha ordered? How long would he stay?
An hour was reasonable to assume. He’d be polite, have dinner with them, maybe a drink or two. I knew in my heart he wouldn’t stay for game night, not if I wasn’t there. The thought did wonders. His words drifted through my mind, uninvited and welcome all at once.
Leave the fireplace on for me, princess.
God. The way he spoke sometimes—low, commanding, reverent—ran over my skin like silk. I sank deeper into the bath, thinking about his lips and his hands. About the way he moved when he danced.
A soft groan slipped from my lips as my fingers drifted down the curve of my neck. What would it be like to lose my virginity to him? The thought moved in and took up permanent residence. Maybe in front of that damned fireplace.
The image unfurled easily, my mental canvas coming in clutch once again. The two of us stretched out on a blanket, the flames flickering off his golden, perfectly sculpted body. The amber in his eyes highlighted by the fire. Me leaning back and his hands braced on either side of me.
His body caging mine. My head thrown back. The heat on our skin warm, but nothing compared to the heat building inside us both. His mouth lowering. Slow and intentionally. Finding my neck.
The crack of the fire combined with the sounds of our breathing, and the soft friction of skin against skin. My pulse beat harder. That restless, insistent awareness from before was back in full swing. Consuming me. It settled between my legs like it had been waiting for me to invite it back in.
Fantasies are perfectly fine. There’s no harm in allowing your imagination to go there.
I murmured to myself, “It’s normal, for fuck’s sake.”
But Normal didn’t mean wise. It certainly didn’t mean I was ready for the consequences of letting it happen that way. That sobered me enough that I reached forward and pulled the plug. The water drained in a loud, rushing spiral.
My skin was flushed dark pink, almost red from the heat. I grabbed the detachable shower-head and rinsed away the lingering soap, watching the water bead and slide down my body, causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin. I glanced down at the handy tool and shrugged.
Fuck it. I was alone.
A part of my mind had made the decision before I even stepped foot into the bathroom. I looked down at the shower-head in my hand. My date for the night. Without overthinking it, I angled the spray lower. And held it there.
Despite my history and hangups, pleasuring myself wasn’t one I clung to. At first, maybe, but I’d learned as I got older it relieved tension. And to be honest, who in their right mind could resist the pull of a handy detachable shower-head with multi settings?
Not this girl.
The combination of warm water and pressure was everything.
I secretly loved the way my body would feel after.
How my clit would get so sensitive that even after it was said and done, I’d feel it.
I had at least another forty minutes before Pasha would be back.
Plenty of time for some self-care. My legs trembled as I adjusted the jet settings.
The ache had never been this intense before, and I gave into it. I stifled my moans as I rocked my hips against the stream. Within seconds I was there, feeling torn between wanting to finish quickly for relief, or to savor it and take it slow.
I moved it away from my clit to give myself a moment, to pause it, wanting to draw it out. But my arousal was too strong. Too demanding. So I moved it back and let out another moan. This one louder.
How many orgasms could I give myself in forty minutes? The thought came out of left field, strange and foreign. I only ever got off once, and mostly to relieve stress, but tonight was different.
I was feeling greedy.
My life had become an anomaly, and part of me was smart enough to know that once we arrived home, things wouldn’t be this intense. Pasha would go back to being one of the guys and I’d end up on MingleMe. Maybe I’d even go on a date with the Jax Teller look-alike from the club.
Would he wear a leather cut for me? Let me tattoo him? In my head, I tried to visualize him, but beautiful amber eyes replaced blue ones. Blond hair was replaced with rich brown. The cut discarded for gray sweats. Whatever tattoo he had replaced with a roaring lion.
I moved the wand around in my hand, writhing under the warm, pulsing water. It was so damn intense tonight. Despite knowing how sensational coming was going to be, I pulled it away again.
My chest heaved as I tried to calm down. I turned the setting higher and then spread my lips. Throwing my head back, I crept it back into position, imagining being naked with Pasha.
“Ooh,” I moaned. “Oh, god. Fuck me, Lev.”
My eyes were screwed shut as I gripped the shower-head and fucked the stream of water. My groans filled the room and echoed off the walls.
“Princess?”
His voice cut through my haze—low, confused, and filled with something else I didn’t want to name.
Yelping, I dropped the shower-head. It clattered in the tub, spraying water across my legs. My hands flew up, shielding my breasts and pussy. When I finally forced my eyes up, I froze.
He was leaning casually against the door frame. One shoulder braced on the wood. Arms crossed over his massive chest.
God. How long had he been standing there before he spoke? What was he doing here?
“Don’t stop on my account, printessa,” he murmured, his Russian accent wrapping around the word.
My pussy spasmed by that alone.
I swallowed. “I…what…are you…did you forget something?”
My face burned so hot. His gaze didn’t lift to my eyes. It lingered. Especially on my hands, covering myself.
“You’re getting water everywhere,” he said.
He pushed off the frame. Oh God. Each step toward me felt choreographed. Unhurried and controlled. That look from earlier—the one from the roller coaster—had returned. Only this time there was no adrenaline masking it.
He stopped close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. He reached past me for the shower-head. The spray shifted, warm as he trailed it up my thighs.
“Open them,” he hissed. “I want to see you finish what you started.”
Had he lost his mind? I gulped, feeling my heart race as I tried to compartmentalize what was happening. There was no way I could, not with him here. Not with him looking at me like this.
“Pasha…Please.”
He stepped closer. “Pretty sure I heard you ask me to fuck you. Unless you have another Lev hiding somewhere?”
My breath stuttered. “I…don’t think—”
“You don’t think what? I know what I heard.” His free hand hovered at my wrist, waiting. “You were so close.”
He nudged the shower-head closer, and the spray shifted. My thighs reacted before my brain did. I sucked in a breath.
“Now be my good girl and move your fucking hands so I can watch you. You’ll do it, because you already denied me that privilege earlier. And I’m not leaving until you come for me.”
I whimpered. He was right. I was absolutely about to go over when he spoke up. If he hadn’t, I would have easily done so. The pause in direct contact with my clit had calmed me down, but not enough to want to stop.
Hence why I engaged him with stupid questions instead of shrieking at him to get out, like I should have.
“Do you call someone else by my nickname?” he crooned.
I shook my head stupidly. His whiskey-colored eyes were hooded with desire. That look couldn’t be for me, could it?
Hell yeah, it was.
What was happening? Forget the damned butterflies. It was like a swarm of eagles were trying to break free from years of being in cages. The sensation stole my breath. And any semblance of a refusal, too.
He moved the stream up a small fraction of an inch. My head fell back in response. Each drop of warm water running over my pussy was torture. Widening my stance, I gripped his forearms, committing myself to this insane act.