18. Alexis
Alexis
I stop dead in my tracks, my hand still on the knob of the bathroom door.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say my name, so I—”
The words die in my throat as I take in the water streaming over Gabriel’s broad shoulders and down the muscled length of his back.
The sight of him through the glass shower wall steals whatever I was about to say.
I’ve never seen anyone built like this, and for a second, I forget how to breathe—partly because I’ve walked in on him naked and partly because I can’t make myself look away.
He’s facing away from me with one hand braced against the wall, unmoving except for his shoulders, which rise and fall fast.
I bite my lip as my stomach flutters. Did I imagine it? I swear I heard him say my name, but obviously I must’ve been mistaken.
Still, I was so certain I’d heard it. My first thought was that he’d forgotten something or needed a fresh towel. But if that was the case, he’d go ahead and ask me for whatever favor he needed now that I’m here, wouldn’t he?
“Are you… okay?” I whisper, my heart hammering even though I’m not quite sure why.
He huffs a wry laugh, water droplets skating down his neck as he shakes his head.
He won’t turn around, though, won’t even glance over his shoulder to find my eyes.
My pulse picks up and my mouth goes dry as I realize that one of his hands is splayed against the tile wall, and the other seems to be…
My mouth drops open on a gasp as the butterflies in my stomach go wild. “Were…” I swallow. “Were you…?”
As if he’s realized there’s no point trying to deny what’s become obvious to me now, Gabriel finally turns to face me, moving so slowly it’s almost unbearable.
Water runs down his chest as he does, and my gaze follows it without permission, tracing the path it cuts across his abs before it disappears into the hair at the base of his cock.
His very thick, very hard cock, currently half hidden by his large hand wrapped around it.
My face goes up in flames, and within seconds my whole body feels like it’s burning from the inside. Somewhere in the back of my head. a voice is screaming at me to turn around and leave, but no matter how loud it gets, I can’t make my feet listen.
Because I’m starting to feel a lot more sure that I didn’t imagine him groaning my name, and now I know what he was doing when he said it.
The room tilts at the realization, and for a second, I think I might actually faint as his steel gray eyes hold mine.
What is he thinking right now?
Gabriel is impossible to read at the best of times, but in the echoing silence of the bathroom, it almost feels like he’s daring me to do something, to move or speak. I just can’t tell whether he wants me to keep looking or to turn away.
And the truth is, I don’t know which I want either. Part of me is terrified, while another part of me is far too caught up in the idea that he stood in here thinking about me while he touched himself.
I’ve read more romance novels than I can count, and this could have been lifted straight off one of their pages.
The sight of my husband like this is so filthy and arousing that it almost feels like it can’t be real.
I almost try to tell myself that’s all this is—my mind playing tricks, conjuring some fantasy where a man as accomplished and devastatingly handsome as Gabriel would actually want someone like me.
For all I know, he could have been picturing his secretary in here or something. I’ve seen her, and she’s very pretty.
But it was my name on his lips, not hers.
My fingers shift slightly on the door knob, but other than that, neither of us moves. It feels like we’ve been standing here for minutes instead of the few seconds it’s probably actually been, suspended in this moment as if time itself has stopped.
And when I finally break the spell and manage to speak again, the words that come out of my mouth surprise even me.
“Don’t stop.”
Gabriel’s nostrils flare, and I’m so viscerally aware of him that I don’t miss the way his cock jumps a little in his grip or the way he squeezes the base of his thick shaft.
He still doesn’t speak, and I could almost convince myself I hadn’t spoken either—except that he does exactly what I just asked.
His fist slides up the length of his shaft, a muscle in his jaw jumping as water droplets cling to his thick eyelashes.
When he drags his hand back down again, he makes a low, deep sound in his throat that goes right through me.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sound, or the way he’s watching me right now with his cock wet and swollen in his grip.
Oh my god. This is really happening.
Gabriel’s gaze drops to his cock, then snaps back up to me, and he slides his tongue across his lower lip in a way that makes me shiver.
I feel overwhelmed and dizzy, heat radiating from somewhere deep inside me and flooding my limbs.
My breathing falls into rhythm with the movement of his hand, growing faster and faster as he starts to stroke himself in earnest.
The air between us feels thick with so much more than the steam from the shower. His hand is gripping his cock hard, and the sight of it, darker than the rest of his skin, purple and almost angry looking, makes my thighs clench.
“Fuck. Alexis.”
He grunts my name again, louder than he said it when I heard him through the bathroom door, and my stomach flips as goosebumps race up my arms.
Some part of me—a small, brave part that’s more daring than I’d ever manage to be—wants to tear off my clothes and step into the shower with him.
But I stay frozen, only able to picture myself reaching for him as his hand moves faster, more urgently.
It’s as if my being here, watching him do something so filthy and hot, is what’s tipping him over.
I trap my lower lip between my teeth, biting down hard as my clit throbs in response to that thought.
Gabriel’s free hand flattens against the glass, fingers dragging down through the light film of fog that’s gathered there while the other keeps moving, and I watch like it’s the most riveting thing I’ve ever seen.
Honestly, it is.
He lets out a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver through me.
The muscle in his jaw is twitching rhythmically, the muscles in his forearm straining as he curses again under his breath.
It hits me in a rush that he’s close, that he’s about to come, and my body braces, my gaze bouncing back and forth between his cock and his face.
I refuse to miss any of it. I want all of this burned into memory—the pleasure breaking across his face, the flex of his forearm with every stroke, the way I can see his pulse hammering in his throat.
His strokes take on an almost fevered pitch, so rough and fast that it looks almost painful, and then he lets out a long groan, his cock jerking in his hand as spurts of cum erupt against the shower door and are washed away by the shower’s steam.
He never once looks away from me. He hasn’t this whole time.
It’s the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen, and I let out a whimper of my own, even though he hasn’t touched me at all. My clit is pulsing, my entire lower body feels heavy and hot, and my legs feel a bit like jelly from the effort of holding me upright.
Gabriel’s dark gray eyes stay locked on mine, his breathing rough as he finally unwraps his hand from his cock and rinses himself under the spray. He’s still mostly hard, his length jutting out from his body, and now that he’s not gripping himself, I can see how long and thick he really his.
Holy fuck.
A new kind of quiet stretches taut between us. I should probably take this opportunity to slip away. I could turn around and bolt and pretend none of this happened.
Instead, something else rises up in me and spills out before I can stop it.
“Teach me.”
My heart goes wild, slamming against my ribs hard enough to hurt, and Gabriel’s brows draw together, which only winds the tension inside me tighter. I have no idea what he’s about to say, and the thick, heavy silence pressing in on us is starting to suffocate me.
“What did you say?” His chest is still heaving.
I push down the fear and pull in a long breath before I trust myself to speak. “I want you to—to teach me about sex.”
His whole body goes rigid, his shoulders tensing, but I keep going, because if I stop now I’ll lose every scrap of nerve I have left. I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance or work up the courage to say something this audacious again.
Maybe this is a horrible idea, but what do I have to lose?
I’m already married to him. I’ve already signed away the next stretch of my life to this arrangement, so I might as well make the most of it.
And he clearly knows more about sex than I do—which is a low bar, I know—so if I want someone to show me the ropes, it makes sense for it to be him.
Trying to fight down the flustered blush rising on my cheeks, I barrel on. “Look, I know this marriage isn’t going to last. I know you don’t want to stay married to me, and that you can never love me. You made all of that clear. But it doesn’t mean we can’t… do things while we’re together.”
He stares at me like he can’t believe the words leaving my mouth, and I can hardly believe them either. But I can’t reach out and snatch them back, and I wouldn’t even if I could, because I meant every one.
“I know, I know, it sounds completely fucking crazy.” I keep talking before he can say no, suddenly desperate for something I could barely admit to myself that I wanted twenty minutes ago. “But I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to be so… innocent.”
His cock twitches again, and my throat goes dry. I don’t have language for what it does to me, knowing that I can affect him like this, knowing he might actually want me this way, as if what I just watched wasn’t proof enough.
Licking my lips, I drag in a shaky breath. “We both know this arrangement between us is only temporary. After this, we’ll each go our own ways. But I don’t want my husband—my next husband, I mean—to be disappointed because I have no idea what I’m doing in bed.”
Something in his face changes at that. He cocks his head slightly, water droplets sliding down his chest. His hands curl slowly into fists, then release.
“Your next husband,” he repeats, drawing the words out slightly as if testing them on his tongue.
He reaches over and shuts off the water with a twist of his wrist, and the sudden quiet makes my heart pound louder in my ears.
For a few beats, he just stands there dripping, watching me, the muscles in his body taut.
Then he pushes the door open and reaches for a towel, dragging it across his chest carelessly, as if getting dry is the last thing on his mind.
He steps out of the shower and strides toward me, and his presence is so overwhelming that my back meets the door before I realize I’ve moved.
He doesn’t stop until there’s almost no space left between us, close enough that I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his damp skin.
The towel hangs forgotten from one hand.
“Say that part again,” he breathes. “About your next husband.”
I can’t. My throat won’t work. All I can do is look up at him, and whatever he finds in my face seems to be the thing that snaps the restraint he was holding on to.
“Christ,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. Then he shakes his head and bites out, “Fuck it.”