“So, were you planning on joining me, or…” I say with a laugh when he remains in the hallway, watching me.
“Uh… no. I’ll just be in here.” He darts for his room, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.
“It’s okay,” I call out, “I wasn’t planning on leaving the door open.” Although, I must admit, it would be quite amusing.
He seems to be doing anything he can to prove he’s not affected by me in any way, but I see it in his eyes.
With a laugh, I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I turn the shower on, and, after stripping down, I step into the bath and allow the hot water from above to wash over my body.
I can’t remember the last time I had a shower that felt this good. The one at the house certainly wasn’t. It also makes the ones at the club seem terrible, when I thought they were the best I was going to get.
This huge showerhead and torrent of water, is everything.
Realising that I only brought in a clean set of underwear and no toiletries, I make the most of Spike’s that are littering the edge of the bath.
The second I open his body wash, images of him from this morning in my bed fill my mind and a smile forms on my lips.
I wonder how much it would have taken to make him stay and give in to what he was so obviously craving.
Picturing the impressive bulge behind the fabric of his boxers, I use my hand to rub the bubbles all over my body. I gasp when I brush over my pebbled nipples, not realising how much just thoughts of his body are turning me on.
Parting my legs, I drop my shower gel covered fingers to my clit and find I’m wetter than I probably should be.
Knowing that someone isn't about to barge through the bathroom as was a usual occurrence back at the house means I lean back against the wall, prop my foot against the edge of the bath and continue what I’ve started with his scent filling my nose.
As my muscles start to tense, I realise just how long it’s been since I felt this. There’s no privacy at all in that house, and I’ve witnessed one too many of my housemates openly taking what they needed to ever run the risk of getting caught doing it myself. They might have barged in and seen me naked in the shower, but I refused to give any of them that kind of show.
All too soon, my release rushes forward, making my knees want to give out as my hips buck against my own fingers.
As I come down from my high, I can’t deny that it was needed. My muscles already feel a little more relaxed from it, but I want more.
I need a man to work me over good and proper.
I groan to myself, rolling my head and feeling my shoulders crack.
Making quick work of finishing up, I dry myself with what I assume is Spike’s towel before pulling on my fresh underwear and dragging the door open.
He’s crashing around in the kitchen, so I bypass my room and stop in the entryway.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask, startling him.
He turns around and his eyes almost bug out of his head.
He clears his throat, but it doesn’t work. His words still get stuck. “P-put some clothes on and I might be more likely to tell you.”
“Jeez, are you always this much of a prude?”
“When it’s my boss’ little sister standing in front of me, yeah, I am.”
“Zach doesn’t give a shit what I do.”
“You really believe that?”
I shrug. He’s spent most of his life not knowing I even exist; he can hardly have an opinion on my life now.
“Well, let me tell you that he’ll likely scoop my eyes out with a fork if he was aware I even knew what colour underwear you owned, let alone what you look like wearing it,” he says, turning around and returning to what he was doing when I walked in.
“I get up on stage and dance for hundreds of men at a time, in less,” I say flippantly.
“Fuck,” Spike barks, dropping the knife that was in his hand to the floor and lifting his finger to his mouth.
“Shit, are you okay?” I ask, rushing over. “Please don’t tell me you were hungry?” I ask when I spot that he was attempting to make a sandwich. He pins me with a hard look, but there’s a fat chance of me being scared of the likes of him, not when I’ve got Jet and his crew on my back.
“Let me see,” I say with a sigh.
Reluctantly, he pulls his finger from his mouth, although not before I notice just how his lips look sucking on it.
He holds out his finger for me, which immediately gets coated in a layer of red from his cut.
“Over here.” I drag him using his finger to the sink, where I run it under some cool water to ensure there’s no food in it before reaching for the kitchen roll sitting on the counter and pulling off a piece. I fold it a few times and then wrap it around his finger.
“I can look after myself, you know,” he sulks.
“Says the one who cut himself chopping cucumber,” I sass with a raised brow.
“I was distracted,” he mutters.
“Does it hurt?” I tilt my head to the side, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah, a little.”
A smile curls at my lips. “Want me to make it better?” I bite down on my bottom lip and take a step toward him, all the while keeping
