I’m supposed to take a quick shower and join Papa and his team. They’re going to discuss strategy and I want to be there.
The moment I’m under the stream, I start thinking. That’s what I do when I’m in the shower — I think. A lot.
Some people sing, but I become a damn bundle of thoughts. Maybe it’s the stream of water or the peace of the moment, but it always pushes me to think again about my decisions and choices.
It’s my second favourite place after the park. Peace, cleanliness, and a clear head.
Only, it’s not clear.
One thing keeps barging to mind…those dark green eyes, his voice and the authority in it.
End. It.
Screw him. I didn’t end it. Aiden and I are on the same side. As long as I keep benefitting him, he’ll do the same.
I even paid a visit to a certain girl who’s been writing him love letters. Cole, not Aiden. Who the hell even writes love letters anymore? Is she from a century ago or something?
Anyway, I told her he has a condition, you know, like a dick condition. She thinks he can’t get it up. I only meant that he’s a dickhead, but hey, as long as it worked, I’m not complaining.
Then I caught myself smirking when she walked away, thinking no one will get to see his dick anyway. That’s when I realised I’m going off track again. I’m sabotaging any sliver of a relationship he has with the other sex.
He’s making me lose my sanity along with my better judgement.
The wanker.
And yet, the only images that keep playing in my head are of yesterday. Me against the table while he yanked my dress up.
My hand sneaks down my stomach and to between my thighs. I’m wet, and it’s not just because of the water.
A shallow breath leaves me as I thrust a finger inside. I’m still tender and a bit sore.
I recall the way he spanked me while he held me down by the nape. He took my will, my choice, and I got even wetter for him.
My nipples pucker, painfully so, and I close my eyes and roll my head back. I twirl one tight bud between my fingers and tug on it. A moan tries to escape, but I trap it in like I did when he was touching me. His hands and body and chest covered me whole until he was all I felt.
I remember the first time he thrust into me, the force of it, and add another finger, tumbling over with the power of the thrust. I imagine it’s him, pounding into me, whispering dirty words into my ears, telling me I’m his, and my pace picks up.
My pounds turn harsher and I’m hurting my nipple, pinching it with my fingernails until it screams in pain.
I’ve touched myself before, and he’s always been the image I’ve pictured. Him half-naked by the pool. Him sweaty and rugged and freaking delectable after practice. Him running and scoring and being a god on the field.
But I’ve never wanted to inflict pain with it.
After yesterday, that’s all I want. The slight sting of pain that comes with pleasure. The power that comes with being completely at his mercy.
I plunge my fingers quicker, my moans filling the silence of the bathroom.
Oh, God.
The force of whatever is building inside me frightens even me. My legs tremble and my poor nipple begs to be put out of its misery.
My eyes roll back, causing my lids to open a little.
That’s when I see someone.
No. Not someone.
Him.
In the middle of my bathroom.
For a moment, I think he’s a manifestation of my imagination. That I somehow thought about him hard enough I managed to bring him to life in 3D format.
But then the rest of the scene registers. He’s naked.
There’s not one piece of clothing covering his body.
I’ve always wondered about how he’d look naked and it escaped me every time.
And now, there he is, in all his glory. Cole isn’t as muscular as Xander. He’s leaner and has a quiet beauty about him. Even his wide chest and six-pack appears demure in an irresistible type of way.
Due to playing football, his thighs and long legs are powerful and taut. His chest muscles contract with the way his hand is gripping his cock.
I felt it yesterday — and keep feeling it today — but it’s the first time I’ve seen his dick. It’s so big, I’m both appalled and amazed that it fit inside me. I couldn’t look away from it or him even if I wanted to.
And I do want to. I just can’t avert my gaze.
He’s touching himself.
Cole is naked and he’s touching himself.
His hand tugs up and down his dick, and for some stupid, irrational reason, I hate his hand right now.
That was me yesterday. It should be me now, not his hand.
My fingers move inside me at a slower pace, my eyes drooping as if they’re about to close.
That’s when the entire situation filters into my dazed brain. The fact that I’m masturbating in front of Cole. The fact he’s doing the same while watching me.
He’s in my bathroom.
I gasp, letting my hands fall to either side of me despite my body’s protests, and swiftly turn around. “W-what are you doing here? G-get out.”
There’s no power behind my voice, no matter how much I wish for it. My heart beats loud and fast. The tender skin between my legs is aching, demanding the release I just interrupted. My nipples throb, close to cutting something with how hard they are.
No movement comes from Cole. The sound of water is the only thing in the bathroom. I swallow through my broken breaths.
Did he leave?
Why the hell is my chest falling at that idea?
I need some therapy because I shouldn’t be feeling this out of sorts whenever he’s in sight. Is it because he became my stepbrother? Am I acting this way because my will was taken by our parents’ marriage and I missed the timing?
Do I only crave him this much because I can’t have him?
That must be why, because the fact that my heart is nearly bursting out of my chest doesn’t make any damn sense.
I slowly take a peek over my shoulder.
Goosebumps erupt all over my wet skin, the hot water doing nothing to alleviate it.
Cole stands right behind me. He’s close enough that I smell his scent, spice and his lime gum. Close enough that I get trapped in his warmth. Close enough that he’s drenched, his silky hair becoming soaked and sticking to his forehead. Close enough that streams of water drip down his pectoral muscles and down, down —
I snap my attention back to his eyes, refusing to be caught spying on his dick.
“What did I tell you about giving me your back, Butterfly?” he murmurs near the shell of my ear.
My eyes fight to shut at the shiver he’s erupting on my skin.
He grabs my arse cheek, and this time, I whimper, my thighs clamping together. “Or are you perhaps tempting me with this? Do you want me to fuck it?”
“N-no.” My voice is weak, even to my own ears.
I, myself, don’t know what I want him to do. As long as he touches me, has his hands on me, it’s like everything suddenly becomes possible.
“No, huh? I’ll change your mind one day.” He licks the lobe of my ear, murmuring in hot words, “Now, how about I finish the show you started?”
“I didn’t start any show.” I’m surprised I can speak with the stimuli shooting rampant all over my body.
“Oh, but you did. You kept thrusting in and out of your cunt even after you saw me. Were you fantasising about my dick inside you, Butterfly?”
“No!” My voice is defensive, full of shame.
“You know, the more you say that, the surer I am about how much of a liar you are.”
“I’m not lying…ohhh…” My words end in a moan when he releases my arse and plunges two fingers inside me in one go.
The itch from earlier returns with a vengeance and I arch my back, needing more friction. Just more of him.
“Your pussy doesn’t lie, she’s telling me she wants my dick.” He curls his fingers and I moan again, my head collapsing against the tile. “Do you want me inside you, Butterfly?”
“No,” I whisper, my voice desperate.
“Are you sure?”
Of course I do, but I’m not saying it out loud. I’m not going to let him break me into speaking it.
He pushes his hard cock into the crack of my arse and I clench, biting my lower lip.
“It seemed like you wanted it earlier when you were watching my dick and fucking yourself.”
I shut my eyes, unable to take the assault of his words and his touch at the same time. I’m so close to combusting, to begging, but I’ll never do that.
Cole isn’t someone I should let do this to me.
I only want him because I can’t have him, because if anyone found out about what we’re doing behind closed doors, they would shun us.
And that’s sick. Just utterly sick.
If my only form of defence is defying him, then so be it. That’s what he’ll get.
“Open your eyes.”
I don’t.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and spins me around. His fingers slip out of me and I mourn the loss, my walls contracting as if trying to keep him inside.
My back flattens against the cold tiles, causing me to gasp, but I don’t open my eyes.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
He tugs on my hair. “Are you or are you not going to look at me?”
“No.”
“I’m going to fuck that word out of you, Silver.”
My insides liquefy at that promise, but I hang on to my façade with blood-coated fingers. “Just get it over with and leave me alone.”
“You don’t get to treat it as a burden when you’ve been fucking fantasising about it. You don’t get to tell yourself lies just so you can sleep at night.”
Watch me.
He wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes. Hard.
My eyes pop open as I struggle for breath. He eases his hold, allowing me tiny gulps of air.
“There you are.” He stares down at me with those eyes that I sometimes think have no soul behind them.
They’re green, but they feel black.
They’re looking at me, but sometimes, it’s like they’re seeing through me.
He’s gripping me by the hair and the throat, and for some foreign reason, it feels like the most right position to be in.
“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to scream.” He licks my trembling lower lip. “If you don’t, we can do this all night.”
I don’t speak. I can’t.
It’s like I’ve lost my abilities of speech and thought. I’ve lost everything.
All I can do is watch him. The water forms rivulets down his face giving him an exotic look, the steam of the bathroom swirling around him like a halo.
I’m fucked. So bloody fucked.
He releases my hair and grabs my thigh, lifting it up and, as a result, making my other foot stand on a tiptoe.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he orders, but I don’t.
I want him to do it all.
If I don’t participate, I can pretend I didn’t want this. It’s all his doing, not mine.
He must see it in my face because he grabs my other leg and lifts it, slipping inside me, inch by each agonising inch. I close my eyes, but it’s to soak in the sensation.
I tighten my legs around his firm waist to not lose my balance. The force of his thrusts hits my back against the wall over and over again.
I relish in every one of them.
Cole is harsh and out of control, exactly how I imagined he would be when I was fantasising about him earlier.
He squeezes my throat hard enough to make me open my eyes.
“You don’t get to hide, Butterfly.” He peers at me. “Not anymore.”
Yesterday, when he fucked me from behind, I was slightly grateful he couldn’t see the chaotic emotions swirling in my eyes.
Now, he does — in full HD. I’ve always thought I showed emotions in a way no one understands, but Cole might be able to.
I don’t want him to understand.
This position, face-to-face, heart to heart, is too intimate. It’s like he’s peeling me piece by each bloody piece.
I hate that a part of me wants him to reach the core.
I hate that a part of me is grateful he’s doing this, that he’s freeing me in ways I would’ve never used to free myself.
And because I hate him, I hurt him.
I glide my hands around his back and drag my long nails down the wet skin with the intention to cause him pain.
He hisses, but instead of stopping, he picks up his pace and pounds into me with renewed ferocity as he pins me to the wall by my throat.
Then he leans down to the sensitive flesh of my breast and sucks on it before biting — hard.
My back arches off the wall and a terrifying wave spreads over me like wildfire.
“I’ll leave my mark as you leave yours, Butterfly,” he speaks through loud, erotic sucks that echo in the bathroom. “No one will see you like I do, touch you like I do, fuck you like I do.”
I come then.
The force of his pounding and the meaning behind his words bring me over the edge.
Because I know, I just know they’re real.
I can deny it all I want, but that doesn’t mean they disappear. The same as the monster under my bed.
I shouldn’t have looked. Now, I can’t unsee him or pretend he’s not there.
“Scream,” he rasps against my mouth as he slaps my arse.
I do scream. The lust-filled sound reverberates around us like a rondo in the final round of a piano concerto.
That’s when Cole empties his load inside me with a deep-throated groan.
My head drops against his chest, my fingers clinging limply to his sides and tiny tremors pulse through my legs.
For what seems like a full minute, we stand there, the water beating down on us as we’re tangled around each other.
Who knew showers could get this intense?
“See? It’s not hard to listen to orders,” he speaks against my ear, licking and nibbling on the shell.
Reality kicks back in.
Damn me and damn him. I shove him away, causing him to chuckle as he pulls out of me and releases my throat.
Unlike yesterday, the feel of his cum only lingers a little before it’s washed away by the water.
“I hate you,” I murmur.
He pulls on my hair and kisses my nose. “Sure thing, Butterfly. As long as it lets you sleep at night.”
Then he leaves. Water drips over his hair and hard body as his feet pad on the floor.
The moment the door clicks behind him, I release a muffled, frustrated scream in the silence of the bathroom.
