Swiping my brush from the drawer near the sink, I let my eyes chance a glance at the mirror and my lungs seize in my chest with the sudden inhale of breath. Even through the sheen of fog covering the glass, I can still make out Brix’s form through the opaque shower curtain.
I track his movements, the way his muscular arm runs over his chest and his head tilts back under the water until my eyes fall to his jerking movements down below.
My eyes widen in shock, and I’m frozen in place. I struggle to keep hold of the brush in my hand, sending it crashing into the sink, watching his hand wrapped around his length as his hips thrust forward. I don’t want to blink, afraid if I move an inch, I’ll snap out of the moment and it’ll all be a dream.
His hoarse moan echoes throughout the small space causing my nipples to harden beneath the cotton of my bra.
“Fuuuck,” he hisses. Desire pools low in my belly, and for a second, I wonder if he realizes I’m still in the room.
The thought that maybe I’m watching something I shouldn’t be creeps into my mind, then my name passes his lips. The sound of arousal is thick in his voice, forcing my thighs together, desperately seeking friction.
“You like watching me?”
An air of arrogance discernable in his tone forces my jaw to tighten. I grit my teeth knowing he’s enjoying teasing me. Every single day he’s tempting me, pushing me until I’ll inevitably crack.
“You like the thought of me touching myself while I think of you?”
If he thinks I’m going to admit it to him, he can go to hell. I want to snap myself out of my stupor and demand myself to leave.
It’s not worth playing whatever game he’s playing. Try again.
“What if I told you I’ve jerked off thinking about you damn near every night since you’ve moved in?”
Forcing a heavy breath, my eyes flutter shut, picturing him lying in his bed, his underwear pulled down below his hips and his fist wrapped around himself. My name on his lips as his hips piston, pushing himself over the edge when he cums.
I cross my leg over the other, trying but failing to ease the desire pulsing through me. I’m seconds away from unbuttoning the front of my shorts, but I won’t. It feels like I’d be surrendering to him.
I won’t give in to him or the temptation.
“I can see you, ya know? You can try to play it off like you’re not interested, but I see how you’re fighting this as much as I am. Are you sure you don’t want to take off your pants? You can slide up on the edge of the sink and spread those sexy legs for me.”
His breath gets caught at the mention of me spreading my legs open for him, and his pace begins to pick up.
Something about giving in to him snaps me out of my haze. I force my eyes away from him and push the sound of his moans reverberating through the small bathroom out of my mind. Swinging the cabinet door open, I grab my curling iron off the shelf. When I reach for the door, I hear the deep growl of my name echoing around me, weakening my resolve. Forcing my feet to move proves to be more effortful than I expected.
I race back down the hall, safely shutting the bedroom door behind me. I slump against the hardwood, trying to push the images out of my mind.
I cannot believe what just happened.
Even more, I can’t believe I wanted it. I’ve hated Brix Ward since I was twelve years old, and the thoughts I’ve had about him over the last week have me questioning who the hell I am and what is wrong with me.
* * *
Later that night, I’m busting my ass at Whiskey Barrel. It’s a weeknight and we’re still understaffed, so Jayde has Oaklyn and me handling the bar while she waitresses. It’s not until after eight when business finally starts to die down and I’m grateful because I’m rockin’ a terrible headache that won’t seem to quit.
I slip into the back room, grabbing the small bottle of ibuprofen I keep in my purse for the nights spent studying when my head won’t stop pounding. Realizing I forgot my water at the bar, I rush back to the front in search of something to help me send this thing straight back to hell.
Unscrewing the cap, I shake a couple tablets into my hand and toss them into my mouth along with some water, swallowing them down.
“You should try nuts. They help, too.”
Glancing up, my eyes fall on a tall, stocky man. He looks familiar, my eyes narrow trying to figure out where we’ve met. He’s broad, the kind you’d want playing on your football team. If you saw him coming at you, you’d want to make sure you have on some heavy padding because he’d do some serious damage.
“Excuse me?”
“Nuts,” he says, motioning to the bottle still in my hand. It must be the dumbfounded look on my face that shows I’m utterly confused. He blushes, peering down at his folded hands resting on top of the bar, laughing.
“Sorry, they help with headaches.”