Page 31 of Remnants
I should go.
“Get out,” he demands, his voice rougher than usual and startling me. He’s turned his head, and his dark, bottomless eyes draw me in like gravity. There’s a coarseness to him now that I’m not used to. Like something scraped at his control, leaving behind jagged edges.
Leaving is exactly what I’d planned to do, but something about this man telling me what to do makes me lose my mind. Defiance swells in my chest, burning away fear or self-preservation when I respond, “No.”
Aiden’s jaw tightens. He has yet to release the hold on his dick. When my gaze trails back up his body to find his eyes again, he’s breathing harder. Faster. He shoves off the wall, stalking to the opening of the shower that has no door. “Then come here.” This time, his voice comes out as a purr, soft and dangerous, like something’s switched in his mind to help smooth those edges. To put him back in control.
I must be a masochist because I do it. Everything about him right now radiates anger and frustration. And I’m not being a narcissist for thinking it’s because of me. I’m just not stupid.
Or, am I, because I’m too curious to leave? Too stubborn to make what is probably therightdecision when he tells me to get out. But I hated it when he said that. That he feels he has to kick me out so he can struggle with whatever he’s going through because of me, without me.
He doesn’t wait for me to get there. As soon as I’m within reach, he grabs my throat and yanks me into him, the soft spray of hot water speckling my face and clothes. I don’t fight him. I’m not sure why. I let him hold me like that, my body acquiescing and pliant, eventhough I look at him without an ounce of submission in my gaze.
“Leave. I’m not myself right now.”
I know I’m going to set him off. He’s like a ticking time bomb, and I’m the idiot who cuts the fuse short and then lights it before I can get out of range. “No.”
“No?” he repeats, his voice a deadly calm. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? No?”
“Say for myself?”
“Take off your clothes,” he croons in my ear, his voice decadent like drizzled chocolate.
Again, I surprise myself when I do what he says without a word, shedding my clothes and tossing Dane’s paper to the side. He’s forced to release me so I can remove my shirt and bra, but otherwise, he remains still.
“Go to the second drawer on the right,” he directs next, indicating the drawers under the sink. “Take out the first thing you see and bring it to me.”
Curiosity is a dangerous thing. It, tangled with the heat of this room and the thick anticipation of what he’s going to do wrapping me in a chokehold, has me following his instruction once more.
I open the drawer, and items of all shapes, sizes, and colors roll backward at the movement.
He has a fucking drawer of sex toys.
But which one?
“The first thing you see.”
The purple bullet at the front. I wrap my fingers around the smooth silicone. I catch my reflection in the mirror before I turnback. My blonde hair is starting to frizz and expand in the wet heat, adding volume and unruliness. My eyes are dilated, my lips moist from licking them, and my nipples are pebbled, even in this warmth.
There’s no doubt that I’m aroused by whatever’s happening here.
“Don’t make me wait...”
I return to him, releasing the toy into his open hand and waiting with bated breath.
He skates his palm up my side, following the curve of my body over my chest and up my neck, his fingers wrapping my nape with a more relaxed grip. He caresses my pulse with his thumb as it hammers erratically against his touch.
His other hand cups my sex, and he slides a finger into my wet heat. “What did I tell you about this pussy?” he asks, his voice chillingly calm.
There’s no resistance when he slips his finger in and out, the mixture of mine and Dane’s remaining cum still lingering. But I’m not hiding it. My stare hardens when I reply, “I never agreed to it.”
His hand on my neck tightens, and he removes his finger. But not to stop, as I expected. He continues upward, finding and caressing my clit. “That’s not what I asked.”
Pleasure spikes through my limbs at the simple contact. “You told me it’s yours,” I answer, some defiance still coloring my breathy tone.
“Good girl,” he praises on a satisfied sigh, his breath hot between us, and then steps back, bringing me into the shower. The water hits my thighs where he stops us, where everything stops for a second.
“Hands on the wall,” is my only warning, and then he’s pushing me down, bending me over. I reach out at his command, and oninstinct, my hands slap against the slick tile.
