Page 28 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
“I meant the ruffles.”
“Thanks. At least the bed is comfortable. The bathroom is down the hall, so I’ll let you use that before you turn in. I keep spare toothbrushes and everything else in the cabinet.”
Exhausted, I only planned to wash up in the sink, but the prospect of a bath was too alluring. The tub was bare, no shower curtain and no drain stopper. I indulged in a hot shower instead, spilling water over the side and feeling guilty for using this much hot water. I cleaned the greasy residue from my hair, reveling in the bitter-soap scent I recognized from Luke. It was harsh stuff, the kind that took my skin off as it cleaned, but I appreciated its strength. The residue of my sins went too deep for regular soap.
A small pile of neatly folded clothes waited for me outside the door. A man’s white undershirt and a pair of boxers. Well, that answered the boxers-or-briefs question. I rolled the waist until it promised to stay on me, while the shirt draped over me. Luke didn’t look like a large man from far away, mostly due to his leanness. But up close he was tall and filled out with muscle. His was a deceptive power, which made me adore him even more.
I found him in the bedroom, turning down the thick blankets. He stepped back when I came inside. Would we have sex here tonight? Almost as if I had voiced the question, he answered.
“I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“Oh.” I slipped past him and climbed into bed. It was a relief, the lack of expectation. So why did my stomach feel so hollow?
I thought for a moment he might tuck me in, maybe even sit on the bed, and I realized with alarm that I might fall apart if he did. Already, with him just standing beside the bed, my heart rate had increased. Heavy blankets, in the dark, couldn’t breathe.
He turned and left without a word.
My eyes slid shut. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. My clothes and makeup and sultry sarcasm were all part of my armor, but here they were stripped away. Just me, as lonely and scared as I had been at sixteen, desperate to get out of my father’s house.
From the bathroom, I heard the shower turn on. I imagined him under the spray, rivulets of sweat and dirt running over roughened skin. I pictured the pleasure on his face as hot water soothed the tension in his muscles.
I stared at the little dots on the ceiling, wondering how I could have been so tired before but so awake now. How just knowing he was naked had drained all the sleep from my body.
I heard a groan from the bathroom. Or had I? It was hard to tell over the rush of the shower. What if he had been really hurt? He might need my help.
Chapter Fourteen
Pushing the covers back, I slipped from the bed. The carpet was thin and brown, as if I walked on a soft dirt path. The bathroom door was open a crack. I pushed it a little farther.
The overhead light blinded me for a minute until my eyes adjusted. Luke stood in the shower, facing away from the spigot, letting the water beat his back. One of his hands was on the wall, supporting his weight. The other was on his cock, thick and long and clearly right in the middle of something. Something dirty, something private—I couldn’t look away.
His eyes were shut, his entire face tight in concentration. What did he think of? Who?
He moaned again, and it was so clearly a sound of pleasure. How could I have missed it? Maybe I had known all along. Maybe I had come here to see this, to press my nose against the window and dream of the future.
He fisted his cock, slow and easy, and I found myself storing that information away for a future when I would use it—this was how he liked to be touched.
His whole body glistened, his chest and arms adorned with glimmering droplets while swaths of steaming water ran down his back and legs. I wondered if the water slipped between them, caressing his tender sac as a warm tongue might do.
As I would have, if he had come to me. And yet I couldn’t be bitter, not to watch this. Like watching a tornado, so self-contained in its strength, so natural in its glory, and I wanted it to sweep me away. I wanted him to let me in. I wanted so badly to know what he was thinking.
“Shelly,” came out on a breath.
At least I thought he said my name. It wafted to me on the thick, moist air. I couldn’t be sure if it was my wishful thinking, until he said it again. He mumbled it this time, and I imagined it was more than a fleeting thought, that he was looking at me, speaking to me. My gaze snapped back to his face, but his eyes were still shut. If he saw me at all, it was in his mind. A specter with my body but none of my issues, one who didn’t freeze up when a man stood by the bed. It was that Shelly he spoke to, that one he wanted.
He stroked himself faster, and my body responded with heat of its own, dampening and softening as if he were already inside me, preparing my body so that his size and his speed wouldn’t damage me. The human body was an amazing thing that way. The mind, not so much. As he came on the tile wall, my body twinged, but all I could think was—not for me.
He wanted me enough to speak my name, but he’d chosen the fantasy of me instead. Smart man. Self-disgust curdled any lingering arousal.
Returning to the plush comfort of the bed, I listened as the shower squeaked off, as he brushed his teeth and dressed. The bathroom door opened all the way, draping yellow light over me before he flicked it off. I waited for his footsteps to move away, to settle into the couch in the next room. Instead his dark silhouette remained in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.
Had he detected me outside the bathroom? Maybe he would demand an apology. At length I realized he wasn’t waiting for anything. He was merely watching me sleep—a voyeurism of his own.
I spoke into the darkness. “Hi, Luke.”
“Shelly.” He returned the greeting without hesitation, apparently unsurprised to find me awake.
“Can’t sleep?”
