Page 58 of Bullet

“Are—are you hungry?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

He dipped his head under the spray. There was no doubt. He growled, and his shoulders rounded, letting the water rain down his back. His arm moved with a determined stroke.

My heart pounded with a matching tempo. I couldn’t catch my breath. And I couldn’t leave. He held me spellbound. He was raw, primal, animalistic.

The shower door slid open, and my gaze snapped to his.

“Do you want to watch, brown eyes?” His palm cradled the thick shaft, his thumb curving in a C over the top to circle the girth. Thick veins roped the length. The hardware in the crown glistened with wetness. Water soaked the dark hair surrounding the base and dripped from his heavy balls.

Salivating with want of a taste, I swallowed the extra moisture in my mouth.

“Eyes up here.”

My gaze lifted, and he stroked faster. Veins in his muscular forearms filled with blood and stood in relief against the sleeve of tattoos. But I couldn’t keep my gaze from lowering. Water slicked the grooves of his clenched abdominals. The dome of his dick darkened as he crept his thumb over the slit and pressed against the piercing.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip and squeezed my thighs together. A gush of fluids soaked my panties, and a whimper slipped from my lips. With a guttural groan, every muscle in his body tensed and flexed. With a hard pump of his cock, his balls drew up, tightening against his body, and jets of cum erupted from the slit.

He held me hostage with the power of his release. Cum splashed the tile of the shower, blending with the spray, and swirled into the drain. Water cascaded over his head, down his muscle-honed body, and rinsed away the evidence of his release.

With his hand braced on the tiled wall, he breathed deeply. His head tilted and our gazes held. I licked my lip, swallowed, and tried to catch my breath.

“Hand me a towel?” He turned off the spigot.

But I had yet to move. He pushed his hair away from his face, his biceps flexed, and his lips tilted as if he understood exactly what he did to me. The way my pulse fluttered, and how he made me tremble with his nearness. He made me question whether I should want someone who was defiant and dangerous. A man who pimped for his girls, yet he could make me melt with his smile and burn for his touch.

He stepped out of the shower, reached around me, and plucked his towel from the rack. Drops of water coursed down his torso, followed the trail of dark hair bisecting his flexing abdominals, and pooled on the floor.

He dried his face and wrapped the towel around his waist. “We keep blurring the lines of friendship.”

“When I knocked, you shouldn’t have told me to come in.” But I couldn’t find the will to regret witnessing him with his cock in his hand or the power and intensity of his orgasm.

He combed his hair with his fingers. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I said I’d be out in a minute.” He stepped up to the sink, grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed out some toothpaste, and stuffed it into his mouth.

My brows pinched. “That doesn’t even sound like come in.”

“If I’d known you wanted to watch, I’d have left the door wide open.” He spoke around his toothbrush, then spit into the sink.

“Or you could have locked the door.” Why was I arguing? The man had no boundaries. “Don’t respond to that. I just wanted to know if you wanted your eggs fried or scrambled. I mean, I assume you’re hungry. Oh, and I made coffee.”

“I’ll get dressed and be down in a minute.”

I followed him out of the bathroom. He headed up the stairs of the old house but paused halfway. “Unless you want to see my room.”

I rolled my eyes and started down the hall to the kitchen. While he dressed, I set the heavy pan on the stove and started the thick strips of bacon frying. By the time he returned, I’d poured two mugs of coffee and had the bacon resting on a paper towel. Four eggs sizzled in the bacon grease.

Worn jeans hugged his hips, and a black T-shirt molded to his chest. “Smells good,” he said, popping open the back door and letting the crisp morning air into the kitchen.

“Thanks.” I loaded our plates with a slice of toast, several strips of bacon and two fried eggs each, then carried them to the table. I chose the seat next to him, facing the door so I could see into the backyard.

Birds chirped, and the wind whispered through the trees. The old house had a few upgrades, and just as much rustic charm with wood countertops and a cast iron farmhouse sink. It had that comforting feel of a lived-in home.

Bullet sprinkled salt and pepper on his eggs. He scooted his chair back, went to the fridge, andgrabbed the hot sauce. He leaned down and kissed my neck. “Thank you for breakfast.”

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