Page 47 of Sinister Intentions

I could try to convince myself all I wanted. But a part of me—a very physical part—knew it was already too late.

Jemma Donnelly had managed to slip right past my defenses.

I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, tightened my grip, and accelerated my strokes. An image of her in her practical underwear—no lace or silk for my little punk—staring at me with her big doe-like eyes—appeared.

What would she look like naked? Would she be shaved down there? I should’ve, at least, glimpsed.

I groaned, went harder.

Suddenly, there was a gasp.

I turned to the side and opened my eyes.

And right there—in the flesh—stood my current fantasy, frozen on the spot, her eyes fixated on my hand wrapped around my dick.

Fuck me. I froze but held my grip…waited for what she would do.

Her eyes were glued to my hand, big and round, innocent but interested.

I took a long stroke—watched her watch me.

She didn’t even blink.

My dick hardened even more, and my balls tightened. I should say something, should ask her what the fuck she thought she was doing.

I didn’t.

Instead, I continued to get myself off—the tingling in my spine a telltale sign I was close.

I growled, which seemed to snap her out of her frozen state. Her eyes flew to mine, her gaze clashing with mine.

Caught you, little girl.

She gasped as if she’d just caught what she was doing, then she spun around and fled.

Fuck.

I should follow her, but I was too far gone. I closed my eyes, imagined her soft skin, her hand, around my dick…one, two, three strokes later, and I came with a jolt and a groan.

Damn.

Every time I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.

But this time, it wasn’t my fault. I narrowed my eyes. This was entirely on her, and my little punk had some explaining to do.

I stepped out of the shower, my mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter. I grabbed a towel, dried off, and slipped into a pair of jeans and a white button-down—all the while replaying the image of Jemma frozen in place, her eyes locked on my dick.

The girl had guts, I’d give her that. Most women would have averted their gaze or fled immediately but not her.

No, she’d stared—drank in every inch of me with unabashed curiosity.

A thought shot through me, equally unexpected and shocking. Was she still a virgin? Had she even seen a cock before?

I grimaced, then fixed my cuffs. She was twenty-one. Of course, she’d seen a dick before. Girls like her, who looked like her…with her spunky personality…there was no chance in hell there hadn’t been some horny asshole teenage dirtbag who’d pressured her into having sex with him.

My muscles tensed as ice-cold fury ran through me like oozing tar. Thick, black, burning and sticky.

If I would ever witness anyone so much as looking at her that way, I would end the guy.

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