Page 10 of Morally Grey

The gun’s barrel rides down my body as she considers my request. She glances at the small window in the shower, then realizes I can’t squeeze through it. “Sure, but don’t do anything stupid.”

“More stupid than killing an elite?”

She smiles before removing my shackles and wrist cuffs, then leaves the bathroom. As soon as she closes the door, I look for a way to escape. Her beauty is only rivaled by her fucked-up mind, and I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t intimidate me. I’m probably safer outside with the cops, now that I think about it.

Despite knowing I won’t fit, I study the window anyway. Even if I had narrow shoulders, I’d have to break bones to fit through that gap. Not a bad option, considering the alternatives. Then again...maybe her fascination could play in my favor. Maybe I’ve been coming at this from the wrong angle.

She’s a single woman, clearly still upset by the breakup with her ex. I mean, why else would she keep the sex dungeon intact? If she’s lonely, I could use that to my advantage. I can get close to her, drop her guard, and make my escape.

I look in the mirror and frown. If I want to seduce her, I’ll need to clean myself up a bit. The rugged look is fine, but the homeless look? Not so much. I grab a razor and fruity-smelling gel foam and begin by lining up my stubble. When I come out of this bathroom, Briar won’t know what hit her.

Chapter Seven

Briar

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, he looks like a new man. Literally. I found him attractive before, but now that he’s cleaned up, I’ll need to make sure he doesn’t catch me staring. He’s male perfection.

I offer him some clothes that were still hanging around from my ex. Surprisingly, they fit. Even the jeans hug his hips just right. The shirt’s a little small, though. My ex didn’t have defined muscles.

Or tattoos.

I study the word running down his left bicep. It says Delinquent, but I don’t know if that refers to his actions or a missed payment. Has he always been a criminal, or was this latest performance the act of a desperate man, as I believe?

His right bicep has a word etched into it as well, but I can’t read it. It’s covered by his dirty clothes, which he holds toward me.

“What does that one say?” I nod toward his arm as I accept his clothes.

He looks down and twists his wrist, turning his entire arm so that I can see the word fully. Foreclosure.

“So that’s it,” I say. “The bank took your house, and that’s why you killed her.”

He nods and sighs. “Yes, that’s part of it.”

A little thrill runs through me. I’ve unearthed a piece of the skeleton in his closet, but I won’t be content until I’ve dragged the entire thing into the light. If little acts of kindness, like a shower, will net me better results, I’ll have to be nicer, I guess.

Nicer, but not stupid.

“Let’s get you back into your cuffs,” I say. I drop the leg shackles at his feet, along with the wrist cuffs, and then I aim the gun at his handsome face.

He obliges without argument, stepping into and latching the leg shackles. Once he’s secured in the basement, I gather his clothes once more and start upstairs. I lock both doors behind me on my way up. Instead of heading to the laundry room, however, I return to the bathroom.

Water still beads on the glass from his shower. I try not to think about the fact that some of this water has touched his bare skin as I drop his clothes to the floor, then strip out of mine and step inside. I breathe in the scent. Yes, the smell is the same as the soaps I use on a daily basis, but it’s also different. A masculine, earthy undertone lingers in the air.

My head tips forward and touches the wall. The beads of water latch onto my skin, then travel toward my lips. I open my mouth and let them land on my tongue. Just feeling this close to his naked body drives me to the most indecent thoughts.

I want him. More than just his secrets and his dangerous presence. More than the money his soul can bring. I want him in ways I shouldn’t.

I step into the wall and let my bare nipples graze the warm ceramic as I turn the handle. Cold water rushes out of the faucet,and I imagine him inside this space with me. His hands on every inch of my body. The water heats in time with my thoughts, and I turn on the shower.

God, I wish I could shower with him, but that would be stupid. Trying anything sexual would be a major misstep. For multiple reasons, I can’t lose him. Besides, he thinks I’m crazy. And as I back away from the wall after tasting him via droplets of water left behind in my shower, I can’t deny that he’s kind of right.

I suppose this could be misplaced daddy issues. My father fought against Big Bank too, and he saved our family. My father did something horrible, and my mother and I viewed him as a hero for it. That isn’t so different from how people online view Grey.

After I’ve scrubbed every ounce of desire from my pores, I gather our dirty clothes and carry them to the laundry room. As I’m dumping everything into the washer, I hesitate when the soft boxer briefs appear in my hands. I grind the fabric between my finger and thumb. I imagine being the damn things.

Against my will, I find myself bringing the boxers up to my nose. I inhale deeply and suffocate in his scent, which is used and dirty and musty. But not in a bad way. Instead of turning on the wash, I find myself losing my grip on sanity as I step into his used boxers.

I close the lid, climb up, and lean back on the washer. I touch myself over the fabric, rubbing the filthy material between my pussy lips, grinding down on my excited clit. Electricity courses through the thin material and buzzes against me.

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