Page 57 of Covenant

I kissed him.

Without another thought, I push my underwear off and kick them to the side, turning around and walking into the shower without a backward glance. If he wants to look, he can. He can fucking look all he wants. But he can’t touch me anymore.

Not tonight. Not while we’re in the privacy of our own home.

Not our home. His home.

I grab the shampoo and scrub it into my scalp, closing my eyes and rinsing it, all while feeling his eyes on me.

He won’t look away. This is all a game to him. He’s waiting for me to break. To demand that he leave. A silent dare.

He should know me better than that. I never lose.

My fingers curl around the bar of soap and I brush it along my chest and arms, turning to peer over my shoulder to see if I’m right. And I am. He’s there, watching me intently, the front of his pants tight as he takes me in.

I should be appalled, disgusted, but more than anything, I feel that competitive nature roar inside of me.

I’ll give him something to look at.

I turn all the way around, realizing that I’m not as cut as I used to be, but from how his knuckles whiten on the door frame, he doesn’t appear to mind. He seems to like what he sees.

My hand drags the bar of soap across my chest and down my abdomen, swirling it around my belly button before dropping it to my cock. I grab on to it, stroking my dick under the spray of water and soap, letting him stare at what I’m doing.

And I get hard easier than I thought I would.

Perhaps it was all the tension of the evening, of being kissed for the first time in over a year. Or maybe it’s knowing that Matthias can’t look away. That I’m winning.

Maybe it all is just fucking with my mind.

My hand tightens and I let myself moan.

Matthias is standing up straight now, the top button of his shirt undone, his hand pressing against the front of his slacks as he watches me with hooded eyes.

“You want this,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me, but egging him on all the same. He can’t have me. He knows this. We may be married, but this, right here, is just for show.

I continue to stroke myself, dragging my other hand up to my lips and pushing two fingers inside, taunting him.

He shifts on his feet, his lips parting as he drags in a breath.

I can make out the way his chest is heaving, the way his forearm bunches as he strokes himself over his pants.

Matthias Buckingham.

The master manipulator. Only he’s the one being manipulated now.

I stroke harder, faster, sucking on my fingers and making myself moan louder. With a final twist of my wrist, I feel my balls draw up and my release shoot from me. I shudder, making the most obscene noises as I work my cum from my dick. I’m left panting, my fingers slipping from my mouth, my dick hanging limp in my hand.

Matthias is still, a statue on the other side of the room. His hands are back on the door frame, like he’s physically restraining himself.

I meet his gaze and he lets go. His hands tremble as he grabs on to his hair, moving out of the bathroom to finally give me some peace. And when he does, when he finally disappears, I feel myself sag.

All the excitement, all the adrenaline, it vanishes along with Matthias. In its place, I’m left with questions.

What the hell did I do?

Why did I like having Matthias’s eyes on me while I got off?

And why do I want to do it again?

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