Page 72 of Covenant

“I’d like to see you broken,” I reply, and he huffs.

“You can break me later. After we go out and look around. We came all this way. We should see what’s out there.”

I can’t argue with that, especially because Matthias is proposing spending time with me instead of working. After a week of solitude, of him shutting me out and ignoring me completely, I’ll take whatever I can get.

Someone sounds obsessed.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

* * *

We take turns in the shower, not that the other doesn’t watch. I sit on the marble counter near the sinks as Matthias peels his boxers off and steps under the spray. His body is lean, muscular, and tan. He’s incredible.

Of course he is. He’s always been impeccable. Even when he was young, he had the body of someone who had the time to work out, to hone different muscle groups. Now, he looks like a Michelangelo sculpture.

Except for when I pulled him into the pool and he flailed about, emerging with a wet suit and flattened hair. He looked like a wet fish then, but right now, he’s stepping under the spray and I watch as he rubs his hands all over his body. The sight—fuck, the view of him—it makes my cock hard once more.

Fuck him for turning me down. For telling me to wait.

I look forward to making him pay for it later,I think as my fingers curl around the edge of the countertop, holding me in place.

His eyes catch mine, dropping to my hardening dick, and he closes his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

His dick is hard too.

Good. I want him to suffer right along with me.

As I sit and watch him rinse off, I wonder if I’ve always been into men or if it’s just Matthias.

Has it always been him?

I don’t fucking know. When I think about the past, I can’t remember ever looking at him like that. But I guess my gaze did linger. I did sometimes wonder what he’d look like as he came, or what his body would look like writhing against another man.

I just never thought that man would ever be me.

Matthias steps from the shower, grabs a towel, and stalks toward me, pulling me from my reverie. I glance at him as he leans toward me, his mouth brushing my ear, his hands on either side of my legs.

“Your turn.”

I feel a deep tremble thrum through me as he steps away and leaves me to shower alone.

But he watches. The entire time, his eyes never leave me.

I make sure to give him a show.

By the time we’re both dressed and outside, we’re still hard, our cocks tucked under the waistbands of our shorts.

“Fuck you for this,” he murmurs, adjusting himself.

“You could have fucked aroundwithme, but you chosethisinstead.”

“I chose a minute to breathe.”

“Who needs air?” I say with a small grin, and he nudges me.

“Me. I need to breathe around you, Wy, or else I’ll end up consumed.”

After imparting that little nugget, he walks forward, and I’m left to stare after him. Consumed? What the hell? Since when did he become so dramatic? So poetic?

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