Page 72 of Victorious: Part 2
Clover.
Naked.
Water cascading down her shoulders.
Her head tilted back under the spray, eyes closed, lips parted.Her hands sliding over her skin, lathering soap over every perfect curve. That little noise she makes when she stretches. The look in her eyes right before she teases me.
It feels as if she’s taking forever in the shower, taunting and teasing me as steam escapes through the small crack in the door. My mind wanders to places it’s gone many times before, thinking of Clover. But now I’m in a bedroom, we’ve admitted we’re in a relationship, we are miles away from her brother’s prying eyes, and the inevitability of me fucking her is getting closer.
And now, I’ve got a huge problem tenting in my jeans.
I shift uncomfortably, trying to adjust myself discreetly, but it does jack shit. The ache only gets worse. My mind won’t let up. Groaning, I palm myself through the denim, pressing down, trying to ease the pressure—not even touching myself properly, just trying to survive the next few goddamn, torturous minutes.
And that’s exactly when the bathroom door opens.
Clover steps out, wrapped in a towel that clings to her damp curves, skin flushed from the steam, her hair dripping down her shoulders like something out of a fever dream.
She freezes.
So do I.
Her eyes drop straight to my hand in my lap. “Oh my God,” she whispers, her voice full of wicked amusement. “Were you just?”
“No!” I shoot up as if I’ve been electrocuted, nearly tripping over Dracula. “I wasn’t. I mean… not like that.”
“Lookedexactlylike that,” she chimes, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.
“I was adjusting.”
“You adjusted so hard I almost saw your eyes roll into the back of your head.”
“Clover…”
She saunters over to her bag, towel riding dangerously low. “You know, I could’ve stayed in there longer if I’d known you needed a little more private time.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “If you stayed in any longer, I would have come in and joined you.”
She flashes a grin. “Maybe you should have.”
My cock jerks even harder against my jeans, almost painfully now. So, I grab my stuff and make for the bathroom. “I’m showering.”
“Have fun,” she calls after me with a wink and a playful giggle.
Practically slamming the door behind me, the room greets me with humidity from the heat of her shower, and it instantly makes my skin break out in a sweat. Ripping off my clothes, I crank the cold tap all the way and step under the spray like it’s some kind of punishment. The water hits hard, but it does nothing to cool the burn under my skin.
I brace both hands on the tiled wall, head bowed, trying to breathe through it.
But it’s no use.
The moment I close my eyes, she’s right there again.
Clover.
My Clover.
Dropping her towel slowly.
Her body lithe and perfect, water catching on the curves of her breasts, sliding down her stomach, her hips, her thighs.
