Page 32 of Merry Me
“Natalie,” I groaned loudly as an orgasm crashed through me, my cum splattering against the tiled wall. I wasn’t going to wash it off, either. That spot was sacred now. It was practically ashrine. It would give me spank-bank material for weeks, picturing her naked body in this shower with my cum all over the wall.
I stood there a minute longer, trying to pull myself together. The aftershocks still hummed through my body, my hand braced against the slick tile as I took slow, deep breaths.
It had never been like that before. Not once since she’d dumped me.
Because she hadn’t just been in my head.
She was twenty feet away.
That changed everything.
When I finally felt like I could walk without falling over, I shut the water off and reached for a towel, making sure it hung low on my hips. I knew what my V did to her. I’d seen her brain short-circuit over it more than once. And now, after almost two years of personal trainers, meal plans, and shirtless photo shoots…it had only gotten better.
Weapons-grade abs, thank you very much.
I stepped out of the bathroom like I was walking into battle, and there she was, curled up on the couch with her phone clutched in her hands like it might protect her.
I smirked.
There was no way she hadn’t heard me say her name in there.
She didn’t look up right away, but I saw her eyes flick—just for a second—before she snapped them back to her screen like she hadn’t noticed I was only wearing a towel and all of her fantasies.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice dipped in velvet and sin as I raked a hand through my damp hair.
She whipped her head up. Her pupils dilated. Her cheeks flushed. Her lips parted for just a second before she snapped her mouth shut like it was a trap and turned away so fast that it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash.
I bit back a laugh, sauntering over to my bag on the floornear the fireplace. I bent at the waist, slowly, purposefully, knowing she was looking. Even if she swore she wasn’t.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shifting—legs crossing tighter, body tensing, her knuckles white around her phone.
Time to up the stakes.
I stretched.
And let the towel drop.
It hit the hardwood with a soft, innocent littlethud.
She made a noise.
It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even a full gasp. It was a tiny, strangledsqueak, like a startled chipmunk.
I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulders like my ass wasn’t visible right now, and turned my head just in time to see her eyes widen, huge, round, full-on Disney-princess horror—and then her hands slapped over her face.
“Fucking hell!” she screeched in a strangled,crazy-sounding voice. “Nope, nope, nope.”
And then she bolted.
Straight for the door.
Natalie hated running. So I was kind of mad at myself for not filming such a rare occurrence.
Although, I guess she could have picked up running since she’d left for college. I frowned at that thought.
“Natalie,” I called, grinning now, not bothering to move. “Come back. I was going to offer you the bathroom next.”
She smacked into the frame on her way out—actually bounced off it—before recovering and disappearing into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind her.
