Chapter 13

Margot

I followed him into the bathroom.

He waited by the door and shut it behind me with a curt snap. The noise vibrated through me.

This was a conscious decision.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and stared. I was pink in the cheeks, the lip gloss I’d had on earlier missing, my lips pale. Mascara had smudged beneath my right eye, and I reached up to wipe it.

Cain moved in behind me and caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said.

“Why?” I asked, electrified by his touch all over again. It wasn’t fair he could do this to me. It wasn’t fair he was the first man, and probably the last, who’d ever make me orgasm. How was I supposed to feel about that?

“You’re perfect as you are. Makeup, no makeup, naked or clothed. Margot, you’re the epitome of everything a woman should be. Don’t fuck with it,” he said, and placed my hand on the counter. He took the other and did the same with it. They were on either side of the sink.

Cain looked at me in the mirror, over my shoulder.

He was so much taller than me it would’ve been threatening on any other person, but not him. He was Cain. He was a friend and now… something more.

No!

“You’re trouble for me,” he whispered. “And I am for you too. Fuck it, forgive me for wanting this.” Cain closed his eyes and pressed his nose to my crown, then inhaled.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Not yet,” he growled. He tucked his fingers beneath the straps of my dress and drew them to either side, slowly, eyes open now. He watched me, my face, my chest.

My breaths came fast. They hitched in my throat. “Cain,” I whispered.

“Talk to me,” he replied, in that deep throaty tone that sent spirals of desire from my head to my fucking toes. “Tell me what you want, Margot.”

“You,” I said.

“I know that.” He tugged the straps down, roughly, and there was a rip of fabric.

My naked breasts sprang free, nipples puckering in the cool air. I gasped.

“Look at you.” Cain ran his fingers over my chest, cupped my breasts in his warm palms and rubbed them, slowly. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re exactly what I need. You know what you are, Margot?”

“What?” I managed.

“You’re chaos,” he whispered. “You’re my chaos.”

I couldn’t respond with his hands covering my breasts, kneading them, pinching my nipples. Every movement took me closer to the edge of all my regrets. Surely, sex shouldn’t be like this?

Or maybe this was what it should’ve been like all along.

Cain suckled on the hollow of my neck and my eyelids fluttered. He dragged my dress down over my hips and tugged it free, and I whimpered. Another kiss on my shoulder brought a gasp.

For every one of his actions, I met him with a reaction that wasn’t equal—it was more. I couldn’t help reacting this way.

“It’s not normal,” I said.

He turned me in his arms and pinned me against the sink, ran his hands down my body, and stopped short of my pussy. “What isn’t?”

“Feeling this way during—you know. It’s not. It can’t be.”

“It’s only the beginning.” Cain stepped back and stripped off his jeans, revealing that magnificent dick, the head glistening with his fluids, a vein tracking down his side. Massive, as he’d mentioned, and god, perfectly proportioned.

No man should be allowed to have a dick like that. It was too good-looking.

“My eyes are up here,” Cain said.

I swatted his arm, and he let out a chuckle taut with need.

Cain turned and opened the glass door of the walk-in shower then turned on the water. He extended his hand toward me, and I took it. Stepped into that shower and right into his arms.

“Let’s get wet,” he said.

“Too late for the ‘let’s’ part.”

This time, he growled and caught my bottom lip between his teeth. The kiss tore through me, strangled all the doubts I’d tried cultivating in the dark corners of my mind.

His tongue massaged mine, destroyed my resistance. He tasted sweet, salty—the perfect combination of both.

Cain broke the kiss and grabbed a bottle of liquid soap from the wall, then squeezed some into his palms and lathered up. He smoothed the foam over my breasts and down my stomach, turned me around and did the same for my back and ass cheeks.

I shuddered under his palms, calloused and sudsy.

“I want to do it to you,” I said.

“You can do whatever you like to me, Margot,” he replied. “Whatever the hell you like.”

I turned in his arms and cupped my palms together. “Soap.”

He squirted some, and we both laughed at the obscene noise the bottle made. I lathered up, then ran my hands over his defined pecs and his nipples to his abs. I traced the V and moved lower to his cock. He was still painfully hard for me. Still ready.

I washed him, rinsing off the soap in my hands, then reached for his balls and cupped them, played gently.

“Jesus, girl, you trying to make me come already?” he asked, and jerked in my hands.

“I want to suck you,” I said.

“You do,” he replied, not a question at all. “Not here. You’ll hurt your knees.”

“I don’t care.” I tried kneeling, but he caught me under my elbows and tugged me to his chest again.

“I said no.” His tone brooked no argument. Another thrill ran through me.

There was something about that, about his dominance in here, that made me feel even smaller in his arms. I tilted my chin back and studied him.

He tightened his grip on my elbows, his fingers biting into my flesh, anchoring me to the here and now. To this moment with him.

This was a dream. It was a fantasy. And I’d live it out again, worry about the repercussions tomorrow, because the truth was, each time we did this, it became harder and harder for me to turn back.

“How do you want me?” I asked.