Chapter 70
CHAPTER SEVENTY
ASHLEY
I'm not sure what wakes me. A change in the level of darkness, a sound, some sixth sense. It could be anything. But my eyes open, and I transition from asleep to awake in a heartbeat.
My mouth is dry, and my head is aching.
Too much wine, too little sleep.
I don't want to go down to the kitchen to get a drink. I have no idea what time it is, but I don't want to risk bumping into anyone. I'll rinse my mouth out, and hope that's enough.
Throwing back the sheets, I sit up.
It feels late. But for all I know it could still be evening time. Standing up, I walk across to the window and pull the curtain back a little. It's dark outside. The moon is hidden by clouds. Everywhere is still and silent.
Letting the curtain drop, I turn and make my way over to the bathroom. Light floods out when I open the door. I thought I'd turned it off earlier. Crossing the tiles, I stop by the sink and cup my hands under the faucet to catch the cold water. It's halfway to my lips when another sound infiltrates my thoughts.
Slowly, I turn my head .
Oh no .
There's someone in the shower. I think it's a man. Probably Zain.
His back is to me so I can't say for sure, but I doubt it's anyone else. My gaze is caught and held by the tattoo covering his back, and it takes a second or two for me to figure out what I'm seeing.
I'm not entirely certain if it's an angel or a devil. But whatever it is, its face is hidden by a hood. Its arms are crossed in front of its body and over the pommel of a sword, which runs the length of his body. Large feathered black wings spread out either side of the figure, and around its legs are skulls stacked in piles.
There are broken lines through the whole image, making it look like a photograph that had been torn into four pieces at some point and then taped back together.
It's macabre and beautiful.
I straighten, my intention to creep out before he spots me, but then he turns slightly, and I freeze.
It's definitely Zain. I would recognize that profile anywhere.
While I watch, he lifts an arm and braces his hand against the tiled wall. His head is tipped back, those dark eyes closed, and the spray from the water falls over his face and down his body.
And then I make the mistake of looking down.
Oh. My. God .
He's stroking himself. His hand moving up and down in a smooth, slow rhythm. The muscles of his arm play beneath his skin with each move.
And I … can't … look … away.
I have to get out of here before he opens his eyes and sees me. But my feet won't work. I'm glued to the spot, my eyes riveted to the hand gripping his dick.
My tongue sweeps over my lips when his thumb strokes over the tip, and my skin heats up.
I shouldn't be watching him.
I shouldn't be liking what I'm seeing.
I'm going to hell.
But I still don't move.
He's going to open his eyes at any second and see me.
How am I going to explain what I'm doing in here?
A low groan leaves his lips, and the sheer eroticism of the sound does something to me. My blood is burning through my veins. Heat curls through my stomach.
Watching him shouldn't be turning me on. But it is.
Why is it? Why do I like what I'm seeing?
His movements speed up. The muscles in his neck cord as he throws his head back, and then he lets out a low moan that I feel through every nerve ending.
"Fuck … fuck." His voice is a husky rasp, but the sound of it is enough to free me from whatever spell I'm caught in.
I spin and almost trip in my haste to run from the room.
Closing the door, I lean against it.
My heart is pounding. My mouth is drier than it was before I walked in. But I don't care about that. What I care about is the fact that I'm turned on.
My nipples are so hard they're hurting, and I'm pretty sure my panties are soaked .
I close my eyes.
Big mistake.
All I can see is Zain, wet from the shower, face taut with pleasure while he makes himself come.
Did he see me?
My heart speeds up even more at the thought.
No, he can't have. He'd have said something or come after me.
But what if he did? What if he saw me, and he's just waiting for me to lower my guard?
I shake my head.
Get back in bed. Pretend to be asleep.
I hurry across the room and dive beneath the sheets.
But I can't stop thinking about how he looked, about what he was doing, about the tattoo on his back. My hand drifts down, over my breasts, down my stomach and beneath the waistband of my pants.
This is wrong. I shouldn't be thinking about him.
My fingers dip beneath my panties.
I shouldn't be this wet. Zain has done nothing but torture me since he forced his way into my life.
My hips arch up at the first stroke of my fingers over my clit.
It's wrong.
My nerves are strung tight.
What if he saw me?
My nerves wind tighter.
What if he's watching me now, the same way I watched him?
And just like that I fall over the edge .
When my heart stops racing, and I can see again, I roll onto my side, and stare at the door separating the bathroom from the bedroom. While I watch, the faint light beneath it disappears.
I tense, waiting for him to walk out.
Five minutes pass … ten minutes … and he doesn't appear.
I sit up.
What is he doing in there?
Before I can really consider the consequences, I'm out of bed and across the room. I throw the door open and hit the lightswitch. The change in light blinds me for a second and I blink a few times until my sight adjusts.
What fills my vision confuses me.
"Why are you lying on the floor?"