32. Things We Can’t Unsee

32

THINGS WE CAN’T UNSEE

Maeve

Mmm. The day swims before my eyes, syrupy and warm. But it’s warm here, too, in this big, comfy bed. Fumbling around under the covers, I kick off a corner of the blanket…when my eyes float open.

Rude.

I’d rather be sleeping.

I glance down at my legs. Oh. I fell asleep in my clothes. My eyes are sticky and my makeup clings to me. I groan. I should change. I should brush my teeth. I should wash off my makeup.

I drag myself out of bed, half-awake. Or half-asleep. Maybe both. Definitely both. I trudge to the bathroom in the dark, a huge yawn taking over me and blocking out the world as I turn the knob.

Oh. There’s a faint light on. Just one of several in the bathroom, keeping it dimly lit.

Wait .

Did Asher come home?

When the yawn ends a century later, I turn my head and I’m hit by steam, the rhythmic sound of the shower, and the sight of…Asher under the water, eyes closed, with a very ambitious erection in his big hand.

Fully awake, I squeeze my thighs together.

I don’t move a single, solitary muscle. I roll my lips together, sealing in all my sounds, every breath.

Don’t make a noise.

I bargain with my wild heart to beat quietly. With one hand grabbing the edge of the sink, I stare shamelessly at the man behind the glass, six feet away and diagonally across the room. His back’s to me, but I can see the side view.

His powerful thighs, his muscular ass, his firm abs, and one incredibly impressive bicep, flexed nice and tight as he strokes.

It’s a deliciously lazy stroke.

Like he’s testing out the weight of his cock in his hand, and the interest of his dick in a quick ride. But the assessment doesn’t last long. In a few seconds, his dick must answer with a hell yes since Asher’s hand glides along his thick shaft with lustful purpose.

His grip tightens as he reaches the tip. My eyes pop, and I rein in a feral gasp as he squeezes it, then lets out a shuddery breath.

This is so wrong.

This is such a violation.

I should go.

I really need to leave.

Right. Now.

I’ll just turn around and go back the way I came.

And I try, I swear I try, to will my leaden feet to spin around so I can quietly slip out and pretend I never witnessed his self-care. Even though I can never unsee the hottest sight ever—Asher’s hand curling tighter around his thick shaft, traveling to the base, then to the tip again. A harsh groan shudders past his lips. Those lush, firm lips that have kissed my neck, my shoulders, my face.

I grow infinitely wetter.

My cheeks are on fire. My entire body is engulfed in flames, but I have to tear myself away. I purse my lips, pivot quietly, and valiantly, I don’t even know how, find the will to head for the door. Hand outstretched, I reach for the knob.

“Don’t you dare leave now.”

Chills erupt down my spine at the sound of his voice. The rough, carnal command in it.

“Don’t go?” I ask, in a shuddery breath, not quite turning around in case I heard him wrong over the patter of water. There’s no way he said that .

“Watch me,” Asher says in a taunt. “You know you want to.”

How does he know? Did he see me staring savagely at him? A flush crawls up my chest. I swallow, then turn around, guilty as charged. I gasp, no longer looking at his silhouette. He’s turned, and he’s wiping off the steam on the glass door with one hand. He’s shifted his stance, giving me a three-quarter view of his impressive body.

And at last, I can see all of his cock.

My thighs clench.

Sure, I felt him through his slacks, then his boxer briefs two weeks ago. I had a rough idea of the goods. But now I’m seeing it. This man is blessed. I can’t stop staring at his dick—it’s the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. It’s big, and beautiful, and my favorite color—pink .

But that’s not the real reason I’m staring. Dicks are whatever. They hang, they dangle, they sway. Mostly they get in the way.

The reason I can’t stop staring is he lowers his hand to it again and looks my way as he gives a tug, while never looking away from me. His green eyes flare with heat, a primal kind of lust. Now that he’s cleaned off the steam, he’s created a viewing area for me.

“What’s the verdict, Hartley?” he prompts, sliding that big hand down his hard-on, casting a spell on me with his cock.

I nod slowly, like he’s the puppeteer working the strings on my head. “I’ll stay for the show.”

With my yes in hand, he flashes a cocky grin that burns off in seconds. His hand slides up and down, up and down. In a slow, tantalizing rhythm. It’s impossible for me to look elsewhere. I draw a deep breath, stutter it out and keep staring, my lips parted, my eyes hungry.

“Your eyes are big, Maeve,” he says, his voice a teasing drawl now.

You’d think walking in on someone in the midst of his self-care would give you the upper hand. You’d be wrong. This man holds all the cards. There’s not a shred of embarrassment on his face. Not a single sense of embarrassment that he was caught in the act.

I only see challenge in his irises. Heat. White-hot desire.

“Are they?” I finally reply to his question about my eyes.

On a tight, firm upstroke he rasps out, “Fucking huge.”

His fist curls tighter around his cock. Strokes faster. He’s unabashedly naked. He’s shamelessly aroused. He’s mercilessly jerking off .

And I am one frayed, sparking nerve as I watch him in the dimly lit bathroom, the rainfall shower cascading over his huge frame, his hand taking a tour of his erection, over and over.

I burn from head to toe. I tingle in every cell. My bones melt. My pulse pounds. My thighs shake. I’ve never been more aroused in my life than right now as I stare at my best friend jerking off to me. At me.

I’m so soaked I could shove a hand inside my panties and fly off in one, two, three strokes. Absently, I bite my lip.

He smiles, a lazy, lopsided smile, then tips his chin. “You like the show, wife?”

A tremble takes my body hostage. “I do,” I manage to say.

“You were watching me for a while, weren’t you?” He challenges as his fist flies faster.

“A minute. Maybe more,” I say, breathlessly.

“Long enough to know what you like.”

“I like this.” But that’s a lie. This is more than like. I’m absolutely enchanted by the way his hand shuttles along his erection, by the punch of his hips, by the rippling of his muscles.

“Good,” he mutters as his dark green eyes tour my body like I’m the only one he’s ever gotten off to. “So fucking good.”

His big shoulders shake. His hand grips tighter. I’m so jealous of that hand. I want that hand to be mine. To be my mouth. To be my body.

I’m obscenely wet. My panties are a waterpark as Asher slaps his other palm on the glass shower door. “You like to watch.”

It’s a statement not a question, but still, I nod. “I do. ”

“You want me to finish?”

“Yes, please,” I say, and it’s like I’m begging.

Because I am.

With hard eyes and choppy breath, he fucks his fist. And when I say fuck, I mean fuck. His hips jerk, sharp and fast. And powerful too.

He fucks into his hand, his jaw tightening, his chest heaving, his filthy gaze locked on me.

The object of his desire.

Another pump.

His eyes squeeze shut.

One more.

Then, his whole body jerks as he tips his head back and groans a long, guttural, “Maeve.”

Did I just come in my panties?

Almost. Fucking almost.

Because that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, ever heard, ever experienced—Asher spilling his release all over his hand as he grunts my name. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to shove my hand inside my panties and rub my aching clit till I come too.

But this is a show. This is a game. This is some kind of negotiation. And the man is in charge.

I don’t know who’s supposed to make the next move in this friendship-with-benefits game we’re playing, so I wait till his breathing slows, his chest stops heaving, and he opens his eyes. He tips his chin to the door. “Go wait in bed, Maeve.”

And I fly out of there, the memory of his pleasure seared forever on my brain. Along with the question—did he want me to walk in on him? He was warned by my friends to lock the door after all.