After I clean myself off and shut the water, I turn for my towel that hangs on the glass. I freeze, noticing a shadow by the crack of the bathroom door.
I had closed that door…
Lily.
Please, no.
The bottom of my stomach falls.
The worst thing that could happen: turning on Lily Calloway while she’s supposed to be celibate.
{ 40 }
LILY CALLOWAY
He didn’t see me. He didn’t see me.
I’m a Peeping Tom. A loser who spied on her boyfriend jerking one off in the shower. A red-like rash has spread from my forehead to my toes, and I scamper into our bedroom, away from the shower, the bathroom, him…
The spot between my legs keeps clenching for his hardness.
That hardness that I just saw. I want it. In me. Now.
I didn’t even mean to look. After I put Maximoff in his crib for a nap, I had a funny thought about panda bears or maybe superpowers. I can’t even remember what it was, but I planned to share it with Lo. And as I cracked the bathroom door, I witnessed something very hot. Maybe too hot. My body is overheating in a bunch of bad-good ways.
I could have stopped looking after the first minute but…
It’s just been so long since I’ve seen Lo masturbate. Hell, it’s been so long since I’ve seen anything remotely that sexual.
OhmyGod. Was that porn? Did I just watch a Loren Hale live porno?
Oh no.
“Lily,” Lo calls, and I take the opportunity to dart into our closet. It’s not as big as the master, but it’s a walk-in. I act like I’m searching for something important. Anyway, I really do need to. Rose said she didn’t believe that Lo and I used handcuffs, and I told her that I’d find them for proof. We also wanted to compare which guy buys the better ones. I think it’s Lo. She thinks it’s Connor.
It’s yet to be proven.
“Lily?” Lo opens the closet.
“Huh?” My heart is exploding out of my chest. I can’t look at you. I focus on the long rows of black, red, and gray graphic tees that he wears. He’s concerned about me. My coping mechanisms have always been sex. And babies are stressful. Even if Moffy is a good baby—it can be a lot. The lack of sleep mixed with the temptations at night, especially as the soreness wears off.
Without sex, I turn into a paranoid person who browses the internet for trashy gossip sites and craves touch like an itch I can’t quite scratch. It’s all a mess.
I’m a mess.
But I’ve been doing my best. No sex. No penetration. No self-love.
It’s the longest I’ve been abstinent in years.
The moisture on my panties is not helping things. But I won’t take back what I saw…unless it really is porn. Then I kinda feel guilty. My elbows are burning.
“Please don’t play dumb with me,” Lo says. “Lily.” He grabs my arm and twists me around. His amber eyes rush over mine, reading where my head is at.
He has a towel wrapped low around his waist, and my eyes travel along his wet, glistening chest. The ridges in his abs, the cut of his biceps. I am picturing a fully naked body. His hand on his erection, rubbing and stroking and pleasing himself. It’s so hot that I think my brain will fry.
“Lil,” he says sternly, pinching my chin and lifting my gaze back to his eyes.
“Lo,” I reply in the same voice.
He licks his lips. Those pink lips… Kiss me. “Did you see me jerk off?” he asks.
“Yes.” I don’t deny it. I know I can’t.
He curses under his breath and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. His hair is damp, the sides shorter and the long top strands pushed back. He is drop-dead gorgeous. I’m a goner. “Lily, focus,” he says, his large hand holding my jaw. “Can you erase that image from your mind? Please?”
My lips press closed. No. I can’t. Never.
He drops his hand and steps even closer. My breath hitches. Oh my God. Slowly, he fishes my button through my jean shorts. I watch in captivation. Once he loosens them, he lowers the zipper and reaches his hand down the front of my shorts.
I hold onto his arm. Yes. Please.
He cups my panties, feeling how soaked I am. I press my head to his firm chest and let out a whimper. Please. More.
This is torture. Sheer torture. “Harder,” I whisper. It’s my own fault. I was the Peeping Tom who couldn’t walk away.
He stays still. “How long were you standing there?” he asks, practically reading my mind.
“I don’t know.”
“Lily.”
“Like three minutes.”