Beneath his penetrating stare, I rub the soap between my palms, then cup my breasts, spreading the suds across them. The heat in his eyes deepens, and his nostrils flare. I can see the outline of his hard cock in his shorts. At some point, he must’ve readjusted, so it’s tucked in the band, and I’m disappointed by that.
“Concentrati, Sawyer,” he demands, his voice laden with desire. Concentrate. I can interpret that command.
Biting my bottom lip, I move my hands down my stomach, across my hips, and over my ass cheeks. He tracks every move religiously, as if the secrets to the universe will appear within the suds coating my skin.
Holding my breath, I watch him closely as I glide a hand toward my pussy. The muscle in his jaw pops, his teeth clenched tightly together. I brush my pointer finger across my clit, a tiny moan slipping free. His eyes rocket to mine.
“Attenta, bella. You shouldn't strain yourself with a head injury.”
“It doesn't take much to make myself come,” I say. “It's you who has to work for it.”
A thick brow rises, the challenge sparking his hazel pools.
“Is that so?” he croons. “Let's see it then.”
I hesitate, uncertainty beginning to taint the desire.
Enzo has probably seen me from every angle possible, yet all I can feel is an utter embarrassment at the thought of doing something so intimate. Maybe because the relationship between us has been built on cruelty from both sides, and so easily, he could use this as another opportunity to hurt me.
“My head is really hurting, I'm not in the mood,” I lie, turning away. My head does hurt, but I’m definitely in the mood. Or at least I was until I ruined it.
”Is that a lie, Sawyer?”
Shit. I don't know why I thought I could get away with that. Maybe because most people would take my word for it, considering I just suffered a head injury.
“Finish up,” he snaps, pushing off the wall and storming out of the room. I close my eyes in defeat, angry with myself for defaulting to the one thing he despises most. It's a habit. One I haven't figured out how to break yet.
Feeling dejected, I finish washing the rest of my body, then wrap myself in the tiniest towel I’ve ever seen. It might as well be a goddamn hand towel. My hair is still dripping wet, too sore to do much more than squeeze the excess water out as best I can.
When I enter the room, I find Enzo sitting on the edge of the bed, facing me with his elbows on his spread knees, fingers linked, and head bowed.
Hearing my arrival, he lifts his head, and I’m a little stunned to find his stare no less intense than it was in the bathroom. If anything, it's only strengthened.
I stop short, nearly wheezing from the sight. It feels as if I can hardly expand my lungs past the size of a strand of hair. His mouth is pulled into a slight frown, and his thick brows are low over his eyes. He appears angry, sure, but when doesn’t he? He’s looked this way every time he’s been inside me, and this time… this time is no different.
“Do you think you’d still lie to me if I knew that you were?” he asks quietly, his tone inquisitive but lethal. Like a hitman asking if you’re ready to die now.
I roll my lips, contemplating how I’m supposed to answer that. I don’t always want to lie, it just comes easiest. It’s a better alternative than confrontation.
“What do you mean?” I ask finally.
His eyes trace the top of the towel where I clutch it tightly against my chest, down the middle, and to the bottom where it barely covers me. The towel doesn’t even fall past my ass entirely, but I guess I can’t be surprised Sylvester doesn’t own Egyptian cotton extra-large towels.
Shivering beneath his probing stare, I clench my thighs tighter, hoping to conceal myself further and abate the incessant need pulsating in my clit.
It only draws his attention.
“I mean,” he starts slowly. “If I knew exactly when you were lying every time you did it, do you think you would continue to do it?”
I shrug, but I instantly regret it. It only served to lift the baby napkin around my body higher. Again, his attention is ensnared on my clenched thighs.
“I’m not very brave,” I confess, and with great hesitation, he lifts his eyes to mine once more.
“I’m a coward,” I tell him, my chest tightening from the truth of it. “Running and hiding is easier. Sometimes, I will say and do anything to get someone to turn their attention away from me. It feels safer that way. Confrontation… it’s never led to anything good.”
He doesn’t respond, but he does seem to be listening.