Now we were getting on more solid ground. Arguing I can do, especially when I have the evidence to back me up. “We are married, I’ll have you know, and yes, that’s true, married people do those things. But when we did those things we weren’t yet married, so technically it was never consummated. And right now, I’m engaged to be married to someone else so…” I wanted to finish that sentence with a threat, with a demand for propriety, but the words wouldn’t pass my lips. They would have been lies and I’d already told enough lies for one day.
“So … what? You’re engaged, so I should leave?”
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. It was easier when he said the words and I just had to agree. Chicken shit.
“And I shouldn’t get any closer to the shower, right?” His voice wasn’t coming from the sink area anymore. Without hearing his footsteps, I knew he was standing just on the other side of the curtain from me. My nipples ached with the knowledge that he was just an arm’s length away from touching me.
“No,” I said in a half-whisper. “You shouldn’t get any closer.”
“And I shouldn’t take my clothes off and get in there with you, I suppose.”
“Not under any circumstances,” I said, breathing heavily, proud that my words were finally serving me again, but ashamed to admit that I was hoping he’d ignore them. I was a bad person. Everything my mother’s boyfriend had predicted for me was coming true. Liar. Slut.
He didn’t respond. I waited several seconds for his next teasing comment, but it didn’t come.
“Mack? Are you still there?”
The curtain flew back, and I screamed in shock.
“Ahh! Oh my … holy shit!” I crossed my arms over my body in several different formations, doing everything I could to shield myself. “What are you doing, you maniac?!”
He was standing there in the middle of the bathroom completely naked, his cock like a missile pointing right at me.
He grinned big. “I’m getting in the shower with my alleged wife.” He stepped in next to me, crowding me into the heavy stream of water.
“You…!” The water was bubbling out of my mouth, making me sound like a crazy mermaid. I brushed it away while I tried to argue. “You can’t come in here! I’m naked!”
“Yes, you are,” he said, closing the curtain behind him. Then he turned to me and put a hand on my waist.
I slapped it away. “Don’t touch me or I’ll scream!” I could have pushed the curtain to the side and stepped out. I could have kicked him or thrown soap into his eyes. There were any number of other ways I could have escaped his grasp, but I didn’t do any of them. I just stood there with the water running over my head, face, and shoulders as he moved in closer, hoping he would touch me again. It was wrong, wrong, wrong to be here with him and be wanting this, but denying it was ridiculous. Emotions this strong are impossible to deny.
“Screaming could be fun. If you really, really want me to stop touching you, I will. I swear it.” He put his other hand on my other hip, his fingers digging in and encouraging me towards him. “But if you want me to keep touching you, all you have to do is say please, and it’ll be done. I’ll touch you all night. All you have to do is ask.” He didn’t smile. He was making me a promise, that much was clear.
We were close enough that his erection was poking me in the stomach. He shifted to make it rest sideways against my stomach and pulled me even closer.
I was too stunned to speak. Some of the soap was still on my skin, and his hands had gathered some of it. His fingers were sliding up my back and down to my ass, massaging my skin with heavy, commanding strokes. A hot wetness come from inside me to lubricate my folds, almost like a release, as if from the moment I’d laid eyes on him today, the passion had been waiting to be unleashed.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said in a hoarse whisper, staring at the hair that was growing damp around his face and curling at the ends.
“Why?” he asked, bending his head down to lick my ear. With just that simple touch, goosebumps came up again, all down that side of my body.
“Because…,” I said into his chest, my hands leaving their protective positions and dropping to rest on his upper arms, “…I’m engaged.” To a man I don’t care enough about, apparently. I’m a terrible person.
He yanked me up against him roughly, his cock pressing against my abdomen. “No, you’re not,” he growled into my neck. “You’re married. To me. We came first, not him.”
His biceps flexed heavily under my fingers. They were bigger than I remembered. Thicker. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with your husband,” he insisted.
I moaned, unable to stop the sound from coming out. He was offering me forgiveness even though it wasn’t his to give, and I was letting it influence me anyway.
His lips went from my ear to my mouth, leaving a trail of kisses on the way. I moved my mouth towards his eagerly, hungrily, more than ready and willing to feel his lips on mine. But just as they were about to meet, he pulled away. We were touching at the waist, but his torso was leaning back now, leaving my breasts alone and heavy, the nipples aching to be sucked and rolled between his fingers.
He just stood there staring down at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m waiting for you to say the word.”
My nostrils flared and my chin came out mutinously. “No.” I pushed on his chest, but he didn’t move.
“No, what?”