What was wrong with him?
He strode straight to the bedroom, his head everywhere but where it needed to be, and without paying as much attention as he needed to, he shut the door only halfway. He didn’t bother shutting the bathroom door. Although he was acutely aware of Marin’s presence, he was a both a bachelor and a creature of habit.
While the smart thing to do would have been to take a cold shower, he knew that would help for only as long as he was in the shower, so he adjusted the temperature so that it was like warm silk flowing across his skin. The crisscrossing sprays washed away the sweat as he leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes.
His cock pulsed and ached, so heavy between his thighs, it was a miracle he’d even been able to walk down the hall without hobbling. The past few days, dreams of Marin had taken up his nights, and now it looked like they were going to start taking over his days, too.
Maybe he’d just given up one addiction for another.
She could be just as soul-destroying as the alcohol, but Sebastien had gotten his need for her under control before.
He had just had to . . .
“Fuck.”
Swearing, he closed his hand around his cock and stroked. Up, then down. The mind-consuming lust was burning through his veins now, so hot, he thought he wouldn’t have been surprised if the water pounding down on him had turned to steam the second it hit his flesh.
His balls drew tight against his flesh as he dragged his hand down again and again.
The water made it easy, taking away any friction until it was just heat and wet and his fist—and the fantasy of having Marin in here with him.
Better yet, stretched out beneath like before—
He groaned. “Dreams, man. Just dreams.”
He imagined having her on the couch, how she’d look, her neat curls as he spread them with his thumb just before he licked the taste of her away. She’d make a hot little mewling sound when he drove inside. She’d be just as wet as the water, silken and soft, and when he made her come, she’d shiver and clench tight around him, gasping out his name.
“Fuck!” He twisted his wrist, jerking faster while his breaths came in harsher, broken pants.
Semen jetted out of him and he groaned roughly, some of the tension draining out of him, just as the water washed the evidence of this vicious need straight down the drain. His hand fell slack to his side and he stood there a moment, eyes closed as the water beat at him.
“What the hell,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes.
Just in time to see Marin turning on her heel and disappearing.
***
Shit.
Marin stood in front of the freezer, the door open, hoping it would chill her very much overheated body.
Shit.
The phone lay on the counter behind her and she could only imagine what Denise might be thinking. She’d given Sebastien’s mother a weak, “He’ll call you back” after she’d gotten an eyeful of him in the shower.
Not just an eyeful, either.
But a few weeks—months—worth of fantasy material.
He’d stood there, back against the tiled wall, eyes closed. The shower enclosure was clear, the tiles at his back a smooth, dark brown. Water had jetted down on him and the glass had to have been treated because it did not fog, did nothing to obscure her gaze as he stroked his cock up, then down. Up, then down.
She’d stood there frozen for a good thirty seconds and she might have stood there forever, completely entranced—or at least until he noticed her—if it hadn’t been for Denise’s voice piercing the bubble of heat that had wrapped around her. “Marin? Is he too . . . busy?”
Marin took that to mean drunk now that she was thinking about it, but she’d hurried out into the hall before she’d answered. Her voice had been husky and rough. “He’s in the bathroom, I think. Taking a shower. I just got here after he was finishing a run.”
And I just watched him while he . . . he . . . her mind went on a slow, spiraling meltdown as she contemplated what she might have said if Denise had pushed the issue.
Not that Denise did. She never pushed any issue. She just . . . waited. She waited things out until almost all five of her kids—plus the girls she’d all but adopted as her own during her years bringing Zach to and from a TV set—spilled their guts to her. Both Abigale and Marin adored Denise.
But Denise hadn’t pushed.
She’d just asked that Marin let Sebastien know she’d called.
Now Marin was trying to cool down.
Realizing she’d been freezing her lungs—and her arms and nipples—for nothing, she slammed the freezer door shut and spun around. With her hands braced on the island’s surface, she sucked in a breath.
She was still dying inside and desperate for more of Sebastien Barnes.
Her skin pricked, giving her a microscopic warning that he was approaching and it was Marin’s personal opinion that she deserved the award of a lifetime for how casually she handled his appearance in the kitchen.