Page 94 of Proposal Play
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 spinaround 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 saidthat.
“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.