The flavor of her slick folds still lingered in his memory, haunting him. Thorpe had discovered in Vegas that when he wanted to make himself unbearably hard and so horny that jacking off eased none of his restless edge, he thought of that. And he thought of how she’d looked as she came for him.
Suddenly, she groaned, and he yanked his thoughts from his daydream. Thorpe peered closer, visually penetrating the steam to find that she had her hand between her legs, slowly rubbing her clit. Even through the fogged-up shower door, he could see her skin flushing, her nipples peaking. Her breasts rose, then her shoulders fell. She leaned against the white fiberglass of the stall and spread her legs wider with another little moan.
He nearly fucking lost it.
“Callie, you don’t have permission for that.”
Her sultry eyes fluttered open again, not quite focused. “Why do you care?”
Goddamn it, she was goading him. He couldn’t fuck or discipline Callie when he was alone with her. Yes, he had once been willing to cross Sean when he’d thought the fed was a dangerous player. Now? He scrubbed a hand down his face, sweating. But he couldn’t stab Sean in the back. They had an agreement, and he’d live up to his part.
“Neither of us said you could self-pleasure.”
“Sean didn’t tell me I couldn’t. And according to you, we’re back to being just friends. I don’t ask my pals for permission to masturbate.” She sent him a sly smile. “Oh, I also don’t shower in front of my buddies, but here you are.”
Fucking son of a bitch. She was right—not about masturbating. That was something every sub understood was a no-no without their Dom’s permission. But he couldn’t claim to be just her friend, then oversee her shower with sick, voyeuristic glee. Or make love to her later, even with Sean, and claim that it didn’t mean a thing.
Her soft moans lengthened, deepened. Thorpe couldn’t take his eyes off her as she dragged her fingers over her clit in slow, sensual circles. Water poured down her skin. Her breathing roughened. Her nipples beaded even harder. Hell, he was going to lose his ever-loving mind. If he had the right, he’d give Callie the paddling of her life. Then the fucking to match.
Since he couldn’t, Thorpe absolutely refused to endure this torment a minute more.
He yanked open the clear, rigid door between them, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her out. Her drenched form brushed his chest, instantly soaking his clothes and skin. As he dragged her near, he couldn’t miss her dilated blue eyes flaring. Or her rosy cheeks. Her lips were so fucking tempting, parted and red and too damn close to his own.
Swallowing down his lust, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall. “You’re done teasing me like this.”
“What? I’m just relieving tension. It’s been a crappy couple of days.” She arched her hips toward his aching cock. “Don’t mind me, friend.”
Her swollen, saturated cunt brushed against his dick. A half-groan, half-growl tore from his throat.
When the hell had he ever wanted a woman even half this much?
Thorpe knew the answer. It wasn’t comforting.
“You’ve been incredibly naughty. Topping from the bottom. Self-pleasuring without permission. Lying to me.”
“Like you lied to me about merely being friends?” she challenged, brow raised. “What are you going to do about it?”
Damn it, Callie was asking for it. Begging. He slammed the bathroom door, enclosing them together in the tiny space. The move was risky, but the only way he could open the cabinet doors. Finally, he reached inside and fished out a bath towel, then wrapped it around her, covering some of her delectable nakedness. Not enough, obviously, because he still wanted to fuck her into next week, but this was the best he could do now.
Focusing on her freshly scrubbed face, he knotted the white terry cloth just above her breasts, then yanked on it. “Let’s go.”
She dug in her heels. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you get discipline.”
Thorpe lifted her and dragged her against his chest. Because Callie was Callie, she resisted him with everything she had, fighting like a hellcat. Against him, she smelled clean and womanly, and as he passed by the bed, he gnashed his teeth to keep from throwing her on the softly rumpled sheets and taking her in every way he knew how.
Instead, he dragged her toward the galley, fighting off her claws and kicks to the shin.
He squeezed her tight against his body. “You have a Dom who loves you and you’re taunting me to take something I shouldn’t.”
“It’s not like that. Stop manhandling me.” She gritted her teeth and squirmed for freedom, succeeding mostly in mashing her breasts to his chest.
Thorpe dug his fingers into her hair and tugged, stilling her. She was going to get the spanking she deserved. Maybe, if the gods looked down on him, Sean would let him dish it out. And if he was more sexually frustrated than indignant on the other man’s behalf, well . . . Callie didn’t need to know that.
Once they reached the galley, Thorpe tossed her into the room, trapping her between his body and the small faux wood table attached to the wall. In front of the utilitarian stove, Sean looked up with a spatula in his hand, now wearing trousers, and staring at them with a questioning expression.
“Callie needs discipline,” Thorpe spit out.
“Does she?”
He shoved down his frustration that he had to explain himself. Couldn’t they just get to the part where Sean tugged the towel off of Callie’s naked body and smacked her lush, damp ass with his hand so he could see her breasts sway and her face flush, watch the shock of the sting become unbearable arousal and . . .
Thorpe swallowed hard. “She tried to give herself an orgasm in the shower.”
Sean slanted his gaze to Callie, then back again. “Oh?”
“Yes, knowing full well that I watched her.” He closed in on her, trying not to notice how soft her damp body was or how well she fit against him.
He hoped to hell that he and Sean would fuck Callie soon. Maybe once would be enough to satisfy this clawing hunger bleeding his self-control dry. Maybe . . . but highly doubtful.
To his surprise, Sean merely looked down at whatever was in the pan in front of him and began working with his spatula.
“Don’t you get it?” Thorpe questioned indignantly. “Subs are not supposed to touch themselves without explicit permission.”
“I’m aware,” Sean said calmly, flipping over some egg concoction, not seeming at all ruffled.
“Callie was topping from the bottom, doing her damn best to entice me when she was supposed to be getting clean.”
“Hmm . . .” Sean mused, salting the omelet.
How could the fed not be pissed off at that? He’d never struck Thorpe as stupid, but suddenly he was rethinking Sean’s IQ.
Thorpe tossed his hands in the air. “She kept stroking herself even after I told her to stop. She completely disregarded me.”
Sean smiled faintly. “Minx.”
“And? We’ve got to be firm with her. She needs it or she’ll run all over us.” Thorpe felt ready to burst a blood vessel.
Sean reached for the pepper and shook some on top of the eggs. Thorpe had to restrain the urge to throw the pan against the fucking wall. How could Sean be so damn calm? If he wasn’t going to act, this co-topping crap was never going to work.
“Lovely?” Sean turned her way.
“Yes?” She sounded oddly quiet. In fact, it struck Thorpe as unusual that she hadn’t said a word since he’d dragged her into the galley.
“According to Thorpe, you need discipline quite badly.”
She bit into her plump lower lip, and Thorpe had to look away. Water dripped from her hair, down her pale, graceful shoulders, disappearing into the cleavage visible above her towel, now slowly unknotting and inching down her breasts.