Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,56

to the rack of towels is a thin, rectangular window. Through it, I can see the vanity in the bathroom and the mirrors hanging above it.

I imagine Holt lying on the bed in the other room. He’s probably grinning smugly, knowing I’m in here hot and naked and wishing he was with me.

He wants me too. I’m certain. I can see it when he looks at me. I can feel it in the zing of his touch and how his gaze flips to mine as if to ask if I felt it too.

I can hear it in his voice when he speaks and see it, too, in his actions.

Except that he hasn’t tried to sleep with me since the night at Picante.

I sigh.

I appreciate the conversations we’ve had and the simplicity of being with him. And how he was so kind and gentle with me tonight as I told him about the night with the glass—something I’ve never told anyone except my therapist. I love all of that. I do.

But I’d also like to be touched.

“I guess I’ll have to do that myself,” I say out loud.

My body already hums from the events of the night—from being in Holt’s midst and getting slight touches here and there. It’s maddening that he works me up with only the vaguest brush of his hand, but here I am.

I stretch my legs out in front of me. Droplets of sweat roll down my torso. Some course off my back and land on the towel; others travel all the way down my legs.

My core burns and not just from the heat.

The timer reads that I have seven more minutes to go. I could wait and take care of myself when I get back to my bedroom … or I could do it now.

My heart thunders in my chest at the prospect of getting myself off inside Holt’s sauna.

I bite my lip and bring my hands to my stomach. I part my legs. My hands slide down my abdomen, my brain conjuring up memories of what Holt’s hands felt like on my skin on the balcony.

I pant as my fingers hit the apex of my thighs, and my head falls back.

My back arches as my fingers hit the swollen bud that’s begged for relief all evening. I gasp as I rub it with my fingertip and feel my body respond.

“Dammit,” I whisper.

I take a deep breath and raise my head to check the timer again.

I freeze.

Despite the raging inferno both inside the sauna and my body, a flood of shock hits my veins in a quick, unanticipated dump.

Holt is standing in front of the window. He’s watching me with hooded eyes and a grin that I’m not sure how to read.

He jiggles the door handle.

I don’t move my body … nor do I move my hand.

The temperature increases swiftly, but I think it’s more from his heated gaze than the thermostat.

I’m not sure what to do.

He jiggles the handle again. This time, though, it’s quicker. More frantic. And I realize I have him in the position he’s had me in for days.

A knowing look flickers across his face. I smile at him.

Busted.

I touch myself again. My jaw falls open as I gasp a quick breath that’s not as dramatic as it is necessary. Every fiber of my being is screaming a different warning, a different plea as Holt’s eyes are glued to my hand.

He jiggles the handle again.

I press harder into myself, urged on by the pure desire in his eyes. The contact makes my body pulse, and his gaze is snapped up to meet mine.

“Open the door,” he says. His tone is my favorite of his. It’s confident and strong. But I’ve heard it enough to be able to pick out the underlying thread of exasperation, and that’s what I choose to act on.

I grin, biting my bottom lip. My fingertips slip across my clit. They’re aided by my sweat and how turned on I am by the intensity of Holt’s gaze.

“Open up, Blaire.”

My legs fall to the sides. “Open like that? Is that better, Holt?”

“Be sure you know what you’re doing.”

I refuse to break eye contact. If I do, he’ll know that I don’t, in fact, know exactly what I’m doing, and if I pause to think about it, I might stop.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” I ask.

He remains perfectly still. “This isn’t funny.”

“Nope. It’s not,” I say, flicking the bud again. “Ah!”

“I will take this door off the motherfucking hinges.”

“Not