Chapter 30: Caught in the Act
The steam from the shower wrapped around Katy like a second skin, beading on the glass door she’d left deliberately ajar. The hot water sluiced over her shoulders, down the slopes of her augmented breasts, and she let her head fall back, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her fingers trailed over a nipple, pinching it until it peaked into a hard, aching point. She wasn’t just washing. She was performing.
Through the veil of steam and the cracked door, she saw a shadow shift in the hallway. She slowed her movements, making them more deliberate, more theatrical. She let her hand drift lower, over the flat plane of her stomach, through the slick blonde curls, until her fingers found the swollen bud beneath. A low, breathy moan escaped her, perfectly pitched to carry. She pressed her forehead against the cool tile, her hips making small, circular motions against her own touch, putting on a show she knew he couldn't tear his eyes from.
Then, the shadow moved again, quicker this time. A floorboard creaked. She turned her head just enough to see the blur of his form retreating down the hall, the hurried, almost panicked footsteps. A slow, victorious smile touched her lips. Got you.
Garrett stumbled into the guest room, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The image was seared onto the back of his eyelids: Katy, slick and wet, her back arched, her fingers working between her legs. That sound she made—it was the same sound she’d made when she was in his body, when he’d been in hers, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that now felt like a brand.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His cock was a rigid, painful line against his zipper, throbbing with a demand that clouded his thoughts. He couldn’t. She was his cousin. It was wrong. The arguments were a feeble whisper against the roaring in his blood.
He fumbled in his nightstand drawer, pulling out the silicone sleeve—the pocket pussy he’d used for weeks, the one that had felt like a cruel mockery and a necessary release all at once. He slicked it with lube, his hands shaking. He leaned back against the headboard, his jeans around his ankles, and pushed himself into the tight, yielding channel. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else, anyone else, but it was useless. His brain supplied only Katy. Katy in the shower. Katy’s hand on his cock in the kitchen. The memory of what it felt like to be inside her, a memory that wasn't even his own.
The familiar, rhythmic squelch filled the quiet room. He was close, so close, the tension coiling at the base of his spine.
The door swung open.
Katy stood there, wrapped in nothing but a thin, damp towel tucked just above her breasts. Her hair was a wet tangle down her back. Her eyes went straight to his hand, to the toy he was frantically fucking, and a look of pure, predatory understanding dawned on her face.
“Sounds like you’re having a little trouble in here,” she said, her voice a low purr. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, leaning against it.
Garrett froze, his face flushing a deep, mortified red. He yanked a pillow over his lap. “Katy, get out.”
“Why? It looks like you could use a hand. Or something better.” Her gaze was unwavering. “I know that thing can’t feel very good. Not like the real thing.”
“I said get out!” The words came out strangled, desperate.
She ignored him, her eyes dark with intent. She let the towel drop. It pooled at her feet, revealing her body, still glistening from the shower. She didn’t move toward him. Instead, she walked to the foot of the bed, never breaking eye contact, and climbed onto the mattress on her hands and knees. She was a vision of blatant, offered flesh.
Then, slowly, she turned her back to him, presenting herself. She looked over her shoulder, her expression a challenge. “You remember what it feels like, Garrett. I know you do. Because I remember.”
He was paralyzed, his mind screaming in protest while his body screamed in need.
She reached between her own legs, her fingers disappearing into her folds. “It’s so empty, Garrett. It needs to be filled. Don’t you want to fill it?”
His knuckles were white where they gripped the pillow, the tendons in his forearms standing out in sharp relief. A low, animal sound tore from his throat, part agony, part surrender. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to lunge, to take, to bury himself in the wet heat she was so blatantly offering. Her scent, clean soap and her own distinct arousal, filled the room, a taunt he could taste.
“Katy,” he gasped, her name a plea and a curse.
She watched the war play out across his face, the brutal conflict between want and conscience. His blue eyes were wide, desperate, the pupils blown black with a need so profound it looked like pain. They weren’t just refusing her; they were begging for a rescue he couldn’t articulate, for her to stop this because he couldn’t stop himself if it continued. The raw, naked pleading in his gaze was a cold splash of water on her own feverish need.
She saw it. And she relented.
In one fluid, deliberate motion, she rose from the bed and scooped her towel from the floor. The air shifted, the spell breaking as she wrapped the terrycloth around herself, shielding the very body she had just so openly displayed. The predatory gleam in her eyes softened into something more knowing, more patient.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, almost casual. “This is a bad idea.” She didn’t look at him as she walked to the door, giving him the gift of her retreat. Her hand paused on the knob. “Get some sleep, Garrett.”
She closed the door behind her with a soft, definitive click.
Garrett sat frozen, the sudden silence in the room roaring in his ears. His entire body was a live wire, his cock still painfully hard, throbbing with the interrupted promise of release. He stared at the empty space where she had been, at the faint impression her knees had left on the comforter. A shuddering breath wracked his frame, a mixture of overwhelming relief and crushing frustration.
He was safe. For now.
In the hallway, Katy leaned against the wall, a slow, secret smile spreading across her face. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his gaze on her skin. She had seen the fracture in his resolve, the precise moment his body had almost overruled his mind. He was a bowstring pulled taut, and she had just learned exactly how much tension he could bear.
He would break. It was inevitable. And when he finally did, when he came to her not as a reluctant participant but as a desperate supplicant, the victory would be so much sweeter. The prize was worth the wait.