I Paid a Stranger Fifteen Hundred Dollars to Be My Boyfriend for My Father's Birthday Weekend, and He Obeyed Every Order I Gave novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Don't Touch Me Yet

He was standing under the water with both hands flat on the white tile and his head bowed when I opened the shower door.

I'd given him five minutes and taken ten.

I'd stood at the bathroom mirror in the steam with my heart going, looking at the woman in the glass.

She looked like she'd been up all night.

She looked like she planned to be up all the next one.

I stepped in and shut the door behind me.

Hot water hit my shoulders and ran down my back.

He didn't turn around.

"I'm here," I said.

"I know."

"Don't turn around."

"I won't."

The shower was big, tiled in white to the ceiling, with a bench in the corner and a window of frosted glass.

Water ran down his back in sheets, over the scar under his ribs and the muscles of his shoulders.

It dripped from the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

I ran my eyes down the whole length of him and took my time.

I had never looked at a man for as long as I liked.

Nobody had ever stood still for it.

"Hands on the wall," I said. "Higher. Spread your arms."

His arms went up, and the long line of his body stretched out against the tile.

I picked up the soap.

It smelled of lavender, which my mother's rental company must have thought was relaxing.

I rubbed it between my palms until I had a heavy lather, and then I put both hands on his shoulders.

I felt him shudder.

"Not a word," I said.

I washed his back.

I took my time over every muscle, my thumbs sliding down either side of his spine.

I ran my palms over his ribs, and he made a low sound in his chest that echoed off the tile.

I washed the backs of his arms and the back of his neck.

I leaned my forehead between his shoulder blades and kissed the wet skin there, and his whole body went tight.

I reached around his waist, slowly, and flattened my hand against his stomach.

"Don't move," I said.

"I'm not."

"I'm going to touch you now."

"Please."

"Say please again."

"Please, Jodi."

I wrapped my soapy hand around his cock.

He was rock hard and hot and slick, and he jerked in my fist.

He dropped his head against the tile with a groan I felt in my own chest.

I stroked him once, the whole length, root to head.

I stroked him again, even slower, my thumb sliding across the tip.

"Jodi."

"Hands on the wall."

"They are."

"Keep them there."

I worked him in long, tight, patient strokes, my other hand sliding up his chest, my mouth on his shoulder.

His hips began to move into my hand.

"No," I said.

He stopped.

"Not until I say."

"Not until you say."

"Good."

I felt him swallow.

I felt his thighs tremble against mine.

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