POV: Marcus
I sit in that car for another full minute after she falls asleep.
Jeans unzipped. c**k pulsing. Jaw clenched like I’m holding back a scream.
I don’t move. I can’t. The image of her—skin flushed, breath ragged, fingers buried between her thighs—burns behind my eyelids every time I blink.
She said my name.
She touched herself to the thought of me.
I grip the steering wheel again. Force my zipper up with a hiss. It hurts, containing the ache in my jeans, but I have to. If I let myself do this here, right across the street from her window, I’ll cross a line I won’t come back from.
I already watched.
I already wanted.
And now I’m soaked in it.
By the time I get home—an hour later, through traffic and tight fists and every ounce of self-control I have—I don’t even turn on t
