Make Me Pretty by Marie Ann

Author:Marie Ann [Ann, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

The tell-tale sound of water rushing from the bathroom makes my ears prick. My bag slides off my shoulder, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud as my feet take me closer to the noise.

Standing in front of the bathroom door, I lean against the wood. Water splashes against the basin, the curtain. A low hum permeates through the echoes—and it’s that noise that has me trying the doorknob, but it rattles, not budging against the lock.

Sliding my tongue across my teeth, I shove off to grab a butter knife from the kitchen. With it in hand, I easily wedge the thin metal between the latch and the door frame, watching as the latch pops free, and the door creaks open.

Steam creeps through the crack as I step inside, quietly shutting it behind me. It fogs the mirror, billowing up from the opaque, glass door. It dampens my skin instantly. I draw in my lips in contemplation.

Pocketing the knife, I rest my hip against the counter of the vanity, hands gripping the edge as I stare through to the shadowed form just on the other side of that glass. Something bumps my palm, and I flick my gaze down to find a pink lighter.

My brow arches as I glide a finger over it, finding it slightly warm to the touch. My lips twitch. Him and the color pink, I fucking swear.

Abel isn’t conventionally flamboyant—he’s too ugly, too rough for that. Truly a ropy foster kid in those regards. But it’s like he chooses certain things to reflect back to the world that he isn’t what everyone says he is—unabashedly sexual, always donning what I presume is his favorite color, impervious to any and all opinions people may have of who he is.

And it’s… compelling.

How does he just… not care?

With one last tap against the smooth surface, I turn away from the lighter and the thoughts of whatever the fuck he’s doing with it to cross my arms over my chest and listen to the sounds Abel makes as he cleans himself. How thorough he’s being if the curve of his arm is any indication.

Jesus fuck.

My head rolls between my shoulders, eyelids falling to half-mast imagining his long, spindly fingers shoved inside his hole, all the while watching his shadow move. His other arm jerks, creating a rhythmic splash of water against the foot of the tub.

Knowing he’s getting himself off, right now, right in front of me, has flashes of his little cock jerking beneath my foot burning through me, and my teeth latch onto my tongue to keep noises locked in.

My blood coagulates in my veins. Everything—hate and desire and need—has propelled its way to the surface, becoming impossible to ignore when we’re in the same vicinity. Skimming along my flesh, fire licking gasoline, burning brighter and hotter with each passing second.

My skin grows damp from the steam, beads of moisture trickling down my temples and my spine, making me itch. The movement of his arm speeds up. Water spits at his feet with ferocity, making my dick lurch.

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