Deviant: Calla & Jason (The Billionaire Voyeur)

CHAPTER 6 - Jason & Calla

JASON

"My turn," I say to Calla, after pretending the sight of her in a short bathrobe, her damp blond hair falling down her shoulders onto its shiny purple, didn't really move me. God, I hope I pulled it off. "You can turn away or not—I don't care."

"Of course I'll turn around," she says huffily.

She's hilarious; she sounded so indignant. Like, how dare I act as if she was so rude, she'd watch me strip to the buff? I really don't care—she can look all she wants. I'm not embarrassed about any part of my body—even when I'm not blown up to my full potential. She knows what a dick is like; she knows what happens when blood suddenly engorges it. Hell, it's accomplishment enough that I didn't get totally hard at the sight of her in the robe. I guess I wanted her to see that she didn't affect me like that so easily.

Anyway, I guess she turned away immediately—I don't look to find out. I just strip, kicking my clothes next to her own shed pile and get in that shower.

In no time, I see what took her so long—the spray feels amazing. I check out the shower head to see if it's one of those fancy massaging ones, and it looks like it is.

Plus, the smell of the soap—it's like some kind of aromatherapy. This freak who wants us to fuck isn't playing fair—everything about this section of the bathroom says, Relax...

"Are you decent yet?" she asks when I finally turn the shower off.

"No, I'm about to walk past you to grab a pair of those boxers."

I catch a glimpse of her eyes squeezed shut as I do.

I put on the boxers, which are unbelievably comfortable, by the way—better than any I've ever worn.

"Decent," I say, and I can't help a smile of delight when I see the way Calla's eyes get stuck on my shirtless chest.

After a few moments of taking in my torso, she blushes prettily and then looks away. I have to stop myself from laughing.

* * *

CALLA

Holy hell, Jason's hot. I don't recall seeing him shirtless before, but I almost drool when I see how in shape he is. 'In shape' is a bit of an understatement—his body's incredible. I knew I had to look away when I suddenly found myself wondering what it would be like to run my hands over those muscles, to feel pressed against that strong chest.

What the hell's getting into me?

I scramble into the bed in horror, turning away from Jason and that beautiful body of his to face the wall.

I try to force myself to go to sleep in order to fight off wishing and hoping Jason would slide into the bed behind me.

Oh god, I hope I don't give myself away—I hope he didn't notice how much I appreciated that unexpected sight. How embarrassing.

"You owe me a massage tomorrow," he says. "This ground is killing me."

I don't respond because I couldn't think of what to say, what would be proper.

I couldn't deny him, could I? The reason he's getting all these aches and pains is because he selflessly gave up the bed to me, but I can't imagine actually putting my hands on his tanned back and feeling those muscles I glimpsed.

Oh god, I'm getting wet. This is not good. I better figure out a way to make him less attractive, fast. I sure hope he wears those plain white T-shirts from now on.

"Can you throw down another pillow?" he asks.

There are only two pillows, and he only had one of them to help make his ground-bed comfier.

I throw down the second one, silently agreeing to have just the mattress, wrapped in that heavenly bedding. It's the least I can do.