The air was thick with the silent tension of my fury.
The accidental brush of his erection against my thigh had been the final indignity, and my mind, my careful, ordered mind, demanded a resolution. He was not going to satisfy himself on his own; that much was obvious. The only way to move on with the night was to take control of this situation as well.
"Don't just sit there," I said, my voice flat.
"If you're not going to do it, I will. This can't go on all night."
I reached for the bar of soap, my movements sharp and efficient. His body, still hunched over, was a study in defeat. I started by scrubbing at his chest, my hands moving in precise circular motions over his nipples, working the grime from his skin. The heat of the water mingled with the scent of soap and the faint, lingering odor of his arousal.
