I give into the impulse.

It feels right.

“I only have so much control, Princess,” he groans, grabbing hold of my wrists and pulling them off his chest.

I bite my lip, attempting to hide my smile.

The man lets go of me and moves toward the large glass shower. Opening the

door, he leans in, and with a long arm turns the knobs until the rain-like showerhead is spraying down from overhead. It is a hell of a lot nicer than the shower they’ve been making me use since I arrived.

My smile slips as my thoughts wander back to my grim reality.

The man turns back around and motions me forward. I move toward him obediently, needing to feel closer to him.

When I’m within touching distance, he snakes his arm around my waist and

pulls me against his solid frame. Sturdy and safe, I can no longer deny that I want to take refuge in this man’s arms.

Cupping my cheek, he tilts my face up so I’m looking into his melted caramel eyes. I let my body fall into his as he touches his lips ever so lightly to my own. I blink up at him, unsure if I’ve imagined the gentleness of his feather-light kiss.

Pressed against him, the hairs on his chest scratch by breasts, sending tingles of pleasure through me. Reaching out, I place my hands on his hips, anchoring

myself as I feel my body responding to his.

“Check the temperature to make sure it’s comfortable,” the man tells me, moving out of the way and reaching down to begin undoing his belt buckle.

The thought of his naked body fills me with nervous excitement, so I quickly

turn and step into the shower.

The steaming spray engulfs me, and my muscles have no choice but to relax

under the constant battering. Standing there, I let myself drown in the deluge.

For a moment I forget everything and enjoy the sensation.

I’m startled back into the present as the man steps into the shower behind me, the glass door rattling and then clicking closed. The thick steam combined with his solid presence in such a small space suddenly becomes oppressive.

“Relax.” He grips my arms and slowly turns me to face him.

Now faced with a very naked wet man I attempt to step back, but his fingers

dig into my arms, holding me in place.

I stare.

I have never been this close to a naked man before; unless there was a computer screen between us. This man is unlike any I have seen. The perfectly waxed, shaved, and bronzed male models; with their clipped pubic hair and perfectly tanned skin are nothing like him.

I continue to stare.

I can’t help but smile at the sight of his tan lines banding around his thighs and waist. The dark hair around his broad half-erect penis stands out even more against the pale skin the sun hasn’t reached. I have this insane desire to reach out and touch him, to feel the smooth hardness in my palm.

“It’s not going to do anything I don’t let it.”

“What?” I look up at him confused.

“My cock. It’s not suddenly going to leap out and attack,” he teases with a

slight grin.

“Oh,” I say, unsure of how else to reply.

Should I comment on the size and say “It’s big” or “I’ve never seen one like

that.” I bite my lip and stay silent, deciding to let him make the next move.

I don’t have to wait long before he’s wrapping an arm around my waist and

pulling me in close, pressing his lips to mine. I respond, relaxing under the now familiar taste and feel of this man’s kiss.

I find myself reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him, while one of his hands cups the back of my head and pulls me—if at all possible—closer. I’m jarred back to reality when I feel his thick erection pressing against my hip. Pulling out of the kiss, my body is kept in place by the tight hold he has on me.

For the first time, I notice his long lashes are now wet spikes, adding to the intensity of his golden eyes. Effortlessly he spins us around so that he is now in front of the sprayer.

Releasing me, he takes a half-a-step back, moving fully underneath the showerhead. The man reaches up and pushes back his hair, letting the spray hit his face. I watch as the droplets slide down his chest, catching in the tuffs of hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles over the spray, bending down to grab a small washcloth and a tiny unwrapped bar of bland smelling hotel soap from the shower ledge. The man briefly runs them both under the spray, wetting the two items, before vigorously rubbing them together. Once he is satisfied, he turns toward me. “Spread your legs.”

I widen my stance slightly, nervous.

“Further,” he commands, stepping even closer.

As I inch my feet apart, I have a good idea where he plans on using that washcloth, and the thought of him rubbing the rough fabric against my sex excites me.

“Use my shoulders to steady yourself.” The man squats down in front of me.

I flush in embarrassment and rock backward as his face becomes level with

my crotch.

“Hold still,” he admonishes, palming my ass and pulling me back toward him.

It’s one thing to have him touching me, another for him to be staring directly at my bald and ugly hoohah and flabby thighs. I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me I should have used her old Thighmaster.

Starting with my inner thighs, he runs the sudsy washcloth roughly against

my skin before running it between my legs in the same vigorous manner. I hold my breath, suppressing a moan as his motions press against my clit. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and can’t control my hips as they rock against his palm. All too soon he stops, leaving me aching for more.