mine as his warm breath tickles my nose.

“Okay,” I answer breathlessly. I am not about to give him

the satisfaction of knowing how, beyond the initial feelings of

uncomfortableness, sex with him had been amazing—the stuff of fantasies.

“Oh, Princess, I think we both know it was better than that,” he chuckles, rolling us onto our sides and holding our connection in place. “You were fucking amazing.”

The hand behind my head pulls me into a gentle, thorough kiss. I open my

mouth in invitation; the taste of this man is becoming an addiction. Wrapping my arm around his neck, I pull myself closer, wanting to feel the connection with him all over again, just as his cock is slipping out from between my legs.

I did not know what I expected from this man, but him as a cuddler after sex

never crossed my mind. I had assumed, wrongly, when we finished, he would pull out roughly, jump off the bed, and leave.

There had been no time for me to fantasize about what it could be like between us if things were different, but this is what I would have dreamed up.

Being with this man was pretty much perfect.

“Let’s go get cleaned up,” he says, breaking the kiss and pulling his head back to meet my eyes.

We both slowly rise from the bed. The man takes hold of my hand as we

make our way to the bathroom.

“They never give you enough fucking towels,” he mutters in annoyance, opening the shower door and turning it on. “Stay in here.”

The man leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Wrapping my arms around my chest for warmth, I move over toward the door and try and listen. He’s picked up the phone and is speaking fucking Mandarin into it.

He slams it down onto its receiver, and I quickly scurry over toward the closed toilet seat and sit down, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” he says, walking back into the bathroom.

Unfolding myself, I take his offered hand and walk into the steaming hot water.

Once inside, I shiver as it hits my chilled skin.

The man pulls me against his chest and rubs my back gently. “Are you warming up?”

“Yes,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting myself enjoy

the warmth and comfort of being in his arms. I can hate myself later for it, right now I’m going to take full advantage of the man I have in front of me. That includes giving into the gentle, sweet side that keeps appearing.

“Good.” He steps away and grabs the bar of soap. “Let’s get you cleaned up.

Spread your legs, Princess.”

Biting my lip, I widen my stance. This is the man who has touched, tasted,

watched , and fucked me, but for some insane reason, I feel nervous—shy.

“Good girl,” he whispers, crouching down in front of me and roughly beginning to run his soapy hands up and down my legs. I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself. There is no seduction in his touch when he reaches the apex of my thighs and runs a hand between my legs.

Once he’s satisfied with my cleanliness, he stands and begins cleaning himself. The words offering to do it for him are on my lips, but I can’t seem to bring myself to utter them. That seems a step beyond into utter madness. I should want nothing to do with this man, not be fantasizing about stroking his cock and balls, feeling the weight of them in my hand. Fucking insanity. I shake my head and begin rinsing my hair while I wait for him to finish.

“Now, it’s time for a warm bath,” the man says, stepping out of the shower

and turning on the bath’s taps.

How many times are we going to shower and bathe? I don’t think I have ever been this clean!

“Get in,” he tells me, taking my hand and helping me step over the ledge of

the tub. “Sit and relax. The hot water will be good for your cunt.”

“Okay,” I say, sinking deeper into the water, letting the warmth cover and relax me. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. The warm water feels good against my tender skin.

I hear a loud knock on the bathroom door, and I jump. My heart begins beating faster, and I reach up to grab his hand. This man’s presence is no longer frightening, but reassuring.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” he growls, crouching down and kissing my temple

gently. “They’re just here to strip the bed and deliver more towels.”

“Sir?” I breathe out.

“You’re not getting rid of me,” he states, fisting the back of my hair and pulling me into a rough, possessive kiss. “Stay in here until they leave.”

He rises and leaves the bathroom, his loud, demanding voice carrying through the door.

I sink back and let the hot water slowly envelop me as the tub continues to

fill. For the first time since the man entered the room this evening, I truly let my mind wander, trying to puzzle out his conflicting behavior.

On the one hand, he’s sweet and gentle, on the other, he’s gruff and coarse.

He scares me, but I’m not afraid of him. I know he would never physically hurt me. Yet his gruffness and anger can be unsettling at times.

Then there is the sex. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I willingly slept with this man, that I asked him to have sex with me. Not only that, but that I enjoyed nearly every second of it. Despite my initial nervousness, having him watch me masturbate was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done. I still can’t believe I went along with it. Or how much it turned me on.

There is movement coming from the other room, followed by the low

murmur of voices; it is punctuated by the man’s impatient response, all of which I cannot understand. Sinking lower into the tub, I tune out my surroundings and

focus on what just occurred between the man and me.

How it had felt to touch him, to have him watch me, taste me, touch me, fuck