I slipped into the suite, moving with the silence of a shadow. The room was heavy with the scent of our night together—a lingering mix of her perfume and the cool air from the cracked balcony door.

I looked at the bed, and my heart slowed. Sasha hadn't moved; she was a golden silhouette against the white silk, her breathing deep and rhythmic, her hair a chaotic halo on the pillow.

​I walked to the nightstand and picked up the note I'd left her.

Business called. Stay put. You're mine. - D

I stared at the words for a second. They belonged to the man who had walked out an hour ago. I tore the paper into tiny, silent fragments, letting them flutter into the wastebasket like confetti from a war I'd already won. There was no need for her to know I was ever gone.

​I turned and moved toward the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I went. My skin felt tight, humming with the residual adrenaline of the night and the scent of Monet's expensive tobacco and sweat.

​I stepped into the massive marble shower and turned the water on cold. I leaned my forehead against the tiles, letting the icy spray wash away the smell of the penthouse floor. I needed to rinse off the grime of the power play before I climbed back into bed with the only person in this city who actually seemed to love me.

​The steam began to rise, blurring the mirrors. Outside that door, the sun was hitting the Hollywood sign, and by noon, the industry would wake up to a new reality. But for now, in the cold water, I was just a man getting ready to hold his girl.

The steam was just beginning to swirl around the marble stalls when the bathroom door creaked open. I turned, and there she was.

​Sasha stood in the doorway, framed by the morning light, completely and breathtakingly naked. In the soft, early glow, her body was a masterpiece of soft curves and golden skin. Her breasts were full and firm, the tips brown and puckered from the sudden chill of the room, and the gentle swell of her hips led down to legs that seemed to go on forever. She looked soft, sleepy, and incredibly edible—the kind of "morning messy" that was a thousand times sexier than any red-carpet look.

​She leaned against the doorframe, a playful, drowsy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes, still heavy with the remnants of sleep, trailed down my body.

​"Starting without me?" she murmured, her voice a low, bedroom rasp that sent a jolt straight to my gut. "That's not very fair, Druski."

​"I didn't want to disturb you, baby," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I watched her step closer. "You looked too peaceful to wake up."

​She walked right into the spray, the water glistening off her shoulders and dancing down the small of her back. She stepped into my space, her warm, soft skin pressing against my chest, making the cold water feel like a distant memory. She reached up, her wet fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my face down toward hers.

​"Well, I'm awake now," she whispered, her breath hot against my lips. "And I'm thinking you might need some company washing. I wouldn't want you to miss a spot."

​She grabbed the soap, her eyes locking onto mine with a look that was half-innocent and half-starved.

Sasha stepped fully under the spray, the water turning her skin into a shimmering landscape of gold and honey. She took the bar of soap, lathering it between her palms until a thick, white foam built up. Her eyes never left mine as she reached out, pressing her slick palms against my chest.

​She moved with an agonizing slowness, her hands circling over my pecs and down my abdomen, the friction of the soap making every touch feel amplified. She knelt down, the water cascading over her hair and down her back, as she meticulously washed my thighs and calves. Her touch was tender but deliberate, her fingers tracing the muscles of my legs with a familiarity that made my heart race. When she reached back up to wash my back, she pressed her entire front against me, her soft breasts crushing against my spine, her soapy hands sliding over my shoulders. The sensation of her wet, slick skin sliding against mine was pure electricity.

​"There," she whispered into the crook of my neck, her breath hitching. "All clean."

​She stepped back, breathless and dripping, and handed me the soap. "Your turn."

​I took the soap from her, my gaze raking over her body. I started at her neck, my thumbs tracing the line of her jaw before sliding down to her shoulders. I moved the lather over her breasts, my palms circling the firm, heavy mounds, watching the soap bubbles dance over her dark, peaked nipples. She let out a soft, melodic moan, her head falling back as I moved my hands down to the narrow curve of her waist.

​I dropped to one knee, just as she had, following the water down her body. I soaped her hips and the tops of her thighs, my fingers grazing the soft, sensitive skin of her inner legs. I spent a long time there, the soap making my movements fluid and sensual. I looked up at her, watching the way her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted, her hands resting on my shoulders for balance.

​As I reached the curve of her ass, I massaged the firm muscles with the thick lather, my thumbs tracing the cleft as the water rinsed the suds away in long, silver streaks. She was glowing, her skin flushed from the heat of the water and the intensity of the moment.

​I stood up, pulling her slick, soapy body flush against mine. The steam was so thick now we were in a world of our own.

​"You missed a spot," she whispered, her hands sliding down to grip the back of my head, pulling me into a deep, water-drenched kiss.

The playful smile on Sasha's face faltered just a fraction of an inch. Her hand, slick with soap and warm water, slid down the center of my chest, tracing the ridges of my abs before finally cupping me. She expected to feel the immediate, iron-hard surge that usually greeted her touch, but instead, she found me heavy, spent, and unmoving.

​She paused, her fingers curling gently around me, testing the weight. She looked up, her brow furrowing with a mix of confusion and a sudden, sharp spike of concern.

​"Druski?" she whispered, the steam curling around her damp eyelashes. She searched my face, her eyes scanning for a sign of what was wrong. "Are you okay? You're... you're usually ready the second I touch you."

​The silence in the shower was filled only by the rhythmic drumming of the water against the marble. My body was a traitor, exhausted from the hours of psychological warfare and the primal release I'd just shared with Monet floor below. I was a king who had won his kingdom, but the cost was etched into the very muscles that now refused to respond.

​She stepped closer, her wet breasts pressing against my chest as she tried to read my expression. "Are you stressed about the meeting? Or... did something happen?"

​The air in the bathroom felt heavier than the steam. I had a choice: lie to the woman who knew me best, or find a way to navigate the truth without losing her trust.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.