I slid the glass door open.

The heat hit me like a physical weight, a wet, tropical embrace that immediately began to wash away the grit of the private jet and the lingering stench of the butchery.

Sasha was standing directly under the oversized showerhead, her head tilted back, her eyes squeezed shut as the water hammered against her skin. Her hair was a dark, soaked curtain clinging to the small of her back.

She didn't open her eyes, but she felt the shift in the air, the sudden presence of heat behind her. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.

"I thought the business would keep you all night," she whispered, her voice vibrating through the humidity.

I stepped into the spray, the water scalding and perfect. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, my palms flat against the slick, burning skin of her stomach. I pulled her back against my chest, feeling the frantic, rhythmic thud of her heart. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her—no longer the incense of the club, just Sasha.

"The business is nothing without you." I rasped against her skin.

She turned in my arms, her body sliding against mine with a friction that made my pulse spike.

Her eyes were dark, heavy with exhaustion but burning with a quiet, fierce devotion. She reached up, her wet fingers tangling in the hair at the base of my neck, pulling me down until our foreheads rested against each other.

"You didn't tell me you lived in a palace, Druski," she whispered, her voice hitching as the water cascaded over us.

​The realization hit me then: this was her first time stepping into my world on my terms. To her, I had been secret since I moved out from the building she lived in—a man of shadows, studios, and grit. She hadn't seen the spoils of the war I was winning.

​"You like it?" I asked, my voice a low vibration she could feel against her chest.

​She nodded, her eyes roaming over the high-end fixtures and the sheer scale of the marble around us. "It's... it's a lot to take in. It doesn't feel real."

​I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her flush against me so there wasn't a breath of air between us. "Would you like to stay here? With me."

​She let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound lost in the hiss of the rain-shower. "Compared to the rat hole I call an apartment? I'd be a fool to refuse." Her expression softened, the playfulness fading into something deeper. "But I'm not staying for the view, Druski. I'm staying for you."

​I leaned in, my lips grazing the sensitive cord of her neck, savoring the taste of the water and her skin. "Then the penthouse is yours," I murmured against her pulse. "Consider the rat hole a memory."

​I pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her throat, marking my territory in the heart of my new kingdom. We had left the butcheries and the masked monsters behind; tonight, the only thing that mattered was the girl in my arms and the empire waiting for us outside those doors.

The steam swirled around us, thick and suffocatingly sweet, as Sasha's gaze locked onto mine with a sudden, primal hunger. "I want to feel you inside me again," she whispered, her voice trembling with a need that the cold morning air couldn't touch. "I need to know this is real. That we are real."

​I didn't answer with words. I cupped her wet, heavy breasts, my thumbs grazing her nipples—already peaked and sensitive from the spray. Her skin was a map of heat and friction. My hands traveled lower, tracing the curve of her waist before gripping the firm, slick cheeks of her ass, pulling her so tight against me that our heartbeats seemed to sync through our skin.

​I slid one hand down, my fingers vanishing into the dark, drenched curls of her bush. When I found her, she was already slicker than the water cascading over us. I began to tease her, my fingers moving with a slow, agonizing precision that drew a sharp, broken moan from her lips.

​She arched her back, her head falling onto my shoulder as she gripped my forearms for balance. The sound of her pleasure echoed off the marble walls, competing with the hiss of the rain-shower. Every touch was a claim; every moan was an admission.

​"Druski..." she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into the tiles.

Our lips crashed together with a desperation that tasted of salt and relief, our tongues entangling as we fought for air in the humid thicket of the steam. The sound of the water was a dull roar, but it couldn't drown out the frantic rhythm of our bodies.

​Sasha's hand slid down my stomach, her fingers curling around my cock with a possessive, firm grip. She began to stroke me, her touch slick with a mix of soap and her own heat, driving the breath from my lungs. I groaned against her mouth, my hands roaming blindly over her—tracing the slick lines of her back, the curve of her hips, and the heavy, wet weight of her breasts.

​Every caress was a reminder that we had survived. The friction of our skin under the scalding spray felt electric, a raw, grounding reality after the manufactured darkness of the West Coast. We weren't performing for a camera or a room full of masked ghosts anymore. This was the pornstar and his Director, stripped of their titles and their armor, reclaiming each other in the heart of their new kingdom.

​She arched into me, her skin burning under the water, as the steam turned the marble bathroom into a private, white-out sanctuary.

I pinned her against the cold, white marble, the contrast of the chilled stone against her heated skin drawing a sharp, jagged gasp from her lungs. I took her hands, pinning them against the wall above her head, her fingers splaying against the wet surface as I positioned myself.

​I entered her with a slow, agonizing deliberation, feeling every inch of the friction as her body stretched to accommodate me. A long, low moan vibrated through her entire frame, echoing off the tile as she arched her back, her eyes fluttering shut in a trance of pure sensation.

​I leaned in, my chest pressing against hers, and flattened my hand over hers on the marble, our fingers interlacing as I established the rhythm. The first few thrusts were deep and rhythmic, the sound of our bodies colliding lost in the hiss of the water. With every drive, the steam seemed to get thicker, the world outside the glass door fading into a distant, irrelevant memory.

The rhythm intensified until the world outside the shower was nothing but a blur of white steam and the rhythmic slap of skin against wet marble. I could feel the tension in Sasha's body reaching a breaking point, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches against my neck.

​The build-up was a tidal wave, a pressure behind my eyes that finally shattered.

​As I drove into her one last time, pinning her firmly against the stone, the release hit me with a violent, cinematic force. I felt the heat of my seed flooding into her, a deep, pulsing surge that seemed to vibrate through both of us. Sasha's head fell back, her eyes rolling as a silent, soaring climax gripped her, her internal muscles clenching around me in a rhythmic, desperate embrace.

​For a few long seconds, time simply stopped. The only sound was the heavy, industrial thrum of the rain-shower and our synced, labored breathing. I buried my face in her wet hair, holding her weight against the wall as the last of the tremors subsided.

​We stayed like that, locked together in the fading steam, as the scalding water washed over our tangled bodies.

I pressed a final, lingering kiss to the curve of her neck, the heat of the shower still radiating between us. "You're not just a guest, Sasha. This is your home now. Stay as long as you like."

​She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, a soft, grateful smile breaking through her exhaustion before she leaned in to claim my lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of promises.

​As I held her, a cold thought flickered in the back of my mind: Monet. Monet had bankrolled this penthouse. She viewed this space—and me—as her personal investment. She had already made my life a living hell when she found out about Chloe, and I knew she'd view Sasha moving in as a direct act of war. But I was finally breaking her. She was finally giving in to her desires.

​The more I thought about it, the more my jaw set in defiance. Fuck that.

​I wasn't the same man who had been held in her warehouse two months ago, looking for a break.I had $1.2 million in revenue screaming my name and a system that made me untouchable. I could share my bed, my home, and my life with whoever I damn well pleased. If Monet wanted to challenge that, she was going to learn very quickly that I wasn't her pet—I was her partner. Finally, maybe something more.

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