“A bath will set you right.” He strips off my clothes quickly and efficiently, picking me up as if I weighed nothing—and I barely do—and carrying me to the bathroom the same way he did that first afternoon when I woke up here.
Itisoddly soothing, both the familiarity of it and the heat of the floral-scented water when he sets me down in it, and I can feel the panic of the dream receding. I hate to admit that he was right, but I can feel my muscles loosening, the heat sinking down into my bones as I relax into the tub.
“There,” Alexandre says, his expression pleased as he sits down on the stool next to the tub. His eyes, as usual, don’t linger on any specific part of me, and I find my mind wandering back to dinner earlier, the way his fingers had brushed against my lips, the way my body had tightened as he fed me, the sensations prickling over my skin.
It had reminded me of the way I’d felt the first time he bathed me in here.
“If Yvette doesn’t spend the night with you, does anyone?” I ask cautiously. I can’t get her references to other girls out of my head, other pets, and I can’t shake the way she’d looked at him either. I couldfeelher jealousy when she’d examined and touched me, palpably. Nor can I forget the way Alexandre had said I was his as he stood in the doorway, saving me from her.
He’d saved me from Alexei, too. In an unconventional way, perhaps, but hehadsaved me. I have no idea what would have happened to me if I’d stayed in Alexei’s hands.
“That’s not any of your business,” Alexandre says tersely, but something about the way he says it tells me no. I think of him upstairs in his bed, all alone. I think again of the way my skin had tingled as he’d slipped the bite of croissant between my lips, the taste of chocolate, and the brush of his fingertips against my mouth.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for his hand, my fingers wrapping around his wrist as I bring it towards me, pressing his palm against my breast.
Something shoots through me as I feel his hand brush against my nipple, a burst of warmth that heats my blood and makes my thighs squeeze together, my heart speeding up in my chest. Alexandre’s hand lingers for a fraction of a second, a look of pure astonishment on his face. Then he jerks his hand back out of my grasp, water splashing up between us as he recoils.
Hurt instantly replaces the desire I’d felt, my chest aching with the feeling of rejection, even though I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I shouldn’t even want him, but I do, and I feel tears spring instantly to my eyes when he recoils from me.
“So she was right,” Alexandre murmurs, his gaze fixed on my face. “You do want me. Or perhaps you simply feel you should repay me in this way?”
“But you don’t. Want me, I mean.” I wrap my arms around my chest, pulling back. “Why did you buy me if you don’t want me like that? What did Yvette mean anyway, when she said you paid too much for me?”
Alexandre ignores my latter question. “It’s not a matter of wanting,” he says finally, after a moment of silence. “Beautiful things are meant to be looked at, not used.”
I feel the tears still welling up in my eyes, hot and abrupt. He looks at me curiously, his gaze sweeping down the length of my body almost dispassionately, but I can see a flicker of heat in his eyes as they slide back up to my face.
“Are you so aroused, then?” he asks softly. “When Yvette touched you earlier, she said that it was obvious you wanted me.”
I swallow hard, my face flushing. The last thing on earth I want to admit to this man is how turned on I really am, especially after being rejected. But his voice is soft, not accusing, curious.
He pauses, and for a moment, the only sounds in the bathroom are the soft rippling of water in the tub and our breathing, Alexandre’s heavier than before as he looks at me floating naked in the bath.
“Touch yourself then,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse and thickly accented. “If you need pleasure,petit, give it to yourself while I watch.”
I blink at him, startled. Of all the things I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. I can feel my skin flush even hotter at the thought. It’s not that I’ve never masturbated for anyone—I can think of more than one hookup that got off watching me touch myself for him or while he fucked me. But this feels different, somehow. It feels oddly intimate, in the close hot silence of the bathroom, with Alexandre so close, fully clothed while I lay naked in the water.
But I want it. The ache between my thighs intensifies under the weight of his gaze, the sound of his breathing, and I swallow hard, feeling my hand drift downwards as if pulled by some other force beyond my control.
My other hand slides to my breast, where I’d wanted his, my fingers tracing over my nipple as my other hand drifts over my belly, down to the apex of my thighs. I can feel Alexandre’s eyes on me as my fingers slip between my legs. It only intensifies my desire, my heartbeat throbbing in my chest and beneath my fingers as I spread myself apart, wanting him to see.
I can’t look at him. I already feel as if I can’t breathe, my heart racing in my chest, and I can’t meet his eyes. But I can hear his breathing quicken too as my fingers slide over my clit, making small circles, feeling how wet and slick I am for reasons that have nothing to do with the water.
I want him to say something, to urge me on, but he remains silent. I can’t stop now that I’ve started, though, my clit throbbing under my fingers as my hips arch upwards in the hot water, eager for more of the friction. I don’t know what to fantasize about, what to think; I can’t make myself linger on any one image or thought for too long. But Alexandre sitting there is enough, the mingled arousal and embarrassment of being so vulnerable in front of him pushing me to a height of pleasure that I’ve never previously achieved by myself.
I forget my hesitation, forget any quandary I might have over who he is to me, forget anything except the way he keeps making me feel, the way my heart beats faster when he’s close to me, the mingled fear and gratitude and arousal that I feel every time I’m in his presence. I think of him sayingshe’s minewhen Yvette had stood in front of me, her fingers pressed where mine are now, and I moan aloud, my thighs spreading apart as I rub faster, my fingers making quick, rapid circles around my clit as I hold myself open so that he can see if he’s looking.
I hope he’s looking. I steal a glance upwards as my fingers slide over my slick, pulsing flesh. I can see that he’s aroused, the thick ridge of him straining against the silk of the pajama pants he’s wearing, his dressing gown open so that I can see his muscled bare chest, the dark hair that I suddenly want desperately to run my fingers through as he stretches over me, for his fingers to replace mine, his tongue, his cock.
“Alexandre—” I whisper his name as my hips arch upwards into my hand, my fingers flying now, my other hand sliding from my breast downwards to join it, fingers dipping inside of my clenching entrance as I moan his name again. “Please—”
I hear his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t move, frozen in place. I don’t look up at his face, but I can feel his eyes on me, can see how hard he is, how much he wants me.Just touch me,I think desperately, but I know he won’t, and besides, I’m so close to the edge that there’s no time anyway.
I think I hear him groan when I come. Still, I can’t be sure over the sound of my own moans, my fingers thrusting into myself as I gasp aloud, the orgasm crashing over me as every muscle tightens. My toes curl, the water sloshing around me and over the edges of the tub as I thrash underneath the stroking, thrusting motions of my fingers, wanting so desperately for it to be his hands instead of mine.
It takes me a moment to come back to myself, panting, my entire body vibrating with the aftershocks of pleasure as I let my fingers slip out of my clenching, fluttering body, gasping for breath. I finally look up at him, wide-eyed, and I see that his handsome blue gaze has darkened with lust. But his eyes are locked on my face and nowhere else.
“You look very beautiful when you come,petit,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. He reaches out, pushing a piece of wet hair away from my face, and I shiver under his touch. “You did very well. Do you feel better,ma petit poupée?”