I don’tthinkabout moving towards his room, exactly. I don’t think about what I’m doing at all. I hear him groan again, the sound low and pleasured. My heart stutters in my chest again, my skin prickling and that tight, aching pressure settling down in my groin, spreading through my thighs in a way that makes me feel as if I’m getting wet all over again, even after two climaxes and without even really knowing for sure what’s going on inside that room.
I just do it because of that part of me that is so inexplicably drawn to him, the part that is damaged or longing or just grateful that it’s him I’m with now and not Alexei—maybe all of those things. The part that doesn’t believe that there’s anyone else coming for me, that there’s anyone else who cares for me even as much as Alexandre does—not any man, at least.
There could be a certain romance to each being all that the other has left. If I depended on him, let him enjoy his fantasies and odd habits of treating me like a doll, and if I obeyed him, he might come to rely on me in some ways too, one day. He might love me. He would, at the very least, protect me.
If I’m his good girl.
But I’m pretty sure good girls don’t lurk around the bedroom doors of the men who own them, trying to peek inside without being seen.
I don’t regret it, though. Because what I see makes my breath catch in my throat, my pulse leaping as I catch sight of Alexandre, standing next to his canopied bed, left hand gripping one bedpost hard enough that even from here with the only light coming from his lamp, I can see that his knuckles are turning white.
That’s not the first thing I notice, though. The first thing I notice, as if I could see anything else, is that he’snaked. Completely, entirely bare, without a single piece of clothing or accessories or even a pair of fucking socks on him anywhere.
And I can’t complain, because while Alexandre clothed is beautiful, while he’s always an exceptionally handsome man, Alexandre naked isglorious.
He’s all lean muscle, from the hard expanse of his back to the perfect curve of his ass, possibly the best ass I’ve ever seen on a man, and there was a time when I saw them fairly often. He has slim hips and muscled thighs, shoulders that are broad enough without being bulky, and leanly muscled arms. As he shifts back on his heels, I get a good view of his chest, strong and hard and lightly furred with dark hair that leads down to a trail of it across his flat abs, down to—
His chest isn’t the only thing that’s hard.
Seeing him aroused while clothed was one thing, but this is something else altogether. Alexander’s rigid cock juts out from beneath his hips, long and thick enough to fill his hand, his long fingers wrapped around his shaft as he strokes it in long, quick movements that have him panting, groaning, gripping the bedpost. I stare at him from around the edge of the door, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.
He’s fucking gorgeous. And I want him more than ever.