by Ella James
As I bathe her arms and shoulders, then move lower down her belly, the bubbles rise to meet me, hiding her from sight. Making me hard again.
Her eyes peek open. “Get in with me. Please?”
“Please, Master,” I say.
“Please, Master.”
I strip down and hoist myself over the side. I sit in front of her and pull her in between my legs. I smooth her damp hair back, look down at her mask-covered face.
What is it about her that reminds me so much of Leah?
That makes it possible for me to tell myself this is Leah, as long as we don’t touch the mask.
My chest aches, wanting the illusion to be real.
And then her hands touch my chest. I flinch a little at the heat of her touch—hot because she’s got the towel now. She’s bathing my pecs, stroking as she makes her way down.
“What are you doing?” I choke.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and I can see she looks confused. “I’m bathing you. The way you did with me.” Her lips quirk up. “Unless you think you’re clean. And I can guarantee you’re a very dirty man.”
“Damn right.” I snatch the towel from her hand, and she climbs on my lap.
Alarm bells peel inside my head.
She starts to fight me for the towel, laughing as she plays.
Who is she?
Does it even matter?
When she gets the towel from me, she covers her hand with it and reaches down between my legs.
The way the terrycloth brushes over me feels incredible. Incredibly good. Painless…and yet, I’m semi-hard.
Her hand wraps around me, and my cock stiffens.
“You feel so good,” she tells me, stroking my thigh with her free hand.
And her eyes—what’s with her eyes? They’re…hot. They’re strange. They seem to burn behind the mask. Intense. Erotic. But there’s something more. Something soft and unfamiliar.
As if she really cares about pleasing me. Which doesn’t make a fucking bit of sense.
I move her hand off me. Press my sore back against the tub. “I say what’s good. That wasn’t good,” I sneer.
It felt good.
But good is bad.
I hate myself. I don’t deserve this.
Her quick nod only confirms what I already know. “You’re not a good match for me. Get out of the tub.”
Her blue eyes widen. Fill with tears. “I’m sorry. You can be in charge. I just wanted…” She wraps her arms around herself. “I wanted to…do something nice.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy, baby. You’re the wrong woman. You don’t have a submissive bone in your body, and you won’t obey.”
I stand up in a waterfall of tiny bubbles. Step over the tub’s side. Grab a towel with my shaking hands.
“Get out,” I say. She stands up. I swear to God, I see her lip quiver.
“I’m sorry for that,” she says as I wrap her in the towel. “If you let me stay, I won’t take charge like that again.”
I shake my head. I curl my hand into a fist, and with my knuckles, shove her toward the door.
“Get out,” I tell her as she turns to look at me once more. “Take your shit with you and go. No more arguing.”
She pauses for a long moment. I see twin tears drip from her eyes. They disappear behind the mask.
“Go on,” I say, taking a small step toward her.
With one last wild-eyed glance at me, finally she turns and grabs the doorknob.
As she rushes into my room, I think how ironic it is: This one was more like Leah than any of the subs I’ve ever hired.
How’s that for fucked up fantasy?
In the wake of her kindness and my own assholery, my cock softens faster than it ever has.
I grab a towel for myself and lean against the counter, stroking viciously until I’m hard again, and ready for whatever pain is next.
#
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