"I haven't decided yet."
I continue washing her, my hands moving over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs. She gasps when I touch her there, still sensitive from last night.
"Sore?" I ask.
"A little."
"I'll be more careful next time. Take it slower."
"Will there be a next time?"
I know the answer to that before I speak. After one sweet taste of her, there’s no way I’m walking away.
"There'll be a lot of next times. You're not going anywhere, and neither am I."
I reach for the shampoo, working it through her long dark hair. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, and something about the trust in that gesture gets to me.
"Can I ask you something?" she says. "Have you ever done this before? Taking care of someone like this?"
I think about it. Have I ever washed a woman's hair? Taken the time to make sure she was comfortable, that I hadn't hurt her?
"No," I admit.
"Why me?"
"Because you're different."
"How?"
"You're mine."
"That's not a real answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
I rinse the shampoo from her hair, my fingers gentle against her scalp. She makes that little sound of pleasure again, and my body responds immediately.
"Damon?"
"What?"
"I can feel how much you want me."
She's right. My cock is hard against her hip, and there's no way she can miss it. But I'm not going to apologize for wanting her.
"I want you to always know how much I want you. Because it's the truth. Because I'm tired of pretending otherwise."
She turns in my arms, pressing her body against mine, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from taking her right there against the shower wall.
"Viviana,” I warn. "You're playing with fire."
"Maybe I like getting burned."
She reaches between us, wrapping her hand around my cock.
"Is this okay?" she asks timidly.
The warm water cascades over her skin, mingling with the droplets already clinging to her. I pull her close, my hands resting on her hips.
