It’s the kind of scene most people only see in movies.
What would it be like to live in a place like this? What would it be like to live as the version of me that Rio looked at—really looked at—just now?
I let out a breath, but my body is still burning with tension that has nowhere to go.
I move toward the bathroom but pause by the full-length mirror. The dress I wore to dinner still hugs me like a second skin. I reach for the zipper at my side and lower it, letting the garment slide to the floor.
The hotel carpet feels plush under my bare feet. Standing in the soft glow of the room, I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I'm draped in nothing but the black lace lingerie Antoine insisted on earlier.
Damn. He was right about lingerie.
It truly is architecture.
The bra lifts my breasts just enough to make them look fuller, rounder, a contrast of soft skin and dark lace.
I run my fingertips along the scalloped edge where the fabric cuts sharply against the curve of my breasts.
The matching panties hug high on the hips and dip low in the front, tracing a perfect frame around my body.
I turn slightly and see what Rio would see. The cut flatters the swell of my ass, round and bare.
With my hair still fresh from the stylist and my makeup untouched, I don’t look like a teacher anymore.
I look like a woman meant to be touched.
Touched and ravished. I bite my lower lip and wonder what Rio would do if he walked through the door right now and saw me like this.
I walk into the oversized marble bathroom and run the tub. A wide display of luxury bath products lines the edge.
I choose a jar of lavender soaking beads and pour a generous handful into the streaming water. They dissolve on contact, releasing a delicious scent.
Then I climb in slowly, inch by inch, until the water swallows me. My legs float, weightless. My arms drape along the tub’s sculpted edges.
The warmth pulses through every inch of skin, softening muscles and silencing thoughts.
Almost.
I close my eyes and picture Rio’s face above mine. The strong line of his jaw, the rough scratch of stubble against my neck. His mouth demanding but gentle. Hungry.
My hands drift beneath the water, grazing my thighs, hips, and belly—tracing the same path his fingers might follow.
I slip my hand between my legs. The warmth of the water makes everything more intense—more vulnerable.
But it’s not enough.
I reach for the silver shower wand beside the faucet hook,detaching it from the wall.
I turn on the pulse setting, flicking through the speeds and angles until I find the right one—a gentle, steady rhythm.
I bring it down between my legs, just over my clit, careful to aim it low and build slowly into the sensation. Tiny sparks zip up my spine.
My head falls back against the tub edge as my eyes flutter closed.
In the darkness behind my lids, it’s not me in the tub.
It’s us.
