He’s watching me and, when he sees me fingering the bruise he put on me, he says, “Mine.”
“Yeah, you did that,” I say ruefully. It’s a good thing I’m a masochist. I’m not sure the average vanilla girl would have reacted quite so calmly to being bitten that hard.
I can’t read the expression in his eyes, but he seems to be receptive, so I decide to ask for what I want. “I need a shower,” I tell him, praying that the translation software will make it clear to him so I don’t have to perform any more ridiculous mimes. “Get clean. And new clothes.”
He nods. “Of course.”
I’m slightly taken aback. That was easier than I thought.
He holds out a huge hand and I take it, letting him tug me off the bed. I follow him on unsteady legs as he leads me to the bathroom and sets about twiddling buttons and levers.
When he undresses me, I let him. I want to wash myself too badly to care about nudity or what he might think of my body. We fucked in such a desperate hurry that we both basically remained clothed, only tugging aside the material that was in the way, so this is the first time he’s seeing me naked. Odd, how the things that would normally matter don’t seem to matter quite so much right now.
I step into the cubicle and am unable to prevent my gasp of pleasure as numerous jets of water all flick on at once, somehow already set to the perfect temperature, massaging and soaking my tired muscles, sluicing away the sticky residue between my legs.
It’s bliss.
“Do you have anything for me to wear when I’m done?” I ask Khan, tipping my head back to wet my hair.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll get something.”
“And soap?” Glancing around the shower cubicle, I spotted nothing that even remotely resembled shower gel or shampoo.
“Here.” He hands me a little bottle of something, and I squeeze some of it into my palm.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get clothing,” he says, then disappears while I work the soap into my skin, marveling at how such a small amount could make so much lather. I use it on my hair, too. It smells divine.
The place where Khan bit me stings like the devil when the water hits it but I somehow relish the sensation; there’s a slow, excruciating thump between my legs when I recall the combination of pleasure and pain.
How can I want him again already?
If there was any lingering doubt that none of this is actually happening, that ship has now sailed. Too much has happened, and it was all too vivid, for this to possibly be a dream.
Which means I need to come up with some kind of plan to escape and get back home.
My mind is racing even as I try to just relax and enjoy the shower, and so when Khan returns holding a bundle of fabric, I rinse off and step out, asking him to turn off the water. The panel looks like something out of the cockpit in an airplane; there’s no way I could work all those knobs and levers.
When Khan hands me the soft, pale blue robe, I hesitate. I need a towel, so I ask him for one.
“Don’t need it,” he says. “Just put that on.”
To my astonishment, the fabric of the robe is more absorbent than any towel I’ve ever used. The material is cool and comforting on my damp skin, drying it almost instantly.
I don’t have a comb so I rake my fingers through my wet hair as best I can. God only knows what I look like, but from the hungry way Khan is staring at me, it can’t be too bad.
Now that he’s in close proximity to me again, his smokey chocolate scent is once more tickling my nostrils, and the unmistakable tingling in my clit is back. It’s horrible, the way my body reacts to his mere presence, and I remind myself to remember to breathe through my mouth as much as possible.
Something about the way he smells is a definite trigger for my libido.
Wordlessly, he turns and sets off, and I follow him. What else can I do?
We enter another room. It’s just as sleek and silver as the others, but it has something else, too. Windows.
I stare and stare with my mouth open.
The view consists of nothing but inky black darkness, dusted with glittering stars as far as the eye can see.
