My orgasm hits like a freight train, pleasure ripping through me as hot ropes of cum shoot against the glass barrier between us. “Alina. Fuck,” I growl, squeezing the base harder. “You make me so fucking hard.”
One, two, three powerful spurts that make me grunt with the intensity. My cock pulses in my hand as I milk every last drop, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Jesus,” she whispers, the word barely audible over the shower.
I don’t respond, just watch as my release slowly slides down the glass, creating a visual barrier between us that’s somehow more intimate than if I’d come on her body itself. A promise of what’s to come.
When I finally release my softening cock, Alina seems to remember herself. She takes a step back, then another, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. As I shut off the water, she turns around, giving me her back, and walks over to the bed.
Laughing to myself, I slide the glass door open and step out onto the heated bathroom tiles. Steam billows around me as I reach for a towel, wrapping it loosely around my hips.
In the bedroom, I find Alina looking out the window, her eyes fixed determinedly on the darkness beyond the glass.
Every inch of her body screams tension—shoulders rigid, hands clutching the curtains. The contrast between her awkward shyness and what she just witnessed makes my dick twitch beneath the towel.
She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge me beyond the deepening flush creeping down her neck. I move to my dresser, making no attempt to hide my body as I drop the towel and pull on a clean pair of boxer briefs. The material does little to conceal my semi-hard state.
“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask, not bothering to hide the amusement in my voice.
Letting go of the curtains, she turns around, her blue eyes meeting mine for a split second before dropping to the floor. “That’s not… I didn’t mean to…” she stammers.
Shaking my head, I cross to the bed and pull back the covers on my side. “You can look anytime,” I tell her, running a hand through my wet hair. The mattress dips as I slide beneath the covers. “Come to bed.”
She hurries over to the bed, lying down right on the edge. I laugh at her antics. It’s endearing how nervous she is. Hitting the master light switch next to the bed, I kill the lights. Then I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.
“I won’t bite,” I rasp against her ear. “Not tonight.”
A small sound escapes her—half protest, half something else—as I arrange her against me, her back to my chest, her soft ass pressed firmly against my rapidly hardening cock. The position is intimate, possessive, exactly how I want her to get used to sleeping.
She’s quiet for so long I almost think she’s sleeping. But then she wiggles her ass in the tiniest motion. “Is that your…” she trails off, her body tensing further.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. “My what, Alina?” I press closer, making sure she feels exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Your… p-penis,” she stutters.
“My penis?” I laugh. The word sounds clinical, sterile, nothing like the heat building between us.
“Yes,” she breathes, the single syllable almost inaudible.
“It is,” I confirm, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Does it bother you? We can move.”
I don’t specify who would move or into what position. I’m certainly not letting her sleep out of reach on the other side of the bed. She’s silent for a long moment, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.
“Answer me,” I demand, tightening my arm around her.
“No,” she says finally. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Satisfaction spreads through me like good whiskey—warm and intoxicating. I tighten my arm around her waist, drawing her more firmly against me. “Good.”
The room falls quiet; the only sound is our breathing gradually synchronizing in the darkness. Outside, the wind rustles through the trees.
“Are you marrying me to get the bakery?” Alina asks suddenly, her voice small but steady.
The question catches me off guard. “The bakery?”
“Yes,” she says. “Is that why you’re doing this? To own the bakery through me?”
I consider lying. It would be easy to tell her what she’s scared to hear, to manipulate her fear for my benefit. “The bakery will always be yours,” I tell her honestly. “I have no interest in taking it from you.”
