“Come to me,” I commanded. She did not. I bore her to the bathroom and stepped inside. She didn’t budge. It smacked loudly against her back, hanging in one long black mass, a river of silken ebony strands. “I have many bathrooms here, Eimi. The thick, well-kept lawns glowed in the light from the downward pointing halogen lamps. I designed my lavatory based upon the video footage that my mercenary buddies gave me about their nights at the Waldorf. Soaps, body washes and lotions are over here.” I quickly gave her the rundown of where I kept the necessities. I seized her by the upper arm. Ordered, if I had to remain honest with myself. I massaged her stomach. She said nothing as she traipsed along in her dark violet, open-toed platform shoes. Soon, my dear. My hands crept forward, seeking the apex of her desire, the warmth of her goddess’s mound. Don’t touch her there? That perfect ass, baked a golden brown both by birth and by the rays of the sun beckoned me forward.
