I didn’t know how I’d envisioned Zeke Lautner designing his personal space, but it wasn’t like this.
“This way, pretty boy,” he said, motioning toward the bathroom.
I turned and followed him through a set of double doors. On the other side of those doors was a huge open space. I was equally enthralled with the decor in here, noticing there were very few walls aside from the four that confined it. The double sinks were black—appeared to be quartz—sitting atop gleaming black cabinets. No hardware, just sleek lines. There was a Jacuzzi tub that looked like it would hold three people—or maybe just one Zeke—a single door that I suspected was the water closet, and a shower that took up almost half the space. No enclosure on it, simply gray, slate-tiled walls and floor.
“Undress,” he said as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head before walking to the back of the room.
The way he moved captured my attention. All those hard muscles flexing even though he appeared relaxed. Zeke disappeared and I realized there was another door on the far end of the room, likely a closet.
Since he’d given me a command, I didn’t hesitate, stripping off my T-shirt first, my shoes and socks next, then finally my jeans. The floors were warmer than I expected and I had to wonder whether he had radiant heat beneath the tile. I’d heard that was a thing in the northern states. Having grown up in Oklahoma and Texas, that was a luxury we hadn’t needed.
When Zeke returned, the man was wearing only his jeans, his giant boots discarded in the room he’d emerged from. He moved with purpose, his long legs devouring the space on his way to the shower.
I waited, curious as to what he would do next.
The water came on and then he was stripping those jeans over his powerful legs. All corded muscle covered by smooth skin. His ass was a masterpiece, just like the rest of him.
“Over here.” He pointed toward the shower floor. “Kneel by the wall. Facing me.”
Swallowing hard, I did as he instructed, doing my best not to appear overeager. I was, but I damn sure didn’t want Zeke to know that.
The wet slate floor dug into my knees, but I welcomed the pain. It blended with the delicious sensations still coursing through my body. While I had anticipated having open wounds on my back from our scene, I’d been surprised when Mistress D informed me there were only a few large welts that would likely disappear by morning. She had applied some soothing oil over my skin, outlining the huge dragon that covered my back.
Admittedly, I’d been a little disappointed when I learned the marks would go away so quickly. I had wanted to wear them for a little while longer. Perhaps fall asleep with them, feeling the sting as I settled into bed. It would’ve been a nice reminder of the scene from earlier.
While I kneeled obediently, Zeke stepped beneath the water, which was coming at him from multiple angles—a rain shower head above him and several others lining the wall at his back. I probably should’ve tilted my head down in submission, but I was entranced by the man’s body. He was one of the biggest men I’d ever seen and I’d been around plenty, myself included. The gyms were full of powerful males and some females, all looking to enhance their physique to push their bodies to the limit.
There was no way Zeke didn’t work out with a body as honed as his. That wasn’t natural muscle tone, but it was admirable, regardless. His chest was broad and covered with various tattoos, but even from the front, you could see his lats. They flared out from his back, wider than his chest.
I tried to admire all the sleek lines and thick muscle, but my gaze inadvertently lowered, taking in his cock. He was hard as steel, the skin over the thick head glossy. I’d seen men with arms smaller than that man’s cock. It wasn’t just the length that was impressive, it was the girth. My ass clenched at the thought of him fucking me into oblivion. That damn plug he’d used today had absolutely nothing on him.
Soap suds began drifting down his body, gliding over his impressive dick before slipping farther until they washed down the drain. I had the strange urge to wash him, to let my hands roam over him, memorizing every inch to lock away for later.
“You didn’t come tonight,” he said, drawing my attention up his body.
His head was tilted back, his hands washing the soap from his bald head.
“No, Zeke.”
Black eyes leveled on my face a second later. “Is that normal for you?”
“If I can reach subspace, I tend to hold off.”
“That’s your drug? Subspace?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. “But it’s rare that a Dom can get me there.”
