“Knock knock. Housekeeping,” you hear, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hang on a sec,” you reply, more irritably than intended. The edge in your voice surprises and embarrasses you a little. Flustered, you get off the bed and walk toward the door. How dare they interrupt your morning of wallowing in self-pity, you think, grabbing the handle. You try to fake a smile—after all, you hate when people are rude to service staff.

The door opens. He flashes a huge smile that takes you off guard—tall, fit, and unexpectedly good-looking. You weren’t prepared for this kind of distraction. Sensing your hesitation, his smile widens, a devilish twinkle lighting up his eyes.

“Er… come in,” you manage, stepping aside awkwardly as he strides past you into the room. He’s clearly comfortable here—confident, in control.

“Need any fresh towels, coffee, soaps?” he asks. You have to tear your eyes away from his masculine frame to respond.

“No, I think I’m okay,” you say, barely above a whisper.

He knows. You can tell. He picked up on it the moment the door opened. As he moves past you again, his chest brushes your shoulder—subtle, deliberate. He closes the door behind you both.

A quiver stirs in your core—buzzing anticipation. He turns back toward you. That charming smile is gone. Replaced now with something darker. Hungrier. A look that tells you he already knows what he wants to do to you. He steps into your space like he belongs there. Your eyes widen slightly. You drop your gaze, a quiet signal of submission you didn’t mean to give.

“I need to have a look at the shower in here,” he says, voice lower, huskier. “Been having some trouble with the water flow. Come give me a hand—I can’t do it without help.”

It’s a suggestion, but it sounds like a command.

He turns toward the bathroom, and you follow silently—helpless against the heat building between your legs. How the fuck am I this turned on by a stranger?!

In the bathroom, you watch him twist the taps, his strong forearms flexing, hands moving with confidence. You imagine those hands exploring you, gripping you. He turns his head slightly and winks.

“I said this is a job for two. I want you in there with me.”

Not a request.

You freeze. The wetness between your thighs is undeniable now—your nipples hard and tingling. You nod slowly, breath caught, body making the decision for you.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss—firm, sensual, consuming. His lips part yours, coaxing you into submission. The moment is dizzying. If you weren’t already soaking, you’re a waterfall now. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling your bodies together—his scent, his heat, the thick bulge pressing against you—all too much to take.

He breaks the kiss to yank your shirt over your head. Your breasts bounce free, nipples brushing the fabric as it peels off you—sending shockwaves straight to your core. You gasp. He kisses you again, and this time his hands are on your shorts, dragging them down until you’re completely naked.

The cool air kisses your skin. You shiver.

And you don’t care. You’re ready to obey. Ready for anything.

He strips quickly, opens the shower screen, grabs your hand, and pulls you under the spray. The warm water runs down your body as he presses into you again, mouth seeking yours, hands now on your ass—gripping, owning. His fingers slide lower, and you part your legs willingly, gasping as he finds the slick heat between your thighs.

You hear a deep growl of satisfaction from him.

Without warning, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the cold glass. Your nipples harden painfully at the contact, and your cheek rests flat against the fogging surface.

Then—finally—you feel it.

The head of his cock slides between your legs, gathering your wetness. Then, with slow, steady pressure, he pushes into you. There’s a slight resistance as your tight walls stretch around him—then pleasure explodes outward in waves.

Not rough. Not gentle. Just right.

You gasp, and you feel him smile behind you.

He begins to move—pulling back, thrusting in—each motion deeper, firmer. The rhythm builds. Your moans grow louder, ragged, as the pressure inside you coils tight. He grunts, hands gripping your hips as he starts pounding you against the glass with increasing force. It’s animalistic. Raw. Fucking with purpose.

Your pussy clenches around him, slick and soaked. You’re his now. You want to be.

You need to be.

You feel the first pulse of orgasm deep inside—and then you shatter. A flash of white explodes in your head, and a high-pitched scream rips from your throat. It’s you. Screaming with pleasure as he groans behind you, slamming harder.

You feel him swell, thick and throbbing.

Then he cums—hot, heavy spurts deep inside you, flooding your pussy. Filling you. You moan, completely wrecked, as he continues to thrust through the waves of his climax.

Your legs collapse beneath you.

He holds you up, still grinding into you, milking the last drops of pleasure before finally pulling out. You feel the slow, messy drip of cum and arousal oozing down your thighs as the shower water begins to wash it away.

You don’t move. You just breathe—panting, trembling, wrecked and thoroughly used.

And loving every second of it.