The air in the bathroom was thick with steam and the scent of fresh herbs, but it was the musky, sweet aroma of Bessie's arousal that dominated Ethan's senses. He didn't let her pull away. He gripped her thick, soft waist, pulling her flush against his battle-scarred chest.
"Master, please... you don't have to lie to me," Bessie whimpered, her tears dripping onto his shoulders.
"Shut up and feel this," Ethan growled.
He took one of her massive, heavy breasts in each hand, kneading the soft flesh with a firm, possessive grip. His thumbs flicked over her dark-pink nipples, and he heard the wet squelch of the cream leaking from her. Bessie's knees buckled. The sensation of being desired—not just tolerated, but hungered for—was more overwhelming than any potion.
