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Maria stepped out of the bathroom and I steeled myself against the emotion I had expected to be confronted with and I miserably failed.
I was so hopelessly attracted to her and yet I hated my weakness for her with a passion that exceeded my desire for her. At least I hoped so.
I slipped past her into the bathroom, as I tried to not notice how erotically enticing she was in a fluffy bathrobe. Even her hair smelled pretty and I'd never seen her hair so curly before as it was now.
I closed the bathroom door behind me with relief and for a brief moment I actually had to fight against the urge to lock it. Not because I expected her to come in, but rather out of the need to have something to keep me away from her.
I looked around the warm bathroom for a long moment.
It was so strange not being alone, as I had always been before now. The soggy towel on the floor, the mirror all fogged up, feminine stuff littered all across the counter top. The bathroom was a mess and yet I liked what I saw. It looked better this way somehow.
Groaning I rubbed at my eyes savagely for a moment.
"Get a grip on yourself Elon! This can never be!" I said warning myself of the temptation that could not be warded off, but seemed to press in all around me.
I stepped out of the bathroom shirtless and headed for the AC unit in the window at the far end of the room. Maybe a liberal use of the AC would help me cool down and stop sweating so much. I doubted that it would do much good for my other problem though, but one could always hope.
I heard a gasp, as I walked by Maria already dressed sitting on her bed, but I kept walking. I knew how extremely well-built physically I was and how pleasing I was to a woman's eyes, but I knew that wasn't what had Maria gasping.
The cold air was refreshing against my hot skin.
I felt Maria's presence before I felt her hand touch my back. Her fingers were cool against the roughed up skin of my back. Although cool to the senses her fingers had the impact of a branding iron upon my tensed up nerves.
By way of explanation I said, "I was a galley slave once, actually twice. Once during Roman times and then later at the hands of Barbary Pirates."
I knew I was stroking her imagination needlessly so and I prepared myself for her barrage of questions, but no questions came. Curious, I turned around to see her and was surprised to see her standing there crying of all things.