The Stranger

Chapter 21 - Alex

We lingered in bed for a while after I cleaned her. She lay still, watching me with a soft, sleepy smile as I wiped between her legs. There was something profoundly satisfying about her surrender in that moment—not just her body, but her trust. She didn't flinch. She didn't question my need to care for her, even after I'd pushed her so far.

"I think it's time for a shower," I said, setting the cloth aside. "We don't want to be running late."

"Yes, Sir." The words left her lips like a caress. She kissed me softly, then slid out of bed.

She was already naked, her body a masterpiece of soft curves and taut muscle. I couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude. She was mine—intelligent, strong, fiercely independent, and utterly submissive in ways that mattered most.

The sound of the shower pulled me from my thoughts. She stepped under the water, and I stood for a moment, gazing out at the Kurfürstendamm. It was nearly six, and the street below was alive with the muted hum of evening, but the sun still hung stubbornly in the sky. I gathered what I needed for the night, slipping into the bathroom just as steam began to curl in lazy tendrils around the edges of the mirror.

When she saw me, she lit up, her joy so unrestrained it startled me. "Hi there, sexy," she teased, reaching for me.

I didn't respond with words. Instead, I took the sponge from her hands and pulled her close, letting her head rest on my shoulder. As I washed her back, her arms circled me, and she melted into my touch. It wasn't just intimacy—it was connection. A thread of something deeper and unspoken that wound tighter with every passing second.

"Alex," she whispered, her voice trembling, "I don't know what you're doing to me. I've never been like this with anyone before."

The honesty in her words cut through me. I wanted to respond, but a part of me—a part I thought I'd buried—shoved the words back down. I couldn't let her in. Not fully. The thought of me having to go back to Spain in a few months invaded my thoughts for an instant.

"Enjoy this moment," I told myself, bending to wash her legs. I turned her around and pressed my lips to her neck as the sponge moved over her stomach, her breasts, lingering there longer than necessary.

She sighed and tilted her face up to the water, and I couldn't resist kissing her. When I reached for the shampoo, she leaned into me as if I were her anchor, utterly at peace as a washed her hair.

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I was dressed and ready before her, as expected. Black suit, black tie, black shoes—all sharp lines and deliberate precision. The only contrast was the crisp white of my shirt. Checking the time, I adjusted my cufflinks as she stepped out of the bathroom.

"How do I look?"

Her dress was elegant, classic—a black cocktail number that stopped just above her knees, with a daring slit that revealed her right leg. The puffed sleeves and high neckline hinted at propriety, but the way the fabric clung to her curves screamed anything but. Her heels added just enough height to command attention, and the effortless ponytail made her look like a million dollars.

"How do you say 'perfect' in German?" I asked, crossing the room to her.

She rolled her eyes. "How am I supposed to know, Mr. Multilingual?"

"It's perfekt, actually." I slid my hand to her chest, resting it just below her neck as I pressed her gently against the wall.

"Close your eyes," I said, and she obeyed without question.

My fingers skimmed up the slit of her dress, and she parted her legs instinctively. "Alex, we're going to be late," she murmured, but her breath hitched when my fingers slid higher.