Arabian Nights - The city time had forgot - completed

Chapter Six

Waking with a smile on her lips, Elena rose, and had a quick wash over, changed, and enjoyed a light breakfast, before heading out towards Hassan's rooms. Her first stop, just in case he was still there. One can never be sure with Hassan. The door was open, so stepped through. Open invitation, she smiled to herself, only to pause. She ran a hand down the heavy embroidered front of the long flowing light yellow-green skirt that fell from the heavy bodice of deep red and gold that matched the thick red hem edging, and white patterns stitched in. She really did love the clothes he had lent her.

Taking a deep breath, she entered further, discovering a slip of girl, carrying a try, which explained the open door and he would be here, somewhere. "I'd take that," Elena removed the tray from the girl as she waltz pass. The girl looked startled. "Don't worry, he's expecting me," she said in a sing-a-long voice. "So where is the great man?" Placing down the tray, she searched all the rooms, except for the bedroom, not to be found. She peeked through ajar door. The bed was empty, and curtains open. Good sign and entered.

His bed might be empty, but it was messy, drawing her gaze across then herself, touching the heavy embroidered deep purple cover that felt wonderful to the touch, gold stitching rough against the softness of the fabric. He had really woken her senses, yet sometimes was overwhelmed by how it made her feel. She pulled away. He made her feel things, so aware of his presence, his words, and his oversexed body that was made just for her. As if he belonged to her, which was silly. They were worlds apart, literally.

She headed across to another door and opened, finding his royal highness in the bathroom, only wearing a white thick towel that rested low on his hips, exposing his magnificent form on display with bulging biceps, rippling six pack and broad chest. Razor in hand, not one of those electric ones, as he sharpened it on a strap.

Fascinated, she watched as he sliced the razor against his skin, then rinsed in a basin of water. His hand so steady, and sure. "Do you ever nick yourself?" She asked, since the blade wasn't against his skin.

"Not since I started shaving." Her eyes focused on the razor back against his skin, hearing rasping against his skin as he brought it down, standing that close to him. She had never seen a man shave before, not like this, except for her father. Then he lifted it against his throat, down from his chin, pulling down on his skin. She stepped closer.

"Do not," he said gruffly. Startled, she blinked, realising she was nearly touching him. "Stop it or I would nick myself." She noticed his hand wasn't as steady anymore, and he was only wearing a towel, smelling of freshness of the bath, he had just had, his hair damp and curling. She reached up, touching it. "What do you want?" She looked at him blankly, her brain gone to mush. "Elena?" He pressed.

She pointed behind him. "Your coffee is here. I'll wait for you."

"You do not have to go, just do not stand so close to me, it is far too distracting."

"Can I have a go?" She injected suddenly, out of the blue, her eyes taking in every contour of his striking face.

Rinsing his razor, he regarded her. "You want to shave me?"

Holding her breath, she nodded. Without a doubt, he handed over the razor. "You would put your life in my hands," she asked astonished.

"You mean me no harm," he told her boldly. "However, I think I better sit down for you." He departed, leaving her holding the razor in her hand, asking herself why was she doing this. She had no idea. And she had no idea what she was doing, yet felt compelled to do so. All about senses, feeling, connection.

Hassan returned with a chair, placing the back towards the mirror and sat down then patted his lap. She laughed and saddled his lap, resting an elbow on his shoulder, razor in her hand. "You just wanted a lap dance," she teased.