Francisco's bedroom, a sanctuary of opulence and luxury.
Luxurious crimson curtains adorned every window, their rich hue casting a warm, inviting glow across the room. The floor, crafted from gleaming marble, added an air of timeless elegance. A grand canopy bed, draped in sumptuous silk and velvet, commanded the center of the room, its presence regal and imposing.
Its decor and ambiance perfectly matched his taste, a testament to his wealth and power.
Having just returned from a mission, Francisco shed his bloodstained clothes with a casual disregard for the mess they left behind.
Turning to face the mirror, he examined his reflection with a detached and unreadable expression. His eyes, like the calm surface of a stormy sea, held secrets that were known to few.
With a languid grace, he proceeded to the washroom.
The bathroom, another testament to extravagance, was adorned with marble and gold fixtures. Francisco stepped into the large, elegant bathtub, and the water began to flow, warm and inviting. As he submerged himself, he allowed the water to envelop him.
The water cascaded over his body, mingling with the blood and grime that clung to his skin.
His eyes remained closed beneath the water's surface, shut off from the outside world.
With practiced ease, he regulated his breath, allowing himself to stay submerged for extended periods. Time seemed to stretch, and he remained underwater for more than 25 minutes, the silence broken only by the gentle ripples and the rhythm of his heartbeat.
A maid diligently wiped the bloodstains from the floor.
Amid the solemn task, the maid's senses pricked with awareness as she detected approaching footsteps. She turned her gaze toward the doorway.
There, she saw a woman—a presence unexpected at that hour. The maid's voice quavered as she stammered, "Ma'am... you! At this time?"
The woman, with an air of quiet confidence, offered the maid a sweet smile.
"Where is he?" she inquired.
The maid, caught off guard, hesitated momentarily. She gestured toward the bathroom.
A knowing smile graced the woman's lips as she received the maid's response. She moved with purpose, crossing the room in the direction of the bathroom.
That maid left the chamber too quickly.
The serenity of Francisco's bath was abruptly disrupted as the door to the bathroom eased open, revealing a figure shrouded in shadows. Moving with the calculated grace of a predator, she closed in on Francisco in the water.
Just as she extended their hands towards Francisco, poised for their clandestine act, an acute sense of vigilance stirred within him. In the blink of an eye, his eyes sprang open. He acted with swift precision, capturing her hands in his firm grasp.
"Aww!"
As their gazes locked in an intense standoff.
It was Emily.
When Francisco's intense gaze fell upon Emily, he was met with an audacious smile and a flirtatious wink.
"Did I interrupt you, babe?" Emily inquired, her voice dripping with innuendo.
Emily, with her striking beauty and an allure that could captivate any soul, had long graced the pages of fashion magazines as a celebrated model. Her ebony eyes, raven-black hair, and alluring figure possessed the kind of allure that could captivate any man.
Emily's role was that of the mistress of Francisco, but to the outside world, she was portrayed as his girlfriend.
With a harsh push, Francisco distanced himself from Emily. His voice, cold as the heart of winter, "Why are you in this place? I didn't call you."
Emily's smile graced her lips as she rose from the edge of the bathtub. Her movements, bathed in sensuality, were deliberate as she pulled down her dress.
Her nude figure stood before Francisco, her allure intensified by the dim, sensuous lighting of the bathroom.
Her alluring bosom, adorned with taut buds that defied the constraints of modesty.
With an air of confidence, she leaned seductively toward Francisco, her voice laced with a subtle undertone of desire.
"I am here to accompany my king," she purred.
Francisco, immersed in the shadows of his own thoughts, released a heavy sigh and lowered his eyes. He remained silent.
Undeterred by his silence, Emily interpreted it as an affirmation. Her fingers, gentle and tantalizing, brushed against his shoulder.
"Don't you have a show tonight?" Francisco asked.
Leaning down near his ear, Emily's voice was a seductive whisper.
"I had," she confessed, "but I was unable to resist coming here after learning that my king had returned home."
Her slender fingers, each bearing the mark of her allure, slid from his shoulders to explore the contours of his muscular and irresistibly sexy chest.
He turned his head to meet her gaze. "I don't feel like talking to you right now."
As Francisco rose from the bath, water cascaded in a sparkling display of droplets.
Emily took a step back to appreciate the vision of his body glistening with droplets of water.
Unable to contain herself any longer, she approached Francisco with deliberate intention. She embraced him from behind, pressing her bosom against his damp back. Her actions were a deliberate, sensuous claim, an invitation into the world they inhabited.
She whispered softly, "Don't push me away, Francis. I will happily stay below your feet if you offer me a small space."
Francisco's expression remained unreadable.
Emily walked in front of him and knelt down, her raven eyes locked on his blue eyes. She looked at him intently as he slightly bit her lower lip. She spotted his bulge.
She did not care about his stern look and carefully put it inside her mouth. She started giving him a deep throat.