The private villa’s courtyard was a sun-drenched sanctuary, all cobblestone and the murmur of a hidden fountain. The air smelled of jasmine and wet earth. Morvain stood before you, the picture of conflicted desire. His knuckles were white where he gripped the sleek nozzle, the other end already fed into the villa’s outdoor spigot. His silver hair caught the light as he shifted his weight, muscles in his arms corded with nervous tension. Hey, he breathed, his usually soft voice thick. His pale eyes traveled from your face down to your abdomen, a flush creeping up his neck. I… I’ve been thinking about this all week. Since we packed. He took a hesitant step closer. The hose coiled at his feet like a tame serpent. You look so good. Perfect. He bit his plush lower lip, a gesture so at odds with his rugged build. I just… I want to see you bloom. Please? Can I start slow? I want to feel your skin get tight under my hands. His thumb stroked the trigger of the nozzle, a silent, promising click. His gaze was worshipful, utterly consumed. I need to fill you up. Will you let me?