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fingertip below its line, I feel my pubic hair.
    With trepidation, I turn to the mirror. The pale pearl hue blends pleasingly with my skin and the bust has enough ribbons and banding to hold me aloft. It is just opaque enough that I cannot see the outline of my areola, but I can see the dark hairline on my mound and the bottom of that triangle, which the gown does not cover.
    Feeling exposed, I suck a breath in and reality settles deep in my bones.
    In a few hours, Luke will see me in the outfit -- not just my thick hips, overflowing breasts and rounded thighs, but also that dark patch of fur and everything hiding behind it. He will part my legs and...
    Shame heats my cheeks while lust pinches my nipples to hard, erect points. I close my eyes, unable to continue looking at my body or contemplate exactly what Luke has in mind. I will orgasm, I am sure of that. However reluctantly or exuberantly, I will come. Nothing else is certain.
    Eyes still shut, I fumble my way onto the bed and under the covers, my body falling into an exhausted sleep almost as soon as my head hits the feathered pillow.
    ********************
    A soft tap against the bedroom door and the inward brush of its heavy frame over the thick carpet wake me from dreamless sleep. Masters enters, carrying a mug of steaming tea. Inhaling, I smell the mix of apple, chamomile and honey. I sit up, just enough to accept the mug without losing the bedspread and exposing myself to him.
    An approving smile on his face, he hands me the mug.
    "I have the same blend of tea." I blow away the steam, my brain almost as clouded as I watch him walk toward the dresser.
    "I know." He has shed his jacket, shoes, tie and socks at some point in the last few hours. The remaining clothes look like he slept in them. Turning one hand inward, he removes a platinum cufflink. He repeats the motion, the second one carefully placed on the dresser next to the first.
    I stare at six thousand dollars of precious metal casually placed, so absorbed by the absurdity of my situation that I miss the fact that Luke has turned to face me and is half finished unbuttoning his shirt.
    When I do notice, I can't take my eyes off his chest. Muscles, covered in warm brown skin tinted olive gold, ripple as he untucks the shirt from his pants. The play of light over his flesh as he unthreads the belt from its loops shows several scars. Those on his abdomen appear to be cuts or punctures, but, with the shirt off, I see a starburst of paler skin a few inches southeast of his left collarbone.
    "You were shot?"
    He doesn't answer, just undoes the button on his silk slacks.
    "Did it happen while you were in the Army?"
    "Was I?" He turns his back to me. Only his pants remain and he teases them and me inch by inch. Looking up from the slow unveiling of his silky briefs and the magnificent ass to which they cling, I catch him watching my expression in the mirror. He licks his lips, his cheeks flushing as my skin heats in equal measure.
    I tell myself to look away, but don't. Instead, I watch and press for an answer. "You have a PsyOps coin on your desk."
    He pivots ever so slightly so that I cannot see his expression or the front of his body in the reflection. He steps from his pants then places his hands against the top band of his underwear. Intent on giving me a show, he strips them away, his hands and the fabric moving so slowly down his body he is basically caressing all that lean muscle and olive-gold skin.
    Watching him, my mouth floods, my tongue swells. He is a beautiful, teasing bastard who won't answer my questions while demanding I tell him everything and submit to him. He has a lot of nerve.
    He turns, hands overflowing as he seeks to cover his erect cock and heavy balls.
    I make a small, mental correction. He has a lot of everything. He is thick and long, his genitals every bit as impressive as the rest of him.
    "What are you thinking, Marie?"
    I lift a brow, somewhat stunned by the question. I am thinking that