To the bathroom to refresh his mind

Owen’s cock was still hard and slick from the cock warmer’s pussy. The woman on the bed hadn’t moved an inch, legs still spread wide, smile still fixed, pussy lips parted and glistening with his pre-cum and her own wetness. Every instinct screamed at him to climb back on, plunge in again, bury himself to the hilt in that warm, tight heat and just… forget for a minute. His hips twitched forward once, involuntarily.

He stopped himself with great difficulty.

Paige.

He was here for Paige. Not for some random cunt that had been turned into furniture. The guilt burned hotter than the arousal for him.

He turned away from the bed, eyes scanning the room for anything to break the spell. The bathroom door was half-open, light already on inside. Perfect. Cold water. Clarity. He hurried across the carpet and pushed the door wider.

The bathroom was small but spotless: white marble counter, large mirror over the sink, shower stall with glass walls. No windows. He stepped to the sink quickly, twisted the cold tap full blast, cupped his hands under the stream and splashed his face with water. The shock of it hit like a slap, icy and grounding. Water dripped down his chin, onto his chest through his open shirt. He did it again, then again, breathing through his nose.

Better. Not fixed, but better.

He closed his eyes and reached blindly to the side for a towel, fingers brushing against soft, warm skin instead. Flesh. Full, rounded breasts.

His eyes snapped open.

He spun around.

Standing right next to him was a Middle Eastern woman. Mid-twenties, maybe. Incredibly fit body, toned arms, flat stomach with the faint lines of abs, narrow waist flaring to strong hips and long legs. Beautiful exotic face: high cheekbones, full lips, dark almond eyes framed by thick lashes. Olive skin glowing under the bathroom lights. Hair completely hidden under a large white towel wrapped around her head like a hijab, the long end draped down the front of her body, covering her from collarbone to mid-thigh but leaving everything else exposed.

She was naked except for that towel.

Owen stared. He’d always had a thing for Middle Eastern women, the way they carried themselves covered up, mysterious, elegant, the rare glimpses of beauty under hijabs or abayas making his pulse kick. But this was the opposite. Everything on display: firm tits with dark nipples, shaved pussy, the curve of her ass visible when she shifted slightly.

He knew what she was supposed to be.

A towel.

She stood there, serene smile in place, eyes glassy and unfocused, waiting.

Owen reached out slowly, fingers closing on the draped end of the towel. He pulled it towards him and brought it to his face. Dried the water off his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. The fabric smelled faintly of clean laundry.

He looked up. Her expression hadn’t changed. Still smiling, still vacant.

An idea hit him.

This was the first time he’d been truly alone with one of them. No maid watching, no statues shifting in the next room, no risk of someone walking in like with the cock warmer. The door was closed. The house sounds were distant.

The words. The tape. What was the trigger? Whatever Garrett had written stuck them in their roles. What if he wiped it off? What if he erased the label? Would it break the hold? Bring her back? Even a little?

He had to try.

He turned her gently by the shoulders, trying not to let his gaze linger on the way her tits bounced slightly, or the smooth plane of her stomach, or the faint scent of her skin. He scanned her body carefully: back, sides, ass cheeks, thighs, calves. Nothing. No marker lines, no tape, no handwriting. Her skin was flawless, unmarked.

He turned her again, facing him now. Looked over her shoulders, under her arms, across her tits, still nothing.

Only one place left.

Under the towel.

The hijab-style wrap was thick, folded neatly. He hesitated, fingers hovering at the edge near her forehead. His heart pounded loud in his ears.

If the words were there, if the tape was hidden under the fabric, this could be it. A way to test. A way to prove he could undo this nightmare.

Owen reached up slowly, fingers brushing the folded edge of the towel wrapped around her head. He lifted it away, careful not to pull too hard, letting the white fabric slide free.

What he saw surprised him.