As he cleaned me, I discovered that I actually was a little—well more than a little sore. But he was gentle, swiping the soap over my tender parts, rinsing me off. His cock jutted against my hip, hard again. Not quite as enormous as it was in his devil form, but still more than enough to satisfy me. To make my parts ache in ways that only reminded me how tender I was there.

But he was the consummate gentleman, attending to my shoulders and back with the same loving care he gave my belly and breasts. His touch was … reverent. Not sexual, although it was obvious he was savouring every touch, the same way I was delighting in the contact.

“All clean now,” he rumbled as he rinsed me down.

“Do I get to return the favour?” I asked, reaching for the body wash.

He stilled my hand. “I am trying so very hard to be … to be good, right now, Mouse.” His tone was strained. “I don’t need your soft little palms turning me bad again.”

“I happen to like you bad,” I replied archly, but I let him take the body wash and spread it on his own palms. His jaw was suddenly tight, and I wondered if that had possibly been a very silly thing to say. After all, I wanted him to make the right choices when it came to my soul. To be the good being I knew lived at the heart of him.

And then he started rubbing the suds all over his delicious body.

“I changed my mind,” I blurted, my lips parting as his hands descended, over ridged abs, to soap his bobbing cock, to cradle his balls. Why was this simple task so ridiculously sensual? “I am very much enjoying this view of you being … good.”

“My insatiable little Mouse. I’m pleased that you find this version of me as … titillating as my true form.” He was amused, but there was an edge to his tone. My stomach dipped with sudden nerves, as he shut off the shower, reaching for my towel, wrapping it around me.

I dried off, scuttling out to the linen cupboard to grab a clean towel for him. He dried his fantastic body with the same methodical precision he’d washed himself, and I got the same sense of delight from watching.

There was no point denying it. I was a goner for the Son of Satan.

But while I thought our fantastically hot sex had carried about a thousand unspoken words in it, we still needed to have an actual conversation. About our future. And about my soul.

I really hated serious conversations.

It could wait until the morning. He’d promised that he wouldn’t disappear on me for the rest of the night, and I was determined that tonight would be perfect. Serious conversations always ruined perfect.