Music: THE CRANE DANCE composed by Ludovico Einaudi 

Next day as I emerged from the water closet, I saw Sarah entering the bedroom with another tray and placing it on the dresser. 

I followed quietly, letting my robe slide to the floor.  Quickly, I slid in under the sheets, plumping and prodding the pillows before settling, waiting to find out what she planned for me this day.  

She opened the drapes and then the window. Morning bathed her in the soft, golden sunlight. She wore a sea-green robe fastened with finely pleated cords at her waist. The fabric was delicate, light. I could see her long legs as she approached; the outline of her flimsy underwear; the sway of her hips; the gentle bounce of her breasts. I noticed everything in minute detail, and my body responded in the only way it knew how. 

I placed a pillow on my lap - grinning sheepishly. 

She smirked and turned to the dresser to collect the tray. It was not food she brought today, it was a bowl with warm water, shaving soap and brush, my razor and a towel. 

Carefully, she placed the tray on the bedside table, then taking the towel, she draped it around my shoulders and chest. 

"Good morning," she said, the curve of her lips sending small tremors through my body.

 "Morning," I replied. My voice was somewhat husky.

Dipping a cloth in the bowl, she proceeded to moisten my face. I watched, silently, as she swirled the brush over the soap until the bristles were loaded.  

She applied the creamy foam in slow circular movements to my cheeks, above my top lip, and below my jaw.  

The soft neckline of her robe drew my eyes; the tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage too much to resist. Raising my chin with her left hand, she rested the razor against my cheek. "Do you trust me?" she asked with a smile.

I tore my eyes from her breasts. "More than I do myself at this moment," I replied.  I couldn't hide the tell-tale tremor in my voice, and it was not nervousness of her holding the razor against me.

She laughed lightly, then keeping it at a perfect slant on my skin started to shave me. The rasp of the blade over stubble was the only sound in the room; other than my heart pounding in my ears.  

She cleaned the razor on the towel and repeated the process until she was satisfied with her work.  This was a first, she had never done this before, and there was something profoundly sensual in her shaving me. My state of arousal was becoming almost uncomfortable; I was well aware of the rhythmic pulse beneath the pillow.

"Darling, stop clenching your jaw," she said. "I won't cut you." She gently lifted my chin once more to access my neck.

"That's not why I'm clenching," I replied between gritted teeth. I caught a glimpse of Sarah smirking. She was enjoying this, although I was not entirely sure whether it was shaving me or the effect she was having on me, which made her grin. 

The feel of her bringing the blade up over the stubble was erotic beyond words. Her fingertips traced over my face, ensure the result was satisfactory before using the towel to clean off the excess lather. 

My eyes fell to her neckline again as she leaned over to pick up a hand mirror. Sweet Elune! Restraint was very much bordering on impossible.

She gave me the mirror to inspect her handiwork as she took the tray to the dresser. 

Running my hand over my cheeks and jaw, I was impressed; the shave was good. -very good. 

I turned to thank her, but words escaped me. The light from the window sifted through her robe accentuating every curve beneath the fine, floating fabric. 

Sarah was watching me in the dresser's mirror; her eyes sparkling with intent, the curve of her mouth full of promise.  

I groaned. It was too much. I could wait no more; I had to take her - love her. 

Swiftly, I threw the blanket aside and moved to where she stood. She was still busy cleaning the razor and covering the soap bar, but stopped the minute I pressed against her, my hands grabbing her hips. 

"I hope Ocel is sleeping," I whispered hotly.

I stared at our reflections, watching her response. Her eyes were bright, desirous, wanton. 

"Gwen has taken him out for the morning," she replied. "She won't be back until after lunch."