The door gave open under his hand with zero resistance, swinging inward the smallest fraction, silent as breath.
It was unlocked, no, not, it was not just unlocked but unlatched, resting in its frame, waiting for the first hand that tried it.
The panel had been right.
["I’mma leave my door open."]
To Damon, that soundless little movement rang like a church bell dropped down a stairwell, and his whole body answered it at once — heart slamming hard enough that he nearly heard it while heat dumped through his stomach and pooling heavy and low, his cock flexing so violently against the fabric that he had to press the heel of his hand against it just to stop the ache from making noise.
He stared into the narrow band of dark beyond the frame — the room breathing on the other side, the faint hiss of water running somewhere inside it — left his pulse hammering, mouth gone completely dry, hand still frozen on the knob.
And one disbelieving thought cut clean through the fog of lust and adrenaline and blood roaring in his ears:
Wait...
’Am I actually scared right now?’
___
Damon had never been inside Camilla’s room before.
Why would he have been? In six years there had never once been a reason that wouldn’t have gotten him killed. And yet here he was, pushing the already-open door wider and stepping across the threshold like the shameless bastard the system was turning him into.
The room was dim, almost entirely dressed in dark tones — soft grays, deep charcoals, black accents. A large low bed sat against one wall, sheets still slightly disturbed from her getting out of them, which did something to him he chose not to examine.
A thick plush rug covered most of the floor.
There was a modern fireplace beneath a wide dark television, a couple of low rounded lounge chairs, and a big fluffy ottoman near the foot of the bed. The whole space felt quiet, expensive, and private — the kind of room that belonged to a woman who kept her real self carefully locked away during the day.
The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the estate’s backyard.
Damon moved toward them almost without thinking and peeked through the glass. The pool sat lit and blue in the thin early light. The cream sofas, the uplit palm trees that one palm tree in particular. In the grainy dark he could almost see his past self standing down there, arms folded, dignity in freefall, staring up at this exact window like a starving dog outside a butcher’s shop while she fixed her skirt and had no idea she was being watched.
She had known...
...or at least... some part of her had wanted to be.
Two doors were set into the wall on either side of the bedroom; one clearly led to an attached walk-in closet. The other—
He heard the sound of water the moment the thought formed.
Running water, steady and close, a soft continuous rush behind the wall.
Damon’s eyes went wide!
He stepped onto the thick carpet softly and moved carefully, each step small and controlled, weight rolling heel to toe so the floor wouldn’t betray him at the final hurdle. The makeup table came into view on his right — the same one he had watched her stand in front of yesterday evening when she reached back and dragged that pale green skirt up over her ass, inch by unhurried inch, until that thin blue lace came into view and rearranged his entire life.
That was just a memory but right now the real her was now on the other side of the wall;
...naked under the water.
He reached the bathroom door and stopped.
For a long moment Damon just stood there, listening to the steady rush of the shower, with his heart slamming against his ribs hard enough that he could feel it in his throat as the base of his cock kept the same brutal rhythm.
Steam seeped out from under the door in a thin warm ribbon across his bare feet.
Then he leaned in, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and slowly began to open it.
The door creaked loud!
The sound cut through the bathroom like a warning shot Damon’s entire body locked up with every instinct screaming at him to shut it, to step back, to turn and run before she saw the hand still frozen on the knob. His pulse was so strong he could hear it behind his eyes.
But this was exactly it.
Her panel had been crystal clear.
[Peeping Tom — especially wants Host to be her Tom] [Being Seen] [Being watched naked, or while she plays with herself] [Open windows and doors left ajar on purpose] [Getting "accidentally" caught]
She wanted and the thought of knowing someone was standing on the other side of the door, she wanted this risk play and his eyes on her. She left her bedroom door open every night for it — and the bathroom door under his hand right now had been resting unlatched in its frame too, waiting for someone to try it:
So Damon didn’t run or even take his hand off the knob.
Instead he opened the door wider, deliberately, slowly enough that the hinge sang properly this time in a long low creak that carried into the steam and left nothing whatsoever to interpretation.
He left only his hand visible in the gap but he still didn’t look inside but he just held the position with his hand there and let the door announce him.
The water stopped for a second leaving only complete silence, thick and warm and enormous, while every possible outcome of his life filed past him in a line; he suddenly heard her curse before something fell, she probably bent to pick it up and then water started running again.
And a soft, satisfied little sigh or a slow moan drifted out from the other side of the glass.
Damon’s lips parted.
’Ah, I see...’
So she knew he was here.
That single sound confirmed it more clearly than any words could have — she had made no shape gasp much less a startled breath like a woman was startled to see another person on her bathroom door.
A sigh with satisfaction not sat in the middle of his reassurance and the future about to happen.
She’d heard the first creak and when it got louder too; she knew exactly what was standing in her doorway at five in the morning since he’d left his hand there, and her answer had been to relax with a moan of warm water on her skin.
Lust and expectations flooded low in his stomach causing his dick to jump hard enough against his night pants that it almost hurt, and he pressed the heel of his hand against it just to keep the ache from making sure it didnt get too long to announce him than his hand already had.
Damon then leaned in slowly with his heart hammering, and finally let himself look past .
The bathroom was pure dark luxury — black marble walls, black fixtures, a wide rain showerhead pouring water down in a clean unbroken sheet, and a horizontal strip of cool blue light glowing across the back wall like some expensive nightclub accent. Steam hung thick in the air, softening every edge in the room.
And in the middle of the glass shower stall stood Camilla...
...completely naked!
Her back was turned fully toward him, with her dark hair clinging in heavy strands to the nape of her neck and the tops of her shoulders, her head tilted slightly to one side.
Damon froze, and his entire body went with him; every muscle of his locked following his breath stopping somewhere in his chest and his dick so violently hard against the soft fabric that it felt like the material might give.
He couldn’t look away from her naked body.
He didn’t even try.