Three hours.
The evaluation had consumed three hours of Dominique's life and rewritten every assumption she'd built over six years of breaking men who thought they were gods.
When Eros finally emerged from the demonstration rooms, he moved like someone who'd just finished a leisurely workout rather than a sexual marathon that had left his evaluator unconscious.
He'd cleaned himself in the adjoining bathroom—water running hot enough to steam mirrors, washing away physical evidence while his mind cataloged every moment, every technique, every sound she'd made.
Then he'd cleaned Dominique.
Gentle hands with warm towels, wiping sweat from skin that still trembled with aftershocks. Tender care for a woman who'd cum ten times—each orgasm bigger than the last, two of them squirting explosions that had soaked sheets and left her gasping like she'd forgotten how to breathe.
