MY VIRGIN MAID

Christina had only meant to deliver the laundry.

It was late - nearly midnight - and the hallway was dim, the golden sconces casting soft shadows against the marble floors. She wore her nightdress, loose and modest, the kind of cotton comfort she'd grown up with in the convent. A light robe hugged her waist, and her damp hair clung softly to her neck, fresh from a warm bath.

The folded clothes in her hands were Bryce's - perfectly ironed shirts, dark slacks, and crisp undershirts that still smelled faintly of cologne and steam. She handled them carefully, determined to do everything perfectly, just as she'd been trained to do.

But then she saw it.

The door to his bedroom.

Open.

Just a sliver. A crack of light.

And there was sound.

Low. Wet. Rhythmic.

A gasp.

A moan.

Christina froze mid-step, her heart stuttering in her chest. She knew she should walk away - return to her room, shut the door, pray. But her feet inched closer to that gap, each step a betrayal of the innocence she'd once wrapped herself in like armor.

What she saw changed everything.

---

Inside, the shadows were alive.

Bella Stark was sprawled across the bed, naked - every inch of her flushed and glistening. Her hands clawed into the bedsheets, and her body rocked forward and back with each deep, brutal thrust Bryce gave her from behind. His body towered over hers, strong, bare, glistening with sweat and hunger.

His hands gripped her hips so hard it looked like he'd leave bruises. His face was hard with focus, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded with lust and dominance. His abs flexed with every movement. His back muscles rippled, thighs taut, the sounds of their bodies crashing together like thunder.

"F-fuck, Bryce!" Bella cried out, her voice shaking the silence. "Harder-!"

Christina gasped, backing against the wall. Her breath caught painfully in her chest. Her hand clutched the laundry tighter, then dropped it entirely. The fabric fluttered to the floor at her feet, forgotten.

Inside, Bryce grabbed Bella's red hair and yanked her back, biting into her shoulder, his voice low and dark.

"You wanted this," he growled. "So take it."

Her scream was raw, pleasure-blurred, echoing off the walls.

Christina's knees trembled.

She knew she should run. But her eyes stayed locked. Her breath shook. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and beneath her cotton nightdress, a new ache bloomed.

---

Bryce flipped Bella over.

She landed on her back, legs spread as he grabbed her ankles and lifted them over his shoulders. He plunged into her again, deep and unforgiving. She clawed at his chest. Her back arched. Her breasts bounced violently with every thrust.

"I'm gonna come-Bryce-fuck-!"

"You come when I say," he snapped.

He leaned down, grinding into her, every muscle tense. He kissed her hard, then pulled away just to slap her breast once. She whimpered.

Christina's cheeks burned.

The sound of sex. The scent. The dominance. It was nothing like the purity she'd been raised to protect.

And yet...

She didn't feel dirty watching it.

She felt alive.

Her hand drifted to her thigh, brushing over her robe, over the cotton. She could feel the wetness - not sweat. Not shame.

Need.

She was wet.

And she didn't even understand why.

---

Inside the room, Bryce growled as he pinned Bella's arms above her head with one hand, the other gripping her throat.

"Beg for it."

"Please," Bella moaned. "Please fuck me till I can't walk-!"

Christina's breath hitched.

Her body pressed against the hallway wall, her nightdress stuck to her back, her chest heaving.

And then Bryce climaxed - with a low, vicious grunt, his body collapsing over Bella's, hips still rolling with aftershocks.

They were panting.

Sweaty.

Entwined.

He kissed her shoulder.

Then slowly pulled out of her, standing, walking away from the bed, running a hand through his damp hair.

And Christina saw him in full.

Naked.

Powerful.

Sated.

Beautiful.

Her eyes filled with tears she didn't understand. A mix of shame and hunger. Jealousy and heat.

She had just witnessed pleasure so raw it didn't look human. And part of her - the part she had buried - wanted it.

Not with a stranger.

With him.

---

She turned and ran.

Her robe flowed behind her as she darted down the hallway, through the shadows, back into her room.

She slammed the door shut, locked it, and collapsed onto the bed. Her hands trembled. Her thighs clenched.

She curled up, heart pounding, lips parted in shock.

Her body burned.

She pressed her face into the pillow, but the images wouldn't leave.

Bryce's hands. His body. The way he made that woman scream.

What would it feel like to be touched like that?

Her hand drifted downward, just once - testing, trembling.

But she pulled it away.

She didn't want it from her own fingers.

She wanted it from his.

And that scared her more than sin itself.