Page 20 of Sinful Promises

At the reception counter, I was greeted by a young German woman who spoke perfect English. Her skin glowed and her smile radiated. She explained the concept and processes, applied what looked like a plastic watch to my wrist, and directed me through the next doorway.

Yet another counter and yet another vibrant young woman, this time to hand over a bathrobe, towel, and slippers. Their professionalism was excellent. Every outlook was a delight to the senses. I’d walked into an island paradise in the middle of Berlin. It even smelled like heaven—tropical and fresh.

The second I walked into the communal locker room, my jaw dropped. I had walked into heaven. Right in front of me was a naked man. And not just any naked man. This guy was every raunchy woman’s wet dream. It was a wonder I didn’t trip over my tongue as I forced my eyes away from his glorious body and strolled about the locker room, trying to concentrate on the tiny numbers embossed into each locker door.

Around the corner was yet another man and four women—all naked. All stunning. They were chatting away like they were sitting at a bar having a few drinks, and not totally starkers.

The farther I walked, the more people I encountered. Not one of them tried to be discreet. Maybe it was a German thing. All their bits were hanging out. And, oh my Lord, some of those bits were mighty impressive.

I found my locker and opened the door. Placing my robe and towel on the wooden slatted bench seat behind me, I inhaled a slow and steady breath. I’d reached the point of no return.

I was about to get naked in front of what could potentially be hundreds of people.

Oh, God. What was I thinking?

I clutched the towel to my chest as if I was already topless. And as I verged on hyperventilating till I passed out, I snuck glances over my shoulder. Everyone was naked. But not a single person glanced at me.

It was like I was invisible. I liked being invisible.

Gradually the wave of panic that threatened to engulf me subsided, and I lowered the towel. I sat on the bench and took off my sneakers and socks. As I shoved them into my locker, a man who could be a contender for Porn-Stars-R-Us opened the locker beside me.

Right beside me.

He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and his schlong was long. Halfway-down-his-thigh long. That bad boy must’ve been slapping against his leg with every step he took.

He turned to me. And I had no fucking idea where to focus. I must’ve looked like a complete nutter as my eyes bounced from his jewels to his face and to my locker, and finally to my feet. My heart hit overload at how stunning he was—blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, built like a pro-footballer.

Good God, I have walked into heaven.

“Guten abend.“ His masculine voice, deep and dipped in molasses, matched his physique perfectly.

I glanced up. He was nodding at me. “Oh, hi.” I waved. I am such an idiot.

He cocked his head. “Australian?”

“Oh, that noticeable, huh?”

When he grinned, the whole world lit up. “I work with an Australian. I can spot that accent anywhere.”

“Oh.” Fucking hell. One more ‘oh’ and he’d think I was the porn star.

“So, do you come here often?”

I cocked my head, blinking at him.

“Fuck, that sounded like a line.” He burst out laughing and my heart cartwheeled as his cock bounced up and down. Not that I was looking.

Okay, totally looking.

But for fuck’s sake, he was right there. Two feet away. Naked. I laughed with him, shaking my head and wondering if I was being punked. Maybe Roman and Zali had got into cahoots together somehow and set me up with Mr. Universe.

“So, do you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you come here often?”

“Well, ummm, no, actually. First time.”

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