She turned to him, a slight frown on her features. "Don't...call me mistress..." She said softly, uncomfortable being called that. She didn't own him. And then she saw the look in his eyes, how he had revived from his half-wilted state. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. The roses ad returned, and she gulped. "Promise me that you won't touch me in any way but platonic, and you can come in." She replied, voice pitched lower than usual. She would pass out again if they started, and one cold bath was enough for the year.<br/><br/>She turned her back to him, and hurriedly began to shampoo her hair trying to keep herself busy and him out of her line of sight. She couldn't control herself around him, obviously, and she did not want to push her luck any further. She was already in awe when she looked at him, and her hormones obviously approved of him. Too much. He was an Adonis, he was a god, and he was going to be the death of her. Memories of his voice wracked her, and she was suddenly glad for the frigid shower. It stifled any possible arousal, and anything it did not it washed away immediately.<br/><br/>The suds sluiced down her back as she tipped her head into the stream of water, and she whisked the soap away, before reaching for her conditioner.