The candlelight flickers against the tiled walls, casting golden ripples on the surface of the bathwater. She’s submerged up to her collarbones, her skin glistening with a delicate sheen of heat and moisture. The scent of lavender and something darker—something musky—lingers in the air. She exhales slowly, sinking deeper, the warmth wrapping around her like a decadent embrace.
I sit on the edge of the tub, book in hand, my fingers idly tracing the worn leather of its cover. My voice is low, unhurried, each word dripping into the silence like honey. I read to her, but I don’t just recite the words—I let them melt into the air between us, thick and heady. The story isn’t just on the page; it’s in my tone, in the way my lips shape the syllables, in the pauses where my gaze lingers on her, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath.
She shifts, just slightly, her thigh brushing the smooth porcelain. I notice the way her fingers trail along her collarbone, absently, as if the story has settled under her skin, stirring something deeper. The water laps against her curves as she stretches one leg, letting it rise above the surface just enough to catch the candlelight, droplets slipping down her skin like liquid fire.
I turn the page, deliberately slow, my thumb grazing the edge. “And then,” I murmur, letting the words unfurl like a secret, “he touched her—not hurriedly, not with greed, but with the kind of patience that promises something far more dangerous than urgency.”
Her lips part, just slightly. I watch the way she swallows, the way the steam clings to the hollow of her throat. She knows I’m watching. She wants me to.
I lean in, just enough for my breath to stir the damp strands of hair near her ear. “Shall I keep reading?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper, laced with something darker.
She tilts her chin up, eyes half-lidded, a slow smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “You’d better,” she murmurs. “I want to know exactly what happens next.”
And so I do. But the story we’re telling now? It’s no longer just the one written on the page. |
