Toste knelt down on the floor next to the tub, which made her uncomfortable because the water, though cloudy, was clear enough to give him a view of her naked body. She thought about covering herself with her hands under the surface, but didn’t bother. He could see her anytime he wanted… and had.
He wiped a finger across her cheek and it came away covered with mud. He did the same to her hair. Same effect. She must look wretched. Before she had a chance to realize what he was about, Toste pushed her head down under the water. She came up sputtering. She glared at him as she combed her fingers through her still muddy hair. Which prompted him to dunk her again. This time she came up spewing foul words an almost-nun shouldn’t even know.
“What? You are going to drown me as part of my punishment?”
“Nay, sweetling, I just like my bedmates to be… well, sweet. Pigs might like to wallow in mud, but I am not a pig.”
“I think you’re a pig.”
“Do you, now?” He chuckled and began to lather her hair with a handful of soft soap which he scooped out of a small pottery container.
“I can do that myself,” she said, reaching for the soap.
He held it out of her reach. “I prefer to do it.”
“And I prefer not.”
He dunked her under to rinse, then lathered her up again. This time, he didn’t just lather, he used the fingers of both hands to massage the soap into her scalp for a long time… way beyond the time necessary to clean her hair. His magic fingers kneaded her scalp in little circles, which caused her body to relax and her senses to heighten.
“Who taught you to do that?” she asked, her eyes closed and her chin on her chest.
“A houri.”
“A whore-y. What’s that?”
He chuckled. “A harem girl.”
“Oh,” she said. Then, “Oh!”
When her hair was clean, he moved behind her and combed her hair till it lay over her ears and down her back in a wet swath. Then he moved around to the side again, still kneeling, and told her, “Kneel in the tub and face me.”
She didn’t want to. The water wouldn’t even reach her woman-place. “Why?” A feeble question, but she asked it just the same.
“Because you are dirty, and I would wash you.”
She stifled a groan. She was no longer dirty, of course.
While she hesitated, he took off his belt and drew his tunic over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. He was not muddy, except for his braies. Why was he removing… oh.
He made a peremptory motion of his hands that she should kneel. She did so, but she scrunched her eyes closed tight.
“Open your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Stop asking why all the time. Just accept that I know what I’m doing.”
She opened her eyes and gave him a look that said it was questionable, but before she could voice that thought, her tongue froze in her mouth. He was soaping his hands. Both of them. A lot. And she knew just where he planned to place those hands, because that’s where he was staring.
When his hands were slick with soap he spread them over her breasts, first in wide circles which got smaller and smaller till he worked her nipples into hard peaks. She wanted to beg him to stop. She wanted to beg him to never stop.
“You have beautiful breasts, Esme.”
Am I supposed to react to that? I do not care that he admires my breasts. I do not care that he makes them ache deliciously. I do not care that his fingers weave magic.
“Would you like me to suckle them?”
“Whaaat?” Where did that question come from? “Nay, I don’t want you to… to… do that.”
He had already moved his hands to her arms, which he soaped, even the armpits, and her shoulders. Then he ladled clean, warm water over her and said, “Now stand.”
She was about to ask why, but bit her bottom lip to stop herself. She knew why. “If I asked you to take pity and spare me this indignity, would you?”