“I’ve done nothing to hurt you,” she whispered. “I did what I had to do to protect my sister.”
“Your lies cost us our shipmate for months. He could’ve been lost for good.”
She winced as he squeezed her breast with nearly bruising force. She panted.
A small smirk curved his lips. “A part of you looks forward to paying back your debt.”
She shook her head.
He reached back and then produced a cleansing sponge. “Rub my muscles and wash my body, handmaiden.”
“I know how to wash you. That I’m happy to do. But what does it mean to rub your muscles?”
“Hard work makes them bunch up,” he said, taking her arm in his hand. His fingers dug gently into her flesh, massaging the muscle of her upper arm. It caused an almost painful sensation that also felt good. “Like that.”
“Yes, all right,” she said. Squeezing the sponge caused the sultry aroma of the captured suds to emerge. She dragged the sponge over his chest and belly, looking up at him. “You’re tall. Lean down so I can get your shoulders properly.”
He shook his head. “Just do what you can reach.”
She set the sponge on a ledge and put her hands on his chest. His body was warm and smooth. Her hands glided over his flesh and then she pressed her thumbs into his muscles. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his mouth opening on a sigh.
There was a lovely power in being able to please him by her touch. She drew out her exploration of his torso. His ridged abdomen was so different than her own, the triangle of hair trailed down to a stiff and inviting cock. She didn’t let her fingers stray that far, but a knot formed in the pit of her stomach, a dull ache deep inside her.
“Turn, so I can work on your back,” she said in a soft husky voice.
His lids rose slightly to study her. “You haven’t finished the front of me.”
“I will after.”
He turned, revealing a brutal work of art. There were scars and tattoos in a chaotic pattern. She found the flesh there harder to work, but she used the sponge to make him soapy and slick and then her thumbs and fingers dug gently into pressure points. He rested an arm against the stone and then his forehead against it.
The scars were thinner over his lower back. Her hands worked more easily. Then his tight buttocks were under her palms. Her pussy clenched and grew damp. She reached around him with her sponge to stroke him. He straightened with a groan and then turned to face her.
“Not from behind. I’m not a slave anymore.”
“Did someone—?”
“Soap up my cock and balls, then kneel on the mat in the corner,” he commanded.
She did as she was told. It was hard to resist the urge to stroke him with her hands, but she sensed it wasn’t what he wanted at the moment.
She moved to the corner of the bath cavern and knelt on the thick springy mat. A moment later water gushed from multiple angles, drenching them both. She gasped, startled and shaking as the water stopped.
He stepped forward. “Open your mouth.”
She did so and the thick cock slid over her tongue until it was lodged well into her mouth. Her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched at being made to receive him in such an intimate way.
“Close your lips around me,” he said huskily.
She obeyed, letting her tongue explore the ridged flesh, enjoying the texture and taste.
He spat out a foreign word, but though he sounded angry, she didn’t think he was. He buried his fingers in her hair, controlling her head as he pulled back and then thrust deeper.
She choked a bit, then resumed her teasing strokes.
He murmured something.
She made a questioning noise.
