“What’s with the huge bathtub? I don’t have one!”
It’s a stupid thing to say. I don’t know why I latched onto it now, of all times.
He says simply, “Try it.”
“What?” A furious blush scorches my cheeks.
My blood runs hot.
Holding my hands, he leads me into the marble-covered bathroom.
He sits on the ledge of the claw-foot tub and flicks the tap on.
“Take off your clothes.” The command in his voice nestles low and deep.
I arch one eyebrow. “Is that an order?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, and I’m left waiting for his answer, holding my breath. Adam calmly swirls his fingers through the rising water.
“You can boss me around all you want outside these walls. But here…” He reaches for the hem of my dress and tugs gently. “Here I’m in control.”
My mouth is dry, and I swallow hard. When it’s just the two of us, letting him lead comes so easily. With very slow movements, I hook my finger under one of the dress’s straps and let it fall down my shoulder. Then the other.
I reach for the side zipper, sliding it down while he stays locked on my every movement.
When the dress pools at my feet, I’m left only in my lace panties, heart in my throat. He watches me in silence as I roll them down, his chest heaving. The way his gaze devours me sets me ablaze, without even laying a finger on me.
Adam rolls up his sleeves and holds out his hand. “Step in.”
Holding on to him, I do as he says and lower myself into the warm water.
“Lie back.” He nods to the length of the tub.
Every second stretches. He unseals the sponge, squirts some gel from the small bottles on the rack, and leans down, wrapping his hand around my ankle. He starts brushing the sponge up and down on my leg. Then the other.
The scent of citrus and something sweet, like honey, swells up around me with each electric brush of the natural sponge.
I’m already close to coming apart.
He gets on his knees and slides his palm under mine, slowly using the sea wool from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. Then repeats the process with the other hand.
I almost stop breathing when he turns his attention to my chest, swiping gently under my breasts and then trailing down, down.
Oh, fuck.
The feeling of the sponge between my legs, against the sensitive skin, already pulsing with need, rips a strangled groan out of me.
If this is his way of working through what I did to him, I’ll take it. I’ll take all of it.
“It would be more fun if you joined me.”
“Shh. Be patient,” he whispers gruffly.
Then he drains the water and fills it back up halfway. While he waits, he lathers his hands in lavender oil and starts massaging my legs. The same meticulous pacing. The same order and I whimper.
After he’s done massaging my chest, he sits back, surveying his work.
There’s something electric in this power play. How he makes me wait. Follow his commands.
