A Serenade in the Bath
Iclimb the stairs slowly, keeping the wood from creaking and giving me away. His voice is a hauntingly deep baritone when he hums, and higher, more alto when he vocalizes. I can’t understand the words, but they feel…
Sad.
They draw me in, mirroring my mood.
The bathroom door is open and there’s steam trickling out by the ceiling. This close I can tell that he’s not just singing, but reciting a poem. There’s a specific cadence that goes beyond matching words to a beat. I don’t know if it’s iambic or what, but I sense the structure. Water pounds down in the tub, adding percussion to his ballad.
He appears in the doorway, naked and beckoning me with an open hand. I’m struck dumb by the sight of him. Moisture clings to his golden scales, making them shimmer like gems in the sunlight. His lean muscles are taut under scarred, green skin.
“What is this?” I ask.
He cocks his head, smirking a little. “I thought perhaps you would like torelaxafter all the hard work.”
I don’t miss the way he stresses the word relax and I think I know what his brand of relaxation might entail. The memory of his lips against the back of my neck sends electricity down my spine to my feet and I take a step forward.
“Getting so excited over a bath,” he says, his smirk growing into something arrogant. “I’ll have to make it memorable.”
“You can try,” I say, feigning flippancy to no avail because my voice comes out all breathy.
God, I sound desperate.
My hand slides into his warm palm and he closes his fingers around me. He tugs me into the bathroom, then pushes me back against the door as it slams shut. An involuntary gasp slips between my lips from the roughness of the motion. Bastian pauses for a moment, leaning over me against the doorframe as his eyes scan my features.
“Fine,” I peep. “I’m fine.”
His smile returns as he pushes my hair back from my neck, exposing my collarbones. My heart is pounding and I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I just leave them plastered against the door.
“You won’t be,” he says, his voice rumbling against the tip of my ear.
“Ha,” I declare, trying to take him down a peg, but it comes out more like a desperate moan and his smile only grows.
He grabs my sweater, untucking it from my skirt with a slow drag. “You think you can withstand my ministrations?”
I’m about to retort when his tail slips up my leg, cutting me off. I remember what that tail did to me on the shop floor, and I doubt I could prevent an orgasm with that kind of attention.
“Fingers only,” I say.
“A challenge?”
His teeth tease my earlobe and I shudder.
“Yes, a competition,” I say on a heady exhale. “Hands only.”
He pulls back with a sultry pout. “No mouth?”
I shake my head becausemymouth will certainly not support this choice.
He grabs my chin and exposes my neck as he moves in. His lips hang just a whisper above my skin, so close I know he can feel my pulse.
“Are you sure?”
“Uh huh?” I try to confirm but I’m wavering.
His lips ghost over my neck to my collarbones as he drops down to his knees. He looks up at me from the floor with cocky determination.
“As you wish,” he says, then grabs the zipper of my skirt.
