The Bath - Part 4
Then, slowly, he lay flat—spreading himself in surrender. “Come” he said, voice husky, lips parting. “Sit over me. Make me worship you so you can forget every lash.”
Bathing in the River The river shimmered silver in the late light, its surface broken only by the lazy drift of leaves. Isla slipped into the water, her body glowing with the sheen of sun and spray. Each movement was languid, almost ritual—the way her hands smoothed water down her arms, the curve of her breasts rising and falling as she exhaled, and the subtle sway of her hips as she waded deeper. She longed for this bath...