Steve and Maxine had been happily married for three years, but their relationship had started a long time before their marriage. As childhood friends, they had done everything together, shared the same toys, the same pets (a cat named Fanny, and a parrot named Donatien); Steve knew Maxine's moods like he knew his own.
So when she came home one night sullen and limping in her glossy black sandals, he knew that she had had a bad day.
"Hey, Max, honey, what's up?"
"Nothing."
Nothing, my ass, thought Steve. Her hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, and the fine baby hairs that fringed her forehead were plastered to her mocha skin with sweat. The shadows under her velvet eyes betrayed her irritation and exhaustion, and the way her lips pressed tightly together told him that at least one of her bosses at the firm had given her a hard time.
With this knowledge, he carefully asked, "Hard day at work?"
Max glared at him and walked out of their living room and up the stairs. Steve could hear her stomping here, slamming this, throwing that -- it was a war zone up there, and it needed to end.
He knew what needed to be done, and he intended to do it to the best of his ability.
He turned off the television, and listened closely for running water. The house was silent for a long time, and in that time Steve proceeded to set up his workspace in the guestroom.
The guestroom was spacious and unfurnished, save for a large bed in a corner, and a chair in the center.
The bed was a king-sized, velvet cherry wood work of art, with angels carved in high relief up the legs and along the frame. The plush pillows were creamy white, to match the feather-light sheets and the clean walls. The bed ate up a whole side of the room, and the canopy's curtain fell from the ceiling and pooled on the floor like liquefied pearls.
The chair in the center was another cherry wood majesty, with the back rising much higher than the normal person's head; flowers morphed from the edges, and two large leaves converged at the utmost point, which rested directly above the center of the exquisite piece of furniture. The arms of the chair were long enough to comfortably drape legs over them, and they curled into perfect scrolls at the end. This chair faced the balcony, and the lights that hung on either side of the glass portal leading to it.
It was perfect for what Steve had planned. The only things missing were a stool, some lotion, and a stereo. He carried them all in without a sound, and, upon looking at the room once more, found he was missing candles and sweet almond massage oil. A split second before the shower turned on, he brought the items in and snuck up to the bathroom door.
Maxine eased herself into her tub with a groan. Between getting scolded for misplaced files and scolding her own department for those files, it was a miracle she could make any sound at all. And with all the storming, the stomping, and the running she did that day, not to mention lifting and carrying so many boxes of file folders, she was surprised she made it home, let alone to the bathroom.
"God," she muttered aloud, and she reached up to shut her starch white bath curtains, wincing at the soreness in her arms and lower back. She sunk back and lifted her aching feet up on the edge of the bath tub, and let the sound and feel of running water sooth her.
She was so mesmerized that didn't hear Steve open the bathroom door, sneak in and lock it.
He tiptoed nimbly to where she rested her head and deftly yanked a stool from the wall to take a seat. He reached for a towel and a bar of soap, and at that moment, Max sat up sharply and looked around. Steve crouched, and held his breath, wondering what Maxine was going to do next.
After a minute, Max lay back and closed her eyes once more with a loud frustrated sigh. Just to be sure, Steve waited a little while longer before resuming his business around the bathroom.
Back when they had bought their house, Steve had asked that dimmers be installed in certain rooms in the house, without Max's knowledge. He'd kept it a secret as long as he could, but eventually, she found out, and she'd been careful to avoid those rooms whenever she was in an angry mood, simply because when she was in an angry mood, she never felt up for a wild romp between the sheets.
Now, Steve pressed the button, and heard Max sit up and furiously scream, "Steve! Damn it all to hell, your lights are screwing up again!"
A grin flashed across his face and he tiptoed back to his stool. He picked up the towel and the soap, sat down, and whispered, "No, they're working just fine."
Max jumped, then groaned and rolled her eyes. "Steve, come on, I'm not in the mood, okay?"He made no response; he simply rolled up his sleeves and rubbed the soap and the towel together in the water.
"I'm serious!
When he still made no response, she grabbed the towel and tried to wrench it out of his hands. He quickly pulled it back, then laughed and said, "Oh stop. Just relax."
He slipped a hand over her shoulder, to let it rest between her breasts, and brushed her hair back away from her face tenderly with his other hand. For a moment, she seemed to relent, and Steve took the opportunity to kiss her collarbone. Her eyes closed, and she leaned her head back onto his shoulder. He could feel her relaxing at his touch, but before he could do what he meant to do, she sat up and said, "I'm tired."
Steve pulled her back firmly, but tenderly, nonetheless, and said, "That's alright; you're not going to be doing any work anyway."
Before she could protest, he picked up the wet soapy towel and began to bathe her.
"Oh, Christ," she muttered, and squirmed until he stopped. "I'm really not in the mood."
He watched her for a moment, then stood up and snapped, "Fine."
Max bit her lip. He was only trying to do something nice and spontaneous. Maybe just a little bit, and then she could shoo him off.
"Okay! Alright, fine, just a bit."
He stopped at the door, halfway through, and turned to glare at her. "No, I think I'm going to go over to a friend's house, maybe Dan's or Jase's."
Max scrambled up and tugged him back into the bathroom. She shoved him down on the stool and slipped back into the tub, resting her feet on the edge of the tub closest to him.
He gave her "The Look." She always loved and hated The Look; it was always such a sexy scrutiny, such a sharp glare, but it also made her feel silly and childish, and not a little irritated.
She wiggled her toes and said, "Come on, get on with it! You know you want to."
"Maybe I'm not in the mood."
Max rolled her eyes. "Okay, I guess you're not feeling like a man tonight. That's alright. I'll just stay here and enjoy the water, 'cause it looks like that's all I'm going to be enjoying tonight."
She hooked her leg over the edge of the tub and lifted her hips. Steve's eyes locked on her core. His eyes began to smolder, and he wet his lips. He came closer to the edge of the tub.
Seeing his reaction, Maxine rested her hips once more and lifted her leg off the tub's edge, hiding a wince as pain coursed up her legs.
Steve watched her bring her foot down in front of his eyes down to his chest, where it rested with the lightness of a feather. That seemed to remind him of his purpose, for he promptly took her foot in his hand and sucked her big toe. His fingers gently pressed and rubbed, and Maxine indulged in the thrilling sensations. She sunk lower into the tub, and rested her head on the edge of the tub behind her. She watched him eagerly, aroused by the feel of his hands on her sensitive skin, excited by the diligence of his tongue on her toe.
But when his tongue crossed her instep, she could watch no longer. She lay back, closed her eyes, and slid her hand down to her core for relief.
Suddenly, Steve stopped.
"What?" She looked at him, confused.
"No touching," he said. She stared for a moment. " I told you you wouldn't be doing any work tonight, didn't I? And you'd do well to learn some restraint. So no touching; wait until I finish."
Maxine's mouth hung open, and her hand remained on her core. Steve sighed and walked out.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
He returned with a tie and took both her wrists in his hand.
