"Stay." Repeated. This time more quietly. An unmistakable pleading. I think my heart stopped. "Stay and talk to me."
I must have murmured some reply as I averted my eyes. Always so shy. I envied her confidence, her lack of inhibitions. She often joked about how terribly repressed I was. I busied myself as she slipped so quickly, with such grace from the clothes that suddenly became a heap of fabric at her feet. I focused there on the pile of clothes rather than on her, utterly lost for a minute or more in my confused embarrassment, the sound of the slow still-running water almost as loud as the pounding of blood in my ears. I distracted myself by opening the cabinets again, searching for towels, anything. I heard rather than saw her body slip into the warm water, the gentle splashing as she slid down, submerging herself beneath the bubbles. As if from outside myself I heard my own voice. I was talking about nothing. Nonsense. Anything to fill the air. Unable to occupy myself in the cabinet any longer I set the towels on the counter and turned back toward her.
I leaned across, to turn off the still-flowing faucet, forced finally to acknowledge the fact that she was now naked in my bath, leaning back, her legs slightly pulled up towards her chest. I tried, tried so hard to sound normal. To sound as if my feet were on the ground. To act as if mind was on something other than this incredible vision.
"Tell me about your day." At last I managed something coherent. But when I glanced up at her face I saw she was smiling at me, with a distinctly amused shake of her head. She reached up to the shelf to take hold of the large natural sponge.
"Catch!" It caught me off guard. But somehow I managed to catch the sponge in one outstretched hand. Her green eyes now betrayed more than a hint of mischief. She knew me well enough to know exactly what was happening inside me, and just the thought of that brought a hot flush to flood my cheeks. I managed a small smile back and tried to control my ragged breathing. She leaned forward a little, lifting her hair from her neck to drape it over her shoulder, turning slightly, her eyes making a brief detour from mine--over her shoulder and back again to give me silent direction. Hesitating for the barest moment I slipped down to my knees at the side of the bath, reaching down to submerge the sponge in the warm fragrant water before raising it to the nape of her neck and then squeezing it gently. Slowly. A thousand scented bubbles, the water ahead of them forming rivulets that flowed down the valley of her spine. She shivered. I thought I heard her breath catch in her throat, and when I tore my eyes from the droplets that glimmered in the candlelight on her skin, I saw that hers were closed. I filled the sponge again, this time pressing it to the top of her spine, dragging it slowly down with light pressure over that perfect curve, watching her shoulders lift and hearing a soft sigh which of course made me do it again.
I was mesmerized by the cascade of water that flooded over her pale skin, and almost independent of my control, the sponge moved in slow caresses over every inch of her back and shoulders, filled anew with warm scented water at each pass. Not a word spoken. I could feel the tension washing away. The relaxation tangible. The constriction of her soul loosening. She sat up slowly, straightening her back, and I moved the sponge up to her shoulder, resting it there for a moment before squeezing it again, watching the water now rush over the swell of her breasts, my eyes hardly daring to follow its path downwards. The sponge fell from my trembling fingers into the water, and as I reached for it she turned her head and our lips brushed in the lightest of kisses. It was the softness that undid me. Soft like silk. Soft like petals. My eyes closed, and it was a while before I realized that the series of breathless moans I heard had come from my own lips still pressed to hers.
She moved slowly but deliberately to take hold of my wrist, her hand pulling mine underneath the water, the back of my fingers brushing against the satin skin of her inner thigh for a second before my fingertips were drawn closer to touch at the apex of those thighs, now parted, her knees pressed to the edges of the bath. I drew back oh-so-slowly from that kiss and forgot to breathe again, almost gasping for air as my fingers explored with inexperienced eagerness within the soft folds of flesh. Gently probing, fingers curling, thumb pressing, circling.
I watched as her head rolled back just a little on her shoulders, her eyelids heavy, finally closing. Gazed in awe as she drew her lower lip in between her teeth. Sighed with her as the gentle rocking of her hips against my fingers became more insistent. Gasped quietly as she began to tremble, both of her hands clutching at my wrist, finally pulling my hand away, lifting and placing it over her heart. Felt her pulse race and pound with mine until slowly we could breathe again.
Later as she rested back against me and I gently towel-dried her hair, I was certain I could see a brighter gleam in her green eyes. The return of the soft luminescence to her skin. I like to think that I had made her shine again. Maybe it was just the candlelight.
