The woman who entered on Xanir Tahl's call was beautiful, her curvaceous figure swaying across the room with a grace which caught the eye more than her colourful sheath of her dress. She sank into her bow like a slender tree dancing to the wind, kneeling to press her forehead to the tiles. Alanna felt a shiver run down her spine. It was only as the face lifted again that she caught the faint trace of age in the eyelids, the careful perfection of the complexion masking the years.
Her spine relaxed slightly.
Xanir waved a hand in his bride's direction with a short order. Alanna's eyes lifted to his, and a different shiver traced her spine as she saw the look he sent back at her while he stroked his cheek. The cheek she had just slapped. It was not an angry look, but there was a warning in it, and a fiery hint of mischief.
The woman approached her, offering a second bow, and lifted a small earthenware pot, breaking the seal with a red nail. A pungent smell of herbs emanated from the ointment inside, but the slightly bitter fragrance was more than compensated for by the delicious coolness which soothed through Alanna's lightly singed sole a minute after the woman applied it to her skin. From her spot on the floor with her feet curled to her right, leaning against one of the wooden seats, Alanna sent a grateful look across to her new husband.
He was lounging in a seat opposite, the steam from the two baths rising gently between them, but the look in his eyes as they roamed over her still sent a shiver of tension and anticipation up her spine.
The maid rose and crossed to the side table, lifting two towels and placing them, one folded thick and the other thin, at the base of the nearer tub. Watching the woman, Gemma was startled to suddenly find Xanir standing over her, lifting her without apparent effort and depositing her casually in the bath. Alanna's legs extended toward the water as he lowered her, but the maid folded them back so she landed on her knees, her singed foot held proud of the water by the thickly wadded towel, warm water caressing her legs and lapping the base of her buttocks and soaking into the hem of her wrap, just teasing the edges of her excruciatingly sensitive folds. Her knees were protected from the thick wood by the other towel, and she sent Xanir a cautious smile of thanks.
The gleam in his eyes intensified as he settled back into his seat, eyes fixed on hers, legs sprawled wide and relaxed, and murmured a soft phrase. Alanna barely noticed the maid lifting her hair and securing it in a stylish swirl out of the way on top of her head.
Then she jerked away from the hands that touched the silk still folded across her bosom, grabbing to hold it firm as she turned startled, imperious eyes to the maid. She wished she knew the words for "Please leave."
The woman ostentatiously wet her hands in the tub ahead of her knees, and lathered them up in a rich, fruity liquid soap that she had fetched from the table, indicating clearly that she needed to remove the wrap to wash Alanna.
Alanna shut her eyes on a flash of temper. She was perfectly capable of washing herself.
Then a wave of colour crashed up her skin and she turned sharply to look back at Xanir, no smile now. He was waiting to watch. Her colour deepened as she met that look, realising what it meant.
The woman reached for the wrap again, and Alanna batted her hands away, colour firing across her cheeks while, annoyingly, a different fire simmered into light in her blood. She drew a deep breath and reached for the soap herself, trying not to tremble. If he wanted her to wash, well, she would, but she would wash herself. The maid moved the soap out of reach, shaking her head, then reached a second time for her silken covering. This time Alanna was not so gentle. A sharp movement flashed in front of her, and she was turning her head when her wrists were grabbed, wrapped in an unyielding yet soft band, and tied securely behind her back.
The next second Xanir was back in his chair, glaring at her imperiously, while he snapped something else at the woman. The maid laughed softly, tinkling. Alanna felt a shiver of helplessness run through her, suddenly aware that in this position, with her hand tied, she could not stand up. Couldn't move, unless she could fall over the side of the tub. The temper died as the heat in her blood grew.
She watched as a large wooden beaker was dipped into the water in front of her knees, then, shielding Alanna's foot, the maid carefully poured it cascading over her front, so that the wet silk was clinging to her curves. She gulped, and closed her eyes, the heat inside her flaring across her skin. She had almost forgotten, for a moment, that her wishes were absolutely immaterial here. And whose wishes she was here to fulfil.
Maybe she should have let him undress her earlier.
"No!" admonished the woman to her right, tapping sharply on her cheek and opening the lid of the nearer eye with two fingertips. Alanna looked at her, startled, and the woman pointed imperatively to her eyes, and then across to the man lounging on the cushion on the seat before her, a little smile playing over his lips.
Xanir lifted his gaze from the wet material moulded over her breast, and reinforced the command, indicating her eyes and tapping himself sharply on the chest.
Swallowing, Alanna fixed her gaze on that scarred plane of muscle, watching as it rose on a slow intake of breath when more water poured down over her, highlighting her curves. She jumped a little but held steady, breathing deeply as fingers began to lather up the wet silk over her breasts, swirling slowly around and around the plump mounds. The man in front of her murmured a sibilant sound of appreciation. Her cheeks were burning, but she could feel her blood beginning to simmer in response to the noise. The noise, and the increasing depth of the breaths lifting his powerful chest.
More water was poured over her.
She made no protest this time as the wet roll of silk across her breasts was tugged loose, although she couldn't help her eyes clenching in embarrassment. She snapped them open again, gaze flying to his.
He wasn't looking at her face, eyes burning, breathing more deeply while he watched the wet silk slowly being peeled back. Soft hands smoothed soap bubbles over her engorged breasts, circling, circling over the mounds yet avoiding the erect nipples pointing towards him. Xanir settled more deeply in his chair, the loose blue silk covering the space between his wide-sprawled legs slowly lifting.
A feather-light fingertip painted bubbles on her aching nipples, and then a gentle stream of water rinsed them away. The Tahl exhaled a heated, low murmur and the woman kneeling behind Alanna lathered up her hands a second time, smoothing fragrant bubbles up the skin of her stomach to press underneath the full globes of smooth, rounded flesh, lifting and offering them to the watcher.
Alanna both shivered and burned, eyes transfixed by the increasing simmer in the man watching, carefully not looking at the peak of material . She was painted with the bubbles for long minutes, gently, sensuously, her skin uncomfortable under the teasing touch yet burning in the wake of the fierce gaze following those hands. The bubbles sank inside her and teemed through her blood, lifting her skin to respond to the most feather-light caress, her thighs trembling as embarrassing moisture began to heat her core. The fire he had lit earlier was not quenched, and his eyes were blowing new flame into the embers, despite the dampening glide of these unwanted hands. She trembled, sore and aching, but the memory of his hunger and his touch made her light-headed.