“I’m leaving you in the capable hands of your natir.”
William gestured toward a slender, dark-haired woman clad in a leather choke collar and not much else; before he exited the same way he and Buffy had entered.
Buffy waited for the bristling indignation she typically felt when a man took this type of arrogant, domineering tone with her. Instead, all she felt was the deep thrum of excitement. She had to confess, though not very freely, William taking control turned her on. Yet she’d never admit this to him or moreover, let this become a regular occurrence.
She knew her role was clear, even though what was in store for her was not. Taking a deep, steadying breath and holding her head high, she walked across the room and entered through an archway, knowing full well the other woman would follow subserviently.
Resembling an underground cave, the newest room was carved completely out of exquisite white marble. The soothing ambiance, a combination of soft lighting, the distinct sound of running water, and sultry wafting steam, calmed Buffy considerably, enough so that she disrobed with steady hands and a surprising level of confidence.
Fully exposed, Buffy sat at one of the nine elaborate marble wash basins lining the walls. Once situated, she closed her eyes as the other woman used a copper bathing bowl to douse her with soothing tepid water.
She was then guided to lie on a warm stone tablet in the center of the room, where several rounds of hot water were poured over her, preparing her skin for the thorough exfoliating that followed. No crevice went untouched, even the spaces between her fingers and toes were scrubbed meticulously.
On slightly shaky and tingling legs, Buffy was escorted to an adjoining room and silently directed to lay supine on another stone tablet. She was lathered from head to toe, and a soft moist cloth was used to clear all the sweet-smelling soap away.
Once clean, the distinct scent of almonds tickled Buffy’s nose only moments before oil covered hands lifted one of her feet and began kneading her arch, causing her to moan appreciatively.
With skilled precision, the natir continued the massage upward, loosening years’ worth of kinks and knots in the path of her skilled fingers. Expert hands framed the span of Buffy’s abdomen, gliding up her sides before coming together and passing over her sternum, then separating at the top of her breasts, skimming over the expanse of her upper chest. Amidst each sweeping pass, Buffy felt herself being further and further lulled, becoming a boneless bundle of pure bliss.
“Do you like how she’s touching you?”
William’s sultry voice filled her ear, and surprisingly, even with her eyes closed, Buffy wasn’t at all startled. Over the past few hours he’d become her own personal devil at her left shoulder, whispering artfully.
“Yes.” Buffy’s sighed response floated on a lengthy exhale.
“Yet no matter her skillfulness, her touch will never match your own. Only you know what your body craves, what it lusts for.”
Commanding and forbidden, his words touched her like a lover’s hands, palming her breasts and stroking between her thighs. She writhed under these ghostly caresses as William boldly pressed on.
“Show me.”
On this demand, the natir’s hands fell away and Buffy instinctually replaced them with her own. Cupping, kneading, fondling, each touch drove and fueled her mounting desire.
Buffy’s world consisted only of pleasure. Hungrily, she strove for that blissful zenith, until a slight warm breeze carrying the pungent smell of smoke captured and heightened her senses to include William. He was seated several feet away, resembling a paşa openly admiring his concubine, casually toking from a considerable-sized copper and glass hookah.
She watched him exhale a long, steady stream of smoke through flared nostrils. The bluish haze encircled his head in a mock halo before thinning out and dispersing into the warm air. He appeared almost uninterested, if not for the smallest tic in his jaw and his rapt attention conveying otherwise. The tight rein he held on his control had silently issued a challenge, one Buffy was prepared to accept.
Releasing a small cry of pleasure, Buffy relinquished one breast and steadily trailed her hand downward, seeking the neatly trimmed dewy thatch of hair between her splayed thighs. Circling, dipping, stroking, her fingers explored eagerly.
Her head spun from the heady combination of smoke, William’s burning stare, and her own fervent touches, but she still…needed…more. Seeming to sense this, William gruffly commanded—
“Come.”
On cue, Buffy felt the mind-bending rush. Her juddered gasps punctuated each surge that coated her fingers, drenching her cleft and the stone below.
~*~
As the early morning light seeped past the slats of the closed blinds, Buffy sat at the breakfast bar with her head in her hands and an untouched cup of dark Italian roast cooling on the counter.
She was nursing a hangover of epic proportions. From the moment she awoke, she was immediately greeted by the relentless buzzing behind her eyes, and she possessed, no matter how many times she brushed or gargled, an ever-present thick and furry tongue.
It wasn’t as though she needed these annoying little reminders of last night. It wasn’t as though she could ever forget.
Right now, she was the poster child for every cautionary tale of drinking and indulging with a guy one barely knew, with the bonus bludgeoning guilt one typically felt the morning after.
Although William never touched her beyond a chaste hand resting on her back or the removal of her shoes, he had affected her far more deeply than anyone had ever before. With carefully chosen words and intense gazes, he challenged her to push past the point of caring and self-control, to a place where nothing mattered, and she just was.
Take for instance last night: after she climaxed, she must’ve either blacked out or dozed off, because the next thing she remembered was the natir washing her again from head to toe with tepid water, wrapping her in fresh towels, then escorting her to a much cooler room where her clothes and a large pitcher of ice water were waiting.
Alone and sporting a major perma-grin, Buffy towel-dried her hair, dressed, and exited the room. She then followed a dimly lit hallway leading directly outside to a taxi idling at the curb. Sliding into the backseat, and without a word or payment made to the driver, she was dropped off at the apartment in the North End.
Strangely, at the time, she neither questioned nor was bothered by anything that happened. Not in the very least.
~*~
Buffy dragged her thumping mind back to the here and now. Tapping out three aspirins into her palm, she used the now stone-cold coffee to force them down. Sliding slowly off the stool, she tightened the sash on her robe and dragged herself back to the bedroom. The debate between taking a shower and napping lasted only one round before Buffy dropped onto the unmade bed and closed her eyes.
In spite of the guilt eating away at her like worms gutting an apple, she left the purging of her own personal demons for another time and decided instead, to use this little transgression to her advantage. Buffy knew now what she was up against, and as in the old adage: Better the devil you know…
Burrowing deeper under the covers, Buffy pushed the rambling thoughts and guilt away. None of it mattered right now. What she needed now was to sleep and regroup, because tonight, she had a case to solve.