Chapter 6: Steam and Secrets

Natasha led him away from the river, her hand firm in his. The streets narrowed, the buildings growing older, their facades stained with decades of exhaust and weather.

She didn’t speak. Her boots struck the pavement with purpose. They stopped before a nondescript door, set into a wall of gray stone. No sign. No marking. Just a brass handle, worn smooth by countless hands.

She produced a key from her coat pocket and unlocked it. The door swung open, releasing a wave of steam and the smell of wet wood.

James stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The room was long, tiled in pale green ceramic. A pool stretched before them, its surface rippling with heat. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting amber light across the water. A bathhouse. Private. Secluded.

Natasha closed the door behind them. The lock clicked. The sounds of the city vanished, replaced by the gentle hush of steam and the drip of condensation.

“Strip,” she said.

James’s pulse quickened. He unbuttoned his coat, let it fall to a bench. His shirt followed. His trousers. His shoes. He stood naked, his skin prickling in the humid air.

Natasha watched him, her eyes traveling the length of his body. She reached behind her neck, unclasping her dress. It fell to the floor, pooling around her ankles. She wore nothing beneath.

Her breasts were full, her nipples already hard. The dark triangle of hair between her legs glistened with moisture. The scar along her ribs caught the lantern light, a pale seam against her skin.

She picked up a small bottle from the edge of the pool. Oil. She poured it into her palm, then rubbed her hands together.

“Lie down,” she said, gesturing to a wooden bench near the water.

James lay on his back, the wood warm against his skin. Natasha climbed over him, straddling his hips. Her weight settled against him, her thighs gripping his sides. She poured more oil into her hands, then began to work it into his chest. Her palms glided over his pectorals, his stomach, the soft skin of his sides.

The oil was warm, scented with something herbal, eucalyptus, maybe, or pine. It soaked into his pores, loosening the tension in his muscles.

“You are still tense,” she murmured. “Three days alone, and you held it all in your shoulders.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” Her hands slid lower, oiling his thighs, his shins, his feet. She worked each toe, her fingers pressing into the joints.

“I missed you too.”

She poured more oil. This time, her hands found his cock. He was already half-hard, his flesh responding to her touch. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking slowly, the oil making her grip slick and smooth.