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He washed my face and then my hair. I felt the slippery soapsuds slide softly down my body.
‘Open your eyes.’
I looked at him.
‘You’re totally clean now,’ he said softly.
I slid down the tiles and spread my knees wide.
‘Wash me inside. It’s the dirtiest place of all,’ I said.
He hunkered down. His hair was wet and plastered to his body. His eyelashes were thick and black and his eyes were glittering with anger.
‘You’re clean inside, Olivia,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘You don’t understand. You have to wash me,’ I begged.
‘I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for what they did to you. But you’re not dirty.’
‘You don’t get it.’
‘No, you don’t get it. I don’t care what you’ve done or how many men you’ve been with. It doesn’t even matter to me if you enjoyed it. I don’t give a flying fuck about any of those things. I just want you just as you are. You’re clean, baby.’
I shuddered. I felt as if I was bleeding inside. All the things he had said—they meant nothing. I just knew I needed to be clean again. ‘Please,’ I begged.
The rigidness went out of him. An expression crossed his face. It could have been profound pity or even savage anguish. He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them he was transformed. His eyes were like the weathered stony face of a mountain. It had stood its ground for centuries and it would remain unchanged and immovable for centuries more.
He rose up and soaped his fingers. He sat on his heels and tenderly inserted two soapy fingers inside. I gasped. I gasped at what we were doing. I gasped at that man. At his kindness. Surely he could not be mine. His eyes never faltered. Very gently he moved his fingers inside me, washing me clean. Then he pulled his fingers out and let the water pound the suds away before he put them back inside me. I watched the lather and all the mess of unclean fluids, mine and all the other men’s, gush down the sinkhole. He did it until his hands came out clean. I saw that the pads of his fingers were beginning to crinkle.
‘It’s done,’ he said softly.
I nodded. I placed my palms on the floor and tried to push myself up, but it seemed too great an effort. He grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up and leaned me against the tile.
‘One last thing,’ he said and went down on his haunches again. The space was so thick with steam his head seemed to rise out of clouds of white. Like being in a misty dream.
‘Don’t,’ I objected, but my voice lacked strength.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I love you.’
He pulled apart my lower lips and leaning forward plunged his long, searing tongue as deeply into me as he could. Shocking heat exploded at my core, the ripples fanning out into my bloodstream. It was insane but at the edges of my consciousness was an instinct to want him, no matter what. I put my hands on his head, grabbed handfuls of his wet hair, and leaned m
y head back against the tiles.
Water flooded down over my face. I was so tired I felt floaty. My brain felt as though it was wrapped in cotton wool. Crikey, what did he just say? Surely I must have misheard him. Silly Vivi, of course you misheard. Something inside me broke at the thought.
What he was doing between my legs seemed to be happening to someone else. All the fire licking up my belly couldn’t be happening to me. I closed my eyes as the water rained down on me and he covered my clit with his warm velvety mouth and began to suck. It felt so damn good. New blood began to pump into my tired, aching limbs. Desire began to course through my body. My nipples ached for the feel of his fingers.
I looked down at him.
The movement made his eyes flicker open. They were smoky with desire. He extended his tongue and teased and tortured the tip of my clit until I wanted to scream. I rubbed his face in my sex.
‘I’m coming,’ I warned breathlessly and he opened his mouth to receive all my juices. I slumped against the wall, limp and spent.
He shut off the water, dried me. I felt his cock, thick and full and unspent, brush against me. I should have done something for him, I thought vaguely as he carried me to his bed. The sheets smelt of lavender. I sat curled in his bathrobe while he dried my hair. Afterwards he fluffed the pillows and put me to bed. Empty and drained I lay on the pillow and looked up at him. He kissed the crown of my head over and over again, and each time he promised to take care of me until the day he died. Then he looked down at me with quiet strength until I fell into a deep sleep.
—You’re the only thing I want to touch—
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