Page 65 of Drown Me Gently

Auren pressed close, the steamed air already hot, but his presence made it suffocating.

“The truth, spriteling, is if anyone else so much as looked at you, the whole city would quickly become acquainted with the bottom of the sea.”

Auren flushed scarlet and turned away, but not before Ulric caught the pleased twitch in his mouth.

They stripped down together, wrapping thin cotton towels low around their waists. The steam clung to their skin, making them glisten under the lanterns.

At the edge of the pool, Auren hesitated. He glanced uneasily at the water, one hand fisting the towel tighter at his hips. “Will this… will this make me⁠—?”

“You won’t transform,” Ulric said, resting a hand on Auren’s shoulder. “The potion holds until you touch the true sea. This doesn’t count.”

To prove it, Ulric slid into the bath first, sinking low into the heat with a contented sigh that wrung the ache from his muscles.

Gods, I needed this.

The water loosened him, peeled the tightness from his joints, quieted the terrible buzzing under his skin.

“See?” he said, stretching his arms along the smooth stone edge, body half-floating. “Still very human.”

Auren grinned and dipped a toe, eyebrows lifting at the heat, before sliding in and settling beside Ulric. The water lapped around their waists, their towels billowing between them. Steam curled and blurred the bath house in a comfortable haze.

They sat on a tiled seat built into the bath, letting the heat melt the weight off their bodies. Ulric tipped his head back against the stone, closed his eyes, and for once—for only a moment—let himself drift.

When he cracked one eye open again, he found Auren watching him. Watching him the same way he inspected a new human artifact. Studying. Learning.

Ulric’s stomach tightened. “You’re staring,” he murmured, his voice rougher than intended.

Auren tilted his head, unbothered. “You’re different when you’re relaxed.”

“Am I?”

Auren nodded, a smile curving his lips. “Softer. I like it.”

Ulric huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Always such a grouch,” he said with fondness, reaching for a lavender soapstone resting at the edge of the pool. The scent was heady in the steam as he lathered it between his palms, working it into a soft, fragrant foam.

Ulric watched, helpless, rapt, as Auren dragged his hands slowly over his own chest, up the strong lines of his arms, the hollow of his throat. Soap and water slid down his body in shimmering trails. His muscles flexed and shifted with every pass of his hands, strong yet graceful, a natural elegance that no court tutor could have taught him.

Then Auren tilted his head back.

The tendons of his throat stretched, water sluicing down his skin as he dipped himself backward into the bath. His hair fanned out like red seaweed before he emerged again with a toss of his head, droplets spraying like a halo of mist around him.

It was a dance. A siren’s call.

And Ulric, poor fool that he was, was already drowning.

Auren’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, lost in the simple pleasure of the heat, the scent, the cleansing touch of his own hands.

Ulric sat, spellbound, as Auren moved through the water like a creature born of it. Every ripple, every gliding motion of his hands, seduced without a single word spoken. Ulric’s hands itched to reach out, to drag Auren into his arms and kiss him until neither of them remembered how to breathe.

He was beautiful.

And Ulric’s heart beat out a single, insistent rhythm.

Touch him. Touch him. Touch him.

Auren shifted closer through the misted bath, the steam curling around his shoulders. Ulric noticed his towel coming loose beneath the water.