Chapter 118: Easing the Tension

The bronze tub waited like a cathedral of steam and sin, its surface trembling under a slow avalanche of bubbles that refused to pop.

I stood naked on the warm stone, skin prickling from the heat, heart battering against my ribs so hard I half-expected it to leave bruises.

Every breath tasted of jasmine crushed underfoot and something darker, something that belonged to her alone.

Across from me, Iskanda lowered herself into the water with the unhurried certainty of a queen claiming her throne. She sighed, long and low, the sound curling through the steam until it brushed the back of my neck. Water lapped at the carved ridges of her stomach, clung to the weight of her breasts, slid down the slope of her collarbones in slow, deliberate trails.

She tilted her head, eyes catching mine through the haze, before the corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk sharp enough to cut glass.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured.

My knees betrayed me with a tremor I couldn’t hide. “I’m not,” I protested, but the lie cracked halfway through as my legs chose that exact moment to wobble like cheap furniture in an earthquake.

A low laugh rumbled out of her chest. She stretched one arm along the tub’s rim, the other sinking beneath the surface, and the water shifted around her like it, too, knew better than to disobey. “Come, I won’t break you tonight,” she said. “Not unless you beg.”

The promise hung between us, thick as incense. My body obeyed before my brain finished screaming. I stumbled forward, slipped on the marble, and would have eaten floor if her hand hadn’t snapped out and caught my wrist. She pulled me down into the heat and I landed opposite her with a splash.

The water closed over my calves, my thighs, my waist, until I curled into a position with my knees drawn up and my arms wrapped around them like a chastity belt made of bone and cowardice.

I stared fixedly at a drifting jasmine petal and tried to pretend I wasn’t cataloguing every inch of her body with the desperation of a man memorizing scripture before an execution.

Silence pooled, heavy and expectant. The only sounds were the soft pop of bubbles and the wet hush of water whenever one of us breathed too deeply.

“You’re tense,” she observed after a moment, softer now, almost curious.

I huffed a laugh that came out more broken than I intended. “I’m naked in a bathtub with a woman who could fold me into origami and has the anatomy to do it twice. Of course I’m tense.”

“Beyond that.” Her gaze sharpened, slicing straight through my flimsy defense. “Something’s gnawing at you. I can taste it.”

The words lodged in my throat like burrs. I stared down at the water, at the way it distorted my reflection into something small and fragile.

“Elvina,” I said at last, the name bitter as rust on my tongue. “I hate her. I hate how she looks at me like dirt. I hate that she gets to walk around untouched while I—” My throat closed. I swallowed hard and tried again. “And Quentin. He—”

Iskanda’s hand lifted from the water, slow, deliberate, palm open in a gesture that silenced me more effectively than any shout. “I’ve already heard of the ordeal.” She paused for a moment. “Quentin,” she continued, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees despite the steam, “will be dealt with soon enough.”

Relief flooded me so fiercely my eyes stung. I exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”

A pause. I risked a glance upward. “And Elvina?”

“Elvina…is beyond our reach,” Iskanda said. “She’s already been chosen by a Patron. Marked. Protected. Whatever happens to her now belongs to them, not us.”

My breath caught. Chosen. The word thudded in my skull like a slammed door.

Iskanda continued, “To interfere with a noble’s property would be an act of war. I simply cannot risk that. Not for her. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

She let that settle, then added more gently, “I’m sorry.”

The apology sat strangely on her tongue, too sincere for the woman who’d lifted me by the scruff like a stray cat only hours ago. I swallowed the jealousy that clawed up my throat before nodding once.

Iskanda watched the storm cross my face. She sighed through her nose before slapping the tub’s edge hard enough to send a wave over my chest.

“Come,” she ordered.

I scooted closer because arguing felt impossible. She hooked one arm around my shoulders the moment I was in reach and tugged me against her side. Her skin burned hotter than the water and the muscle beneath was sleek and unforgiving. I let my head rest against the curve where her neck met her shoulder and closed my eyes.

Then I breathed her in.

The smell of her hit me all at once—warm skin, faint salt, and something darker. Something that made my pulse stutter in response. My nose wrinkled involuntarily, chasing it deeper. She noticed; of course she did.

Her arm lifted, slow and deliberate, until her hand tangled in the wet hair at the nape of her neck. The smooth hollow of her armpit opened inches from my face, damp and glistening, her wet folds flushed from the heat. The smell rolled over me in a wave.

“Go on,” she murmured, voice rough with amusement. “You’ve earned this.”

I whimpered before leaning in.

The first inhale hit me hard, a punch of pure, animalistic filth—hot musk, salt, and the sharp tang of her skin after hours of combat. My eyes rolled back. My cock jerked so hard it sent ripples across the tub. I moaned like a whore on payday and dove deeper, nose dragging through the wet folds, smearing myself in her scent until I was drunk on it.

Her free hand settled at the nape of my neck, thumb stroking once in warning before pressing me in.

My face mashed into the slick heat and I lost my mind.

I licked in long desperate stripes, tongue scooping sweat, musk, and the faint grit of sand still clinging to her. She tasted like war, sex, and pure power. I whined before lapping faster, lips sucking at the tender skin, teeth grazing just enough to make her breath hitch. My hips rocked against nothing, cock leaking a steady stream of precum that clouded the water around my thighs.

She let me gorge until her armpit shone slick with my spit. When she released my neck, I dove back in on my own, face buried, panting hot against her skin.

I could have stayed there forever, drowning in the humid heaven of her armpit, but Iskanda had other plans.

Her hands found my waist, broad palms, calloused fingers, and lifted me clean out of the water like I was hollow-boned before setting me on shaking legs.

She turned away from me then, easing up onto her knees in the tub so the water settled just below her ribs. She raised both her arms, laced her fingers through her damp hair, and let her back arch in a slow, lazy stretch. The motion exposed the soft hollows beneath her arms, still flushed from the heat, faintly slick with steam and the faint traces of my tongue.

I didn’t think.

I stepped in close behind her before pressing my aching cock into those waiting folds.

A ragged, broken moan ripped out of me, too loud in the quiet steam. She eased her arm down, slow and deliberate, until the soft skin closed around me like a wet fist, pinning me in that damp, musky cradle.

I rutted like a beast in heat, hips snapping, balls slapping wetly against her side. Sweat and spit squelched with every thrust, the stench of her musk rising thick enough to choke on. I bit my knuckles bloody to keep from screaming.

She held still and let me fuck her armpit like it was the only hole I’d ever need. My vision whited out at the edges. I could feel her pulse coursing through her skin, could smell myself mixing with her, could hear the wet, obscene slap of my cock sliding through our combined filth.

“Give it to me,” she snarled, voice ragged. “Mark me, little wolf.”

I slammed forward one last time before promptly exploding.

The first rope shot high and splattered across her chin—thick, white, and obscene. The second striped the side of her breast and clung there like cream. The third went straight into the hollow I was buried in, mixing with her sweat until it dripped in sticky strings.

I kept coming, pulse after pulse, painting her skin, the water, her hair, until my balls ached and my legs gave out.

I collapsed backward with a splash that drenched the walls. My chest heaved. My cock twitched, spent and shining with her sweat.

Iskanda laughed bright and delighted. She lifted her arm and watched my cum stretch in sticky strands before it broke.

And then, gods help me, she swiped two fingers through the mess and brought them to her nose. One experimental sniff then she slid them into her mouth and sucked them clean with deliberate slowness. Her eyes fluttered half-closed in obvious pleasure.

Then, in one fluid motion, she stood before stepping out of the tub with languid grace, water and semen trailing down her thighs. She snagged a towel from the rack and dried herself with efficient swipes then slung it around her neck and let it hang.

Naked, dripping, reeking of sex and victory, she looked back at me sprawled limp and ruined in the cooling water.

“Get some rest,” she said, voice rough with satisfaction. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Then she walked out, cock swinging heavy and proud, leaving wet footprints and the stench of what we’d done hanging thick in the air.

I floated there boneless until the lanterns guttered and my skin pruned. Only then did the clock in my head scream midnight.

Dunny. The meeting.

I surged from the tub, water sluicing off me in frantic sheets. Clothes snatched from the floor clung damp to my skin as I bolted barefoot into the shadowed corridors, pulse singing with spent pleasure and fresh purpose.

Somewhere in the dark, secrets waited. And for the first time in days, I felt strong enough to claim them.

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