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Bewildered, he asked. “What?”

“Wash you. I’m clean. I want to care for you.”

He spread his arms. “I am at your disposal.”

She smiled and sank the cloth into the bucket of warm water, rinsed it, then took a cake of soap smelling of sage, honey, and rosehip and foamed it in her hands. Placing her hands on his chest, she smoothed the foam over his skin. Sweet pleasure spread through him at her touch. He wanted to close his eyes to enjoy it even more, but he did not want to miss a moment of looking at her. He took in her beauty, every movement of her lips, the way her eyes changed as her thoughts changed, the way the water glistened on her skin in the dim light of the hearth and the candles.

The way her face was so loving and caring. He did not want to miss seeing that face for all the gold of nine worlds of Yggdrasil. He wanted to believe that her heart was full of that love, too.

She massaged first his chest, then his stomach, and as her hands moved down, the aching skin of his loins burned hotter the closer she got to his erection. He groaned as she spread the soap on the lower part of his stomach and withdrew.

“Please, go on,” he said.

With a sly little smile, Cathy foamed the soap between her hands again and began washing his shoulder, massaging down his arm, and his muscles turned into melting butter. “Oh, you really want to wash me,” he said, his head falling back. “I thought you meant—”

Cathy was now at his hand and she even washed between his fingers, massaging his palm with just the right amount of strength to soften the tense muscles and spill relaxation through him.

“Just so that you know,” he said. “I will not let you out of here until you are mine at least three times.”

She chuckled softly and repeated the process with his other shoulder and arm, then foamed her hands again and went behind him and lathered his back, from his neck to his buttocks and then lower.

No one had ever massaged him. The sensation was strange but pleasant. All too soon, she lowered herself to wash his legs, and he tensed in anticipation every time her fingers came close to his throbbing cock. But she never touched it, sly vixen.

She stood up and led him to sit on the wooden bench. She positioned herself behind him and began washing his head, her fingertips doing wonders with his scalp. She poured the warm water over him with a large ladle, helping with one hand to remove the soap from his body. She even gently washed his face and beard with the cloth, finishing with a playful peck on the tip of his nose. He couldn’t help but smile back.

Then she finally knelt before him to wash the only part of his body that she still had not touched.

“Just so that you know,” she said, gazing up at him from below, so seductive, so beautiful. “I am not letting you out of here until you are thoroughly cleaned.”

“You have been very missed.”

She hid a smile and looked right at his erection, which twitched in anticipation. She lathered her hands and lay them on him, and that first light touch spread through him like the sweetness of honey, and the buzz of mead, and the warmth of sunlight, and everything else that was delicious and pleasurable in this world.

Cathy massaged his stiff cock, and he groaned, his fingers clenching around the edge of the bench.

Oh, those hands…

Then she washed the soap off him with warm, aromatic water. And then, out of nowhere, her mouth was on him. Her lips encircled him, her tongue sliding around him, bringing him into a sweet, deep sea of silky agony. Her mouth moved along his length, together with her tongue, turning Andor into fluid iron, ringing the tune of the gods.

“Stop, Cathy—” he groaned. “I will—”

“Hmm,” she murmured against him, but ignored him and sped up her movements.

She opened her mouth so that he hit so deep against her throat that he was all within her, and he could not stop himself.

He came, violently, holding onto her shoulders, flying high, rocking on the waves of the pleasure that went through him like a storm.

When he opened his eyes, she was on his lap, pressed against him, her legs on either side of his hips.

He stroked her smooth back, which was now dry.

“That did not count as one of the three times,” he said.

She smiled. “It counted as one of the times I made you mine.”

He chuckled. “I am already yours. I have been since the moment I saw you. I will always be.”

He bit his tongue then as he saw surprise and hope mixed with pain in her eyes. He should not have said that, even though it was true.