Bath Time
The sunlight beamed through French windows, giving the bathroom a golden glow. It was four in the afternoon, and within that hour, it is bath-time for a certain voodoo queen. She lies in the tub, the bubbles covering bits that give way to modesty.
"Haven't had a bath this good in ages," She addresses her servant boy, bespectacled and stoic, who stands at the foot of the tub with a towel draped over his arm. His eyes were shielded by the light reflected from his frames.
"Thank you, Madame," he began, coming towards her and grabbing one of Marie's feet.
Eyebrow raised and defenses on high, Marie waits for what her servant is up to.
"May I ask, if I could…bathe you?"
"Bathe me?" Marie repeats, sitting up from her relaxation.
"Yes, bathe you. I want to make sure every inch of you is clean, Madame. As your humble servant it is my job to show concern for your hygiene…"
"Are you saying I don't know how to wash my own ass?" an irritated tone warned the servant to choose his words wisely.
"No, Madame, please excuse my bad choice of words. I just want to clean you. From head," his fingers trace her jaw-line, giving her tingles.
"To toe," his lips grace her toes, giving each toe a gentle peck. Marie dipped her head back, enjoying the lip service.
"Yes you can, servant. But be warned, Oliver," the threatening tone made the servant's eyes flicker to Marie's.
"If I even think you're planning to harm me, you will learn the consequences of your actions, like Johnny."
The mention of his son's name makes Oliver stiffen, but otherwise stay unnerved.
"Understood, Madame. I shall begin with your hair," methodical fingers tug Marie's braids out of the sloppy bun she put in. They fell in the water with a loud smack, splashing the floor with the liquid. Oliver walks over to the tray table arranged in an assortment of soaps and picked a shampoo bottle. Marie craned her neck to see which shampoo he picked, only to have her head gently pulled to face Oliver.
"It's a surprise, Madame. I'd wish for you to not spoil it," he winks at her. Marie feels his presence behind her, setting her body on edge. He's a dangerous man who could kill her any minute, this she knows, but the excitement is too much to bear. She gasps when nimble fingers sink into her scalp, massaging it with utmost care. The fingers, the atmosphere, the strong aroma of marshmallows and oranges from her shampoo are enough to make Marie moan in bliss. She tilts her head back, eyes closed, and gets lost in the massage until the fingers leave. Her disappointment leaves when warm water sprays her hair, tickling her scalp and neck until she giggles softly.
"I'm glad you like this, Madame," Oliver whispers against her neck, daring himself to leave a kiss.
Ever since Marie gave him a second chance at life, Oliver's been tortured by her. Her touch, her scent, her delicious plump lips and not being able to kiss them are driving him insane. Marie gave him strict orders to not form any sort of romance with her or face dire consequences. He is aware he's playing with fire by touching her this way, but it'll be worth getting burned. He gives another kiss at the nape of her neck before getting the conditioner and beginning round two of his foreplay.
Marie basks in it all, enjoying her pamper session, but feeling guilty. She blames her loneliness for allowing this to happen, letting an ex-serial killer give her these feelings of lust and affection. But Oliver's fingers, his baritone of a voice so tender and sweet, it makes her say damn it all. When his lips touched hers, however, her mind went blank.