Garden of May

Even after the satisfying cl1max, they remained entwined, limbs tangled, bodies leaning against each other. The afterglow lingered, unusually long this time. Vanessa curled up, her cheek resting on his slowly rising and falling chest. She reveled in the shared warmth of their skin, the comfort of their smooth flesh pressed together, even though she could barely move a finger. Clinging to him like this, she felt like a slug, stripped bare of its flimsy shell, leaving only its soft inner self exposed.

A soft moan escaped her lips. He thrust a few more times into her, still engorged, then withdrew, his er3ction as firm as if he hadn’t cl1maxed at all. Her swollen opening parted, releasing a warm flow that trickled down her thighs. No matter how many times they made love, this wanton sensation never felt quite familiar. He lifted her, sheet and all, as she shuddered slightly.

“Wait, just a moment….”

“Don’t waste your energy. Just cooperate.” He tapped the back of her neck. She didn’t want to be carried like a child, but her exhausted body craved compromise. Hesitantly, she reached out and wrapped her arms around River Ross’s neck.

He lowered her into the bath, already filled with lukewarm water. He paid no mind to the soaking sheet. Vanessa groaned softly.

“What? Is it cold?”

“No… the temperature is fine. It’s good….”

It wasn’t the water, but her own body. The water stung her abused flesh, the lingering ache almost unbearable. She glanced down at herself. Her easily bruised skin was covered in a tapestry of marks. He had been careful, meticulously controlling his strength as he held her, yet the marks remained. She dipped her face into the water up to her nose, trying to swallow the pain. Her long hair fanned out beneath the surface, like golden seaweed.

“Still hurts?”

A wet hand traced the dried marks on her cheek and around her eyes. She shook her head, and his stern expression softened.

River Ross stood and, scooping cold water from a basin in the corner, washed away the remnants of their lovemaking from his own skin. He cared for her so tenderly, yet treated himself with the casual indifference of a soldier bathing in his barracks during wartime. Vanessa rested her cheek against the edge of the tub, following his movements. The water cascaded over his taut muscles, tracing rivulets down his body. He must have sensed her gaze, but he didn’t hesitate. A body like that, she thought, he could walk around n4ked without a shred of shame. If it were sculpted, people a hundred years from now would criticize it for being too perfect.

“Vanessa.”

She startled awake, wiping a dribble of drool from her lip with the back of her hand. She must have dozed off, leaning against the tub. River Ross was already clean, dressed, and composed. He smiled at the lingering mark on her cheek and reached into the now-cooled water. His fingers slipped between her thighs, clearing the remaining traces of their passion. A shiver ran down her spine each time his fingers grazed her sensitive flesh, but she remained still, knees drawn up, accepting his ministrations.

One last surge of fluid escaped her. He brushed his water-covered hand across the bridge of her wrinkled nose.

“I left a gown there. Finish washing up and come out. Try not to fall asleep again.”

He watched her with a smile as she obediently nodded, her face flushed. The damp sheet, draped over a rope strung across the ceiling, served as a makeshift curtain.

Vanessa glanced nervously at the flimsy sheet before hurrying out of the tub. She gathered her damp hair and lathered herself thoroughly with soap, scrubbing every inch of her body with a soft sponge. Thankfully, there was enough water left in the basin to rinse away all the soap.

Feeling refreshed, she wrapped the gown tightly around herself and stepped out of the bathroom. A fire crackled in the fireplace. The two-hour fire to dispel the warehouse’s dampness had become a familiar ritual.

“Here.”

Vanessa took a few sips of the water he offered and moved away from the heat, towards the desk. Her gaze drifted over the items on the desk, stopping at a sketch held down by a paperweight.