She was laying on her back on a raised stone slate. The room was lit by several torches, casting an orange glow through the steam. Every so often, a thick drop of water would drip from the ceiling onto her body and slide down, joining the slippery condensation on her skin.
The stone was warming on her skin, a drenched woven mat between her breasts and the marbled stone slate beneath.
He walked into the small room quickly and quietly, dressed in simple white cotton. He walked to the sink, and began preparing the area.
"Which oil would you like?" He spoke with his back turned, keeping his eyes focussed on the glass bottles in front of him.
She paused for a moment. When she spoke it was soft and nearly lost with the sound of running water. "Orange blossom"
He nodded, picking up a small bottle of oil, warmed it between his palms and slid his hands against the sole of her foot.
It was a small foot, not much bigger than his hand, with skin the colour of wet terracotta.
His fingers moved between her toes, a little shudder convulsed through her body.
Ticklish.
In silence, he could hear her breath change as he shifted to a firmer pressure, sliding his palms around her calves.
Her hair was wet, swept into a dark tangled knot, exposing the nape of her neck. A few lost strands of dark hair traced their way across her jaw and lead the path towards her spine. A drop of water fell onto her shoulder, following the slopes of her back and disappearing into the thin cotton of her slip dress.
His hands worked without thought, his palms sweeping the slippery surfaces of skin, kneading the edges of her muscles. Condensation covered his forehead, he inhaled the familiar scent of neroli, sweet and citrusy, thick and steamy in his chest.
His palms brushed against the hem of her dress, which was clinging to her thighs. Gently, he pushed the fabric upwards, sliding his palms across the back of her thighs. A strange sensation flittered through his stomach, settling in his crotch. She had a delicate frame, as he leaned over her, he wondered if she was uncomfortable.
"Is this pressure ok? Harder or softer?"
"You can press harder" she said, her face breaking into an embarrassed smile.
The strange sensation pulsed through him again. This time it felt more like a heavy squeezing in his gut.
He pressed his palms into the muscles with some more pressure. He had reached the hem of her dress again. This time he folded it neatly above the small of her back, exposing her bare cheeks, her sex covered by a thin gauzy panty. Blood rushed between his thighs, he quickly looked away, afraid of how transparent his pants may be in the condensation. He could have sworn he heard a sigh.
His fingers began kneading at the edge of her cheeks, sliding his thumb along the crease where her buttocks met her thighs, his knees fitted on the outside of her ankles. As he leaned over her, careful not to breathe heavily, a drop of water from his forehead dripped onto her buttocks, sliding into the crack between her thighs. It disappeared into the fabric he could barely see.
