A series of pools spilled down shallow ledges, one into another, from two springs that bubbled up from underground almost side-by-side. One spring steamed with heat, even in the already warm, humid air; the other had that silvery clarity only truly cold water could possess. The water that flowed down from both mixed and met in a rock-rimmed basin large enough for swimming, flowing past modest curves of stone that served as footbridges. Mesh screens were submerged at intervals along the streams curving from pool to pool, wicker weavings that glowed faintly to his magesight, suggesting they were there to cleanse away any impurities caused by bathing, as well as to catch leaves fallen from the plants growing around the edges of the springs, streams and pools.
Certainly there was a tile-roofed shed at the back of the stone-paved grotto, beyond a hedge of deep pink, lavender and yellow roses in various stages of bloom. He could see shelves lined with towels, jars, bottles, soapbricks and sponges as he followed Mari that way. Benches were scattered here and there among the curving flowerbeds and grassy patches of lawn, some of smooth-worn stone, others of sanded wood. Two more stood within the shed-area, waist-high and made of padded leather with holes in one end, the kind used in Sundaran bathhouses for massaging purposes; one's face was settled into that hole, allowing the person to lie naturally and comfortably while the masseusse or masseur worked, yet still be able to breathe.
"Gian? Would you, um…turn around?" Mari asked, blushing and biting her lip.
Gian blinked, eyed her as she exhibited this show of maidenly embarrassment, and turned around. Smiling, he pulled his own tunic over his head. A soft, feminine sound of pleasure—much like the more masculine one he had made at the end of their meal—escaped Mari. A moment later, her hands ghosted gently over the scars on his back, then slid around his ribs to his chest, spreading and savoring the texture and heat of his skin. Gian let out a groan and leaned back into her body, enjoying the soft feel of her curves pressing into him through her tunic. Her fingertips traced the ridges of his abdomen, tickling him around his navel, then worked their way back up to explore the flatness of his male nipples. Sensations tingled through him, racing through his blood and pooling in his loins.
"You feel…good. Very good," Mari murmured against his neck. She inhaled deeply, then stilled her caresses with a half-laugh. "—But you *reek* of horse sweat!"
That made him laugh. Catching a hand, he turned around and faced her, kissing her imprisoned fingertips. His light brown eyes glowed with hazel promises. "That's because we've both been riding all day. Time to bathe in this little grotto, as you suggested."
Releasing her, he picked up a sponge, a pot of softsoap that smelled like galingale-ginger of all things, if pleasantly so, and headed out of the shed for the nearest pool. A test of the water with his hand proved it on the cool side of lukewarm. Setting down his supplies, trying hard not to think about Mari watching him, about her stripping naked and lathering herself with some flower-scented soap, he stripped out of his remaining clothes and waded into the water.
A few moments later, he heard more splashing than the pools alone could account for, and smiled again. It was a torment, not turning around, a sweet torment to guess just by sound what she was doing as he scrubbed himself with the spicy-scented soap he had picked. She wasn't in the same pool, though, and curiosity had him turning slightly, just enough that he could catch a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Lathering her freckled body, he saw, slowing his own scrubbing motions. For the first time in his life, Gian actually wanted to be a sponge. He envied that lathered scrap of dead sea creature, for she was rubbing it over her full, freckled breasts, down over a stomach taut with the training exercises all Knights performed each morning, day in and day out.
Hazel green eyes flashed his way, caught sight of him staring openly at her, and their owner froze. Gian could feel her gaze slide down his body, more tangible than the soapsuds doing the same thing here and there. That stare finally fixed on his groin, rampant and unable to hide under the water, which only reached up to mid-thigh on him. On her, he noticed, the water reached all the way to the apex of her thighs, and little waves lapped at the dark curls waiting there. Those curls were like a magnet for his gaze, making him envy the water in the other pool. Rational thought slunk out of his head. Wading through the water, he climbed out, crossed down into her pool as she stared, frozen like a deer caught in the gaze of a hungry lion—and he was hungry—and stepped into the somewhat warmer waters of her pool.
She watched him approach, as still as an arrested statue, until he took the sponge out of her hand, tossing his somewhere out beyond the edge of the pool; his other arm slid around her back, slippery with lather, and pulled her up against him. A grunt, primal and needy, escaped his body as it met hers. Closing his eyes, Gian revelled in the slick slide of their skin, the rapid beating of her heart, the indeed rose-scented soap that mingled with his spice in heady combination. Her hair, damp from a dunking, smelled like dirt and wet horse sweat, but it also smelled of her. The soft, lathered skin of her belly trembled at the first touch of his rampant manhood, then slowly relaxed, melting into him; her nipples beaded, arousing his chest as they scraped softly against his skin.
Hands that had at first splayed nervously on his chest, now slid up his throat and buried themselves in his hair. Gian opened his eyes as she guided his face to hers, then closed them again with a sigh as her mouth sought and found his. Tongues meshing, bodies gliding, they kissed. As much as he wanted to devour her, to just find the nearest ledge at the edge of the pool and take her, Gian dragged himself back from the depths of his lust. Gentling their embrace, he pulled back just far enough to meet her questioning eyes, smiled reassuringly, and scooped her up high against his chest with a muscled arm under her buttocks.
Uncertain of her new, slippery perch, Mari clutched at his shoulders. This gave her better purchase, and brought her breasts tormentingly close to his face. Forcing himself to focus, Gian located a ledge of stone at the side of the lukewarm pool, but not to make her his. Instead, he used the sponge in his hand as soon as he set her down, gliding it over those breasts, making her draw in her breath as he circled her rosy nipples with the soft-rough texture of the sponge. Picking up an arm, he lathered it fully, from shoulder and armpit to fingernails and palm. Then he had to hunt for the softsoap pot she had used, since the lather was almost gone. Coming back, he found her watching him with her hazel green eyes, silent and uncertain of what he intended next. Giving her a reassuring smile, Gian soaped her other arm, then sat beside her and scrubbed her neck and back.
