Leaning against Leroy's chest, Lorraine's fingers traced idle patterns over the firm rise and fall of his breathing. The faint glow of the fire danced across his skin, still warm from the closeness they had shared moments ago. Lorraine's lashes fluttered as she looked up at him, her voice soft yet imperious.
"I want a bath… A warm bath."
The words fell like a royal decree.
It had been three days since she last truly bathed; a scandalous stretch by her standards. Yes, Leroy had warmed water for her to wipe herself each night, ever attentive, ever patient… but it wasn't the same. A bath was not merely for cleanliness; it was ritual, comfort, identity. She craved the feel of scented oils, the rise of steam, the moment her body could melt into warmth and forget the world.
Leroy's gaze dropped to her, his lips twitching before the faintest sigh escaped him.
Three days. Only three days, and his darling wife, once the epitome of composure, was testing the very edges of his restraint.
