Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Perhaps that’s why Neska seeks me out so often. He’s lonely and doesn’t know how to handle it.
I’m far too soft-hearted, but I hold a hand out to Neska anyhow. “Come with me.”
He frowns at me, gazing down at my hand, as if I’ve just asked a question he doesn’t understand.
I wait patiently, not explaining myself. If he wants more from me, he’s going to have to give a little. When I don’t speak up, he stares down at my hand and then slowly puts his long, many-fingered one into mine.
It’s a start, and I’m pleased.
I take his hand and lead him back up the long, cobweb-strewn ramp.
“Where are we going?” There’s a hint of curiosity in his voice, and I wonder that he can’t just read my mind—or my thread—and automatically know the answer.
“I’m going to bathe you.”
He absorbs this. “Because it pleases you?”
“Yes, that’s right. Because it pleases me. Do you object?”
“No.” Neska sounds more intrigued than annoyed.
We’re both quiet as we walk up the ramp, my skirts slithering against the webs. I see a spider or two scuttle along the walls, as if they’re watching this development with interest, but no one interrupts us. Neska doesn’t comment on the fact that I now have an opening into my rooms, either. He’s silent as I draw him into my quarters and then turn on the water for my tub, waiting for it to heat. When it warms a bit, I add a drop of one of my favorite fragrant oils and then turn to him. “May I undress you, my lord?”
He gives me a sharp nod, his eerie eyes fixed on me.
I run my hands over the front of his robe, looking for fastenings. I’m not entirely surprised to find none save a small knot-and-loop tucked near one hip that functions as a button. I ease the strange, unearthly fabric free and realize this is the first time I’m going to see him naked. I’ve serviced him with my body, felt his cock a dozen different ways as he rammed into me, but this is the first time I’ve been able to explore on my own. Even when I touched Zaroun, his robes covered his body, protecting it from my gaze.
I wonder what a god looks like.
My answer is obvious—Neska is tall, slim, and pale. His limbs are not the graceful strength I expected, but an unnerving sort of willowy that I would associate with spider legs. His chest is slim to the point of skinny, his shoulders broad and adding to the vaguely gaunt look of him. It makes his erect cock all the more obscene, because it’s the only part of him that seems thick and filled out, and flushed a startling pink against the deathly pale skin.
“I am not a god of beauty,” he says suddenly. My staring must have gotten to him.
“No,” I agree. “You are a god of time and fate, yes? I imagine appearances don’t matter much to you.”
“Should they?”
I consider this. “No. Appearances wither and fade. It’s the spirit that is important.”
He says nothing to that, but I don’t sense disapproval with my words. He remains still as I tug the robes from his arms and fold them, setting them on a stool next to the tub. His hair is long, sweeping to the backs of his buttocks, and as gossamer and pale as the spiderwebs that cover the tower. I run my fingers through a few strands and I’m not surprised to find them as soft as they look.
Rolling my sleeves up, I dip a hand into the tub to test the heat, and when I’m satisfied, I turn back to Neska. “In, please, my lord.”
He lifts one leg and picks his way carefully into the tub. The way he moves, I’m reminded of spiders again. But just like the spiders that lurk in the shadows of the halls, I’m no longer terrified of them. They’re just different than me. And Neska seems strangely vulnerable in this moment, giving himself over to my care.
I like that. It makes me feel powerful. I lean over the tub and fix my gaze on him. “I’m going to bathe you now, my lord.”
He nods.
Using one of my clips, I pull his silky hair up into a knot atop his head. “I’ll wash your hair for you later,” I tell him. When there’s no protest, I wet a soft towel and add soap to it, then lean in and begin to rub it over his shoulders.
He makes no reaction to my touch, but I’d have to be blind not to see the thick log of his cock in the water. The tip is just barely brushing against the surface, that same lurid pink of arousal as I saw before. He stares straight ahead, and I can’t tell if he’s getting pleasure from my touch or simply enduring me.