Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
I demanded cleanliness. Not the Victorian sort that’s secretly about disease and class, but the modern, antiseptic kind. Pure efficiency, zero superstition, just the satisfaction of knowing that whatever touched my skin, I controlled. The bathroom was a temple to that logic. I’d had it remodeled after my divorce: double-wide tub, white tile and black slate, a row of perfectly aligned pillar candles at the lip. The tub filled with water hot enough to blur the edges of my thighs and steam the mirror. The air was thick, saturated with eucalyptus and chlorine. I stretched my arms along the porcelain rim and let my head loll back. Waiting.
Brian entered without knocking. I had told him to do so. My son was obedient, even in shame; he averted his eyes from my nakedness as he knelt by the side of the tub. A study in contrasts. His cock was already hard, bare and raw, but I ignored it. I didn’t want his pleasure. Not yet.
“Hands,” I said, and he held them out. I examined his nails, the webbing between his fingers, the light sweat at his palm. “Soap them.”
He turned to the sink and washed as though in surgery, scrubbing and rinsing and drying with the special white towels I kept for just this purpose. When he returned, I nodded at the bottle of black soap. “Begin,” I said.
One hand pushed on the top of the bottle to dispense a dollop and he worked it into lather between his hands. His eyes kept flicking from my face to my arms, searching for cues, approval, or warning. I watched him. Let him dither. If he wanted to be my servant, my worshipper, my thing, he would have to learn to do it well.
I held out my right arm, slick and glistening, and he set to work. His hands were careful, but I didn’t want careful. I wanted competence. “Pressure,” I said, and he increased the force, massaging the soap into my deltoid, up along the lines of my tricep, down to the wrist. His hands were strong. I closed my eyes, not to savor, but to monitor. When he missed a spot at my elbow, I corrected him, sharp and clear. He fixed it. We repeated for the other arm. When he finished, I flexed my biceps, examining the sheen. Satisfied, I gestured at my shoulders. “Continue.”