[i][b]In truth, they were not meant to be together.[/b][/i] He knew this. She knew this. Even as they spoke to one another indirectly, their eyes set down, his on the sponge she was guiding across his chest, hers on the way his long, dark hair fell gracefully across his shoulders; both of them knew the truth of it. To be caught bathing together would've cost them their lives.

And yet...

"So you have three sisters?" He said.

"And I the eldest. Always with the expectations of my family," she smiled softly, though more to herself. She had a fox-like smile. Her eyelashes were long and dark. They elegantly cuddled her cheeks as she shied away from him. The way he sometimes looked at her... Just small glimpses from beneath his hooded lids. He was always so happy to look upon her. So open. So receptive. She felt as if she could say anything to him and he would receive it well.

"That must've been hard...?" He trailed off. As he spoke, he dashed water over his ankles.

His face was smooth and aquiline. His body was regal and perfect. He had well-rounded shoulders, beautifully wrought arms, with tight veins across the wrists and ruddy, weather-beaten hands. As he touched the corner of the bath, she stilled for half a breath and tried to beat back the shivers it sent to her own ankles. She would've liked him to touch her. Just once, without her asking. A rogue moment of passion. Perhaps along her shoulder, or chin, or better yet--across the cheek...

"Yes. I mean, I suppose it was... Very hard, that is," she responded in a daydream, her fingers touching her lips; and then, all of a sudden, she reached with the sponge down his stomach and to her great surprise, he simply leaned back.

"But you are your own woman now. You have your own business. Your own enterprise," he simply smiled at her. His face was full of good grace and was perfectly lacking in expectation. There was also a slight ruggedness to it. A slyness. Like he was proud of her; and like he understood her need to be independent.

"Yes," she laughed uneasily, because he was making her feel shy once more. She took to his chest with the sponge, gratified by the way he simply leaned back and let her cleanse his body. She took quiet liberties; mainly for her own amusement. She let her fingers trail through the dark hair on his chest, though she could've sworn she felt him leaning slightly into her in order to encourage it.

A moment passed between them. Quietly unassuming. Amusing. They both met one another in the eye, and then quite suddenly, she felt herself leaning towards him.

Again, they should not have done it. He was from the wrong kingdom. The wrong household. He was not nobility, at least not what went for nobility in her country; and yet...

As her lips gently caressed his, she could not stop herself from sighing.

He kissed her longingly. Slowly. His mouth parting hers and seeking deeper expanses. She fell slightly against the tub, almost lazily, curling on her side; and he supported her in his arms and started to pull her in. Her dress fell soaked into the full breadth of the bathtub, then bubbled up around them, red and pink. She sat in his lap, nursing his groin, and began to slowly rock her hips back and forth. The sounds coming from him were seductive and alarming to her nervous system. She could only hold his cheeks and kiss him more deeply in return, her eyebrows screwing up as she slowly became more and more passionate--more and more aroused.

"... Esmé. Do you want to stop...?" He spoke to her softly.

She knew the answer. No, she did not. But yes, they should. It was obvious: the door could open any moment. They could be found. She would never see the light of day again. Her father would throw her in a chamber and strip her of all titles and land. Her business would be in ruins--

"And yet..." She spoke as she went in for another kiss.

This time he did not hold back. He let his hands press inside her dress, and he caressed the full weight of her curves. She sank into him breathlessly, giving in; just like she had the night before; and the night before that; and the night again before that. He was stripping the dress from her, and before she knew it she was helping him. Then, naked, she leaned over the side of the tub, rested her face into the softness of the towel, and arched her back to allow him to do whatever he wished with her. His hands were molten on her hips. His touch was like that of God. As he entered her, she almost screamed; then shut herself up by biting down on the towel, turning her face hard against it with each muffled cry that followed his thrusts. And as the sun set outside the bay window, her knuckles turned white as he grew more and more passionate, less and less restrained, and at last she began to smirk and laugh and moan in encouragement.

[i]Her father be damned.

She would not resist her feelings simply because he wasn't white; because he was from a different country.[/i]

[i]After all. If it was so wrong, then why did it feel so good...?[/i]