She leaned back, arms draped along the smooth edge of the tub, eyelids heavy, as the steam veiled the room in lavender and heat. Her breath moved slow, matched to the lapping bubble water against her skin. Candles flickered on the counter, soft light dancing across tile. Her shoulders were submerged, head resting on the back of the tub, when he entered, quietly, reverently. A ritual, she'd told him once. Salt for protection, lavender for grounding. And she needed grounding.
“Every night?” he asked, voice low.
“Mmhmm.” Her eyes opened lazily. “It keeps me sane.”
“Can I join?”
“You sure?” she asked, voice low, smile teasing. “This is sacred space.”
He smirked as he shed his clothes. “Then I’ll treat it like a temple.”
That reverence quickly faded when he dipped his foot beneath the bubbles.
“Good LORD,” he remarked in surprise. “You always bathe in lava?”
“Purification,” she said calmly. “Burns off the nonsense.”
He eased in inch by inch, groaning under his breath. “You’re the nonsense.”
“You’re the one who said you wanted to join,” she answered, flicking water at him with her toes.
She was already settled in the other end of the tub as he acclimated to the scalding water, knees drawn loosely up, arms resting along the rim like she was born to soak in sanctuaries.
The heat enveloped him as he settled across from her. Knees bumped, then slid past. Her legs rose, wrapping lightly around his thighs in a lazy frog like tangle, knees bent and resting on either side of his waist.
His hands slid up her legs, then down again, cupping behind her knees. He tugged her gently forward. The warm water surged up between them, spilled over the edge.
“Come here,” he said, quiet and sure, pulling her up. Her body met his, slick and bare, chest to chest.
“Hi,” his voice low, pressing a kiss to her lips.
She chuckled. “Hi.”
His hands moved gentle along her calves, thumbs brushing slow circles behind her knees. Then up, over her thighs, gliding beneath the waterline to rest on her hips.
“You smell like dreams,” he whispered. “I didn’t know lavender could turn me on so much.”
She leaned forward slightly, letting her body slide against his, the tips of her breasts grazed his skin.
“So this is your nightly ritual?” he asked, hands moving up to cup each breast.
“Of course. Salt to protect, lavender to ground, heat to burn away the day. And you…” she let her thighs tighten around him, drawing him closer, “…you’re the chaos I’m willing to let in.”
His mouth pressed to her neck in a slow, reverent kiss before trailing lower. He kissed the swell of one breast, then the other, his lips warm and deliberate. When he took her nipple into his mouth, she drew in a sharp breath, his other hand rolled and teased the opposite peak with aching patience.
Her arms tightened around his neck, a soft moan rising from her throat as she arched against him, water lapping gently between their bodies.
“You always smell like lavender,” he murmured, switching sides. “Drives me insane.”
She let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut. “You say that like you’re not already halfway there.”
He laughed softly, lips trailing back up her chest until they met hers. The kiss was deep and slow. His hands slid down her back, over her hips, lifting her slightly until their bodies aligned. She shifted, just a little. It was enough.
He slid into her with ease, the water a silken veil around them both, though it did little to ease the stretch. Her breath caught.
The water rippled around them, warmth folding over heat. He held her steady, still, forehead pressed to hers.
“Still grounded?” he asked.
She nodded, barely able to speak, her fingers gripping his shoulders like lifelines. “Only because you’re holding me.”
He smiled and began to move her hips with his hands.
“This isn’t gonna last long,” he admitted, eyes locked on hers.
“Then don’t rush,” she whispered, curling her fingers into the back of his neck. “Just be here.”
They rocked together rhythmically, the water sloshing gently against porcelain in time with their breath. No pounding rhythm, no urgency, only the ache of closeness.
He kissed her, soft, seeking kisses that landed at her jaw, her cheek, her lips. When his forehead dropped to hers, she held him there, their breath mingling in the lavender steam.
And when release overtook him, it was with a low, broken sound against her lips, his arms cinched tight as if anchoring himself to her.
Neither of them spoke right away.
Eventually, she whispered, “Told you this was sacred space.”
His lips were pressed against her neck as he murmured into her skin, “What even are you?”
She smiled. “I’m your witch.”
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