His ministrations were usually indifferent in appeal to her, but he’d always enjoyed doing this. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from being slower, and more attentive, as awe filled him.
The flesh of his hands had to be rough against her skin, but she was so unbelievably supple. Little muscles were tight with natural tension as he massaged them more than he usually did just so he could truly feel them. Tendons were hard as they connected to fragile bones that he attempted to be delicate with as he felt around her elbow.
Her little hands brought him intense interest when he felt how dainty they were as he dug his fingertips into the webbing of her splayed fingers. He even brushed the pad of his thumb over her dull, yet long, fingernails.
He almost couldn’t believe he was doing this. He’d never bathed any of his offerings without his gloves, and he was entranced by her body already.
Working on her other arm, he gave it the same attention as if the memory of the first one wasn’t enough to be burned into him.
She suddenly grabbed his hand to still him. Frozen in uncertainty, he watched her lean forward to inspect it.
“Your hand…” She gasped lightly, turning it palm up before twisting it back over so she could see the back.
His skin was a darkish grey, so very inhuman, although his hand was of similar shape to hers despite its size. A small lump of saliva clogged in his throat when she brushed her thumb over the knuckles where his hand met his fingers.
She was examining the protruding bone that rose out from his flesh, his knuckles white with them. His skin was actually attached to it, but it was split so each of the five fingerbone knuckles of his hand poked past his skin, including his thumb.
Turning his hand over again, she inspected the darker, calloused skin.
It was only when his fingers twitched at a tingling sensation due to her tickling his palm, that her hands flung away.
“Sorry!” she exclaimed.
Orpheus’ heart was beating fast. She touched me. She had willingly grabbed his hand and held it, brushed it, examined it with curiosity rather than horror.
“I did not mind,” he answered, his voice rougher than it had been a minute ago, his fur standing on end.
Done with her arms, he removed his hands so he could obtain more oil and dipped it into the water before he began to gently wash her face.
Her lips were plump as they yielded under the light pressure, her eyelashes a flutter as he slipped across her closed eyelids. His orbs faded from blue to purple when he moved his hand over her jaw and then her throat.
Desire was flaring inside him, stronger than he’d ever felt before, as she craned her neck to the side to assist him.
Her wet hair was silky as he ran his hands through it, massaging her scalp to make sure he got the oil to her skin through the thick strands.
He noticed a large scar behind her ear just at her hairline. Something had hit her, deep enough to leave noticeably raised skin. He moved her hair out of the way to see it was pink like it was only a few years old.
His heart was beginning to thunder while the purple in his vision deepened as his palms ran down her chest. He should have kept his touch indifferent, knew it was too intimate and slow as he cupped her breast to wash it, but Reia didn’t say anything in protest.
Perhaps she didn’t know or realise the change, that his touch was filled with want and desire.
He did notice that her lips thinned from her biting them shut and that her body twitched. Her brows drew together tightly when he went to the other breast, knowing he couldn’t linger even though he wished to. Her nipple was hard, and he felt the scrape of it against his palm before he flicked it with his thumb, just to make sure, as he moved away.
His desire waned when she made a noise of distress. He pressed his snout against the crook of her neck to smell her scent directly.
She yelped and jumped away from him and Orpheus flung his hands away from her body as his eyes turned white. Cupping her neck, she turned to him with wide eyes.
“W-why did you sniff me?”
He could see her chest was heaving.
“I thought you were afraid, so I was making sure,” he answered truthfully. “It is hard to tell through the water.”
“You were trying to smell fear?” Her eyes softened, her brows drawing together more in thought than emotion.
“You made a strange noise. If I smelt fear, I was going to ask you if you wanted me to put my gloves back on.”
But she didn’t smell of fear. That wasn’t why she’d made the noise, and he couldn’t understand why she had then.
She gave a laugh, but it didn’t hold humour. Rather, it seemed more panicky than anything.