Chapter 8: The Bathing Ritual
Eli’s body felt like a map of a recent war. The welts from the crop were raised, tender lines across his skin, and a deeper ache pulsed within him, a phantom fullness. He drifted in the warm haze under the blanket, listening to the quiet sounds of Dominic moving through the penthouse: the clink of glassware being collected, the soft rustle of his discarded clothes being picked up.
Then, strong arms slid beneath him again. Eli didn’t protest, just let his head loll against Dominic’s shoulder as he was lifted. The blanket trailed after them like a banner of surrender.
“You’re a mess,” Dominic murmured into his hair, his voice devoid of its earlier cutting edge. It was a simple statement of fact, almost tender.
He carried Eli not to the bedroom, but into the vast, steam-fogged bathroom. The air was humid and scented with bergamot and petrichor. Dominic set him down gently on a plush, heated towel rack, his bare backside flinching at the warm touch. Eli watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Dominic leaned over the clawfoot tub, turning on the water, testing the temperature with his hand.
He returned to Eli, his movements deliberate. He cupped Eli’s face, his thumb sweeping over a cheek still smeared with his own release. “In.”
Eli stood on shaky legs, letting Dominic guide him into the deep tub. The water was blissfully hot, a soothing counterpoint to the stinging marks on his skin. He sank into the bubbles with a sigh that was part relief, part exhaustion.
Dominic didn’t join him. Instead, he rolled up the sleeves of a fresh, black linen shirt he’d thrown on, the casual elegance of it a stark contrast to the raw scene in the other room. He knelt beside the tub, picked up a sea sponge, and lathered it with a sandalwood-scented soap.
He started with Eli’s shoulders, washing away the sweat and salt with slow, circular motions. The sponge moved over his collarbones, down his chest, across his stomach. It was methodical. Reverent. Eli’s head fell back against the rim, his eyes closed. This careful cleansing felt more intimate than anything that had come before.
Dominic’s hand, slick with soap, glided up Eli’s neck, tilting his head back. He poured a stream of warm water over his fiery hair, then massaged in shampoo. His fingers worked in firm, soothing circles against Eli’s scalp, scratching just right. A low, involuntary hum escaped Eli’s throat.
“So responsive,” Dominic said quietly, more to himself than to Eli. “Even now.” He rinsed the hair, his fingers combing through the wet strands to ensure every trace of suds was gone. Then the sponge traveled lower again, over his hips, down his thighs, carefully avoiding the sensitive stripes. It was the quiet that was getting to Eli, the unbearable focus.
The sponge dipped between his legs, a gentle, impersonal swipe. Then Dominic’s hand stilled. He dropped the sponge into the water. His wet fingers, now bare, traced the curve of Eli’s ass, skirting the heated welts. Then, without warning, they pressed against his loosened entrance.
Eli’s eyes flew open. Dominic was watching him, his blue gaze intent, unreadable.
“Clean inside, too,” Dominic said, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the steamy air.
One finger slipped in easily, aided by the water and the lingering evidence of their earlier coupling. Eli gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the tub. It wasn’t violent. It was possessive. Clinical. Dominic worked the finger in and out, a slow, thorough penetration. Then he added a second, stretching him again, scissoring gently. The overstimulation was a sweet, sharp agony. Eli whimpered, pushing down onto the intrusion, a traitor to his own oversensitivity.
“See?” Dominic’s breath was warm against his ear as he leaned closer. “Still greedy. Still mine.”
He crooked his fingers, and Eli cried out, his back arching. Dominic smiled, a rare, dark curve of his lips. He pumped his fingers slowly, relentlessly, watching every twitch of Eli’s face, every shudder that ran through the water.
“Please,” Eli whispered, not even knowing what he was asking for.
“Please what?” Dominic’s voice was a rough caress.
“I don’t… I can’t…”
Dominic withdrew his fingers. He stood, looking down at Eli’s wrecked, wet form. Water sluiced down his chest, bubbles clinging to his freckled skin. Dominic’s own resolve seemed to fracture. With quick, jerky motions, he pulled the linen shirt over his head and dropped his trousers. He was already hard again, his cock standing thick and eager against his stomach.
He stepped into the tub, the water sloshing over the sides. He didn’t kneel. He simply pulled Eli up, turned him around, and bent him over the rounded edge of the tub. Eli’s chest pressed against the cool, slick porcelain, his ass presented in the open air, the city lights a blurred painting beyond the fogged glass.
Dominic’s hand came down on one welt, not a strike, but a firm, stinging press. Eli jolted. Then he felt the blunt, wet head of Dominic’s cock nudge against him.
“Tell me you want it,” Dominic commanded, his body caging Eli’s, one hand braced on the tub beside his head. “Even sore. Even used. Tell me.”
“I want it,” Eli panted, the words ripped from him. “Fuck me, sir. Please. I need to feel you.”
With a grunt of pure need, Dominic pushed inside. The stretch was immense, a burning, glorious reconquest. The water made everything slick, hot, obscene. Dominic set a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust sending water sloshing onto the floor. His hands gripped Eli’s hips, his fingers digging into the tender flesh, claiming the marks he’d made.
“This perfect, filthy hole,” Dominic rasped, his pace quickening, becoming less controlled. “Still so fucking tight for me. Taking me so deep.” He leaned over, biting the juncture of Eli’s neck and shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to brand. “You’re gonna come again. Just from this. Just from my cock ruining you.”
It was an impossible demand, but Eli’s body, wired to Dominic’s voice, Dominic’s touch, obeyed. The friction, the ache, the sheer vulgarity of being fucked over the edge of a bathtub while covered in soapy water coiled the tension in his gut tighter. He didn’t touch himself. He didn’t need to.
“Dominic,” he sobbed, a breach of protocol that earned him a sharper, harder thrust.
“Say it.”
“I’m coming,” Eli screamed, and his orgasm shattered through him, dry, wrenching, making his knees buckle. Dominic held him up, driving into him through the convulsions, his own control snapping.
With a final, brutal drive, he emptied himself into Eli, a hoarse cry echoing in the tiled room. He slumped over Eli’s back, his weight a solid, warming pressure, their rapid breaths the only sound besides the dripping tap.
Slowly, he pulled out. He righted Eli, who was trembling violently, and lowered them both back into the cooling, soap-clouded water. They sat in a tangled heap, Dominic’s back against the tub, Eli cradled between his legs, his head resting on Dominic’s chest.
For a long time, they just breathed. Dominic’s fingers traced idle patterns on Eli’s arm.
Finally, Dominic spoke, his voice rumbling in his chest under Eli’s ear. “The cleaners are coming for the rug tomorrow.”
A faint, delirious laugh bubbled out of Eli. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Dominic kissed his damp hair. “It’s just a rug.”
He shifted, reaching for a large, soft towel. He lifted Eli from the water, wrapped him snugly, and dried him with the same thorough, unsentimental care he’d used to wash him. He dried himself with quick efficiency, then led a boneless Eli to the massive bed.
He pulled back the black sheets and nudged Eli in. Then he walked around to the other side, slid in beside him, and turned out the light. In the dark, he pulled Eli against him, spooning him, his arm a heavy bar across Eli’s waist.
The last thing Eli felt before sleep claimed him was the press of lips against the back of his neck, and a whisper so quiet it might have been a dream.
“Mine.”