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slow and sweet

Author: AREEZ-TA
last update Last Updated: 2025-02-10 16:31:19

Excitement and alarm surged through Evelyn’s entire being, clashing like fire and ice. If his hands had the power to send waves of electricity skimming over her skin, then his words had done worse—igniting a wildfire within her, burning her from the inside out.

A silent warning echoed in the recesses of her mind, a desperate reminder of her resolve, but her body—traitorous, weak, and desperate—pretended not to hear it. Oh, dear lord, help her…

Michael’s hands, those hands that had already unraveled her self-control too many times, moved with an unhurried purpose. They glided over her skin, stroking, teasing, but never where she truly ached for his touch. She bit down on her lower lip, the tension coiling inside her like a beast waiting to be unleashed. She had to stop herself—not just from moaning, but from letting her lips betray her, from begging him for more. And God, she was so close to doing exactly that.

The sound of rushing water ceased as Michael turned off the shower, the sudden silence amplifying her own heartbeat. Evelyn barely registered the movement until she caught sight of the bar of soap in his palm. It wasn’t an ordinary one; she could tell from its handcrafted texture, from the way the lather formed quickly under the pressure of his large hands. The scent of lavender, geranium, and a faint trace of juniper filled the warm, steamy air.

She sucked in a breath as he lathered the soap between his palms, watching the rich foam gather over his skin before he touched her. When he did—when that first slow, deliberate stroke glided over her arm—her breath hitched.

Michael didn’t rush. He took his time, his soapy hands moving languidly over her shoulders, down her arms, then across the flat expanse of her stomach. The warm, slick sensation sent ripples of heat spiraling downward, pooling between her thighs.

“How are you liking this, Evelyn?” His voice, thick and teasing, brushed against her ear like the warmest of breezes, stirring more shivers through her already fevered body.

She struggled to form words, fought against the most dangerous ones that perched on the very tip of her tongue. Please. More. Don’t stop.

She refused to say them.

“H-how could this be a… punishment?” she stammered instead, regretting it the moment the words left her lips. Of all the questions she could have asked…

A deep, knowing chuckle vibrated from his chest, the sound caressing her just as much as his hands did. “Hmm… good question,” he mused, his tone rich with amusement.

And then—oh, dear lord—his hand grazed against her nipple. Whether accidental or intentional, it was a touch so fleeting yet devastating that her pulse skyrocketed. Her breath stuttered. Her already taut nipples tightened further, becoming almost painfully stiff.

If they got any harder, she thought hysterically, they might rival diamonds in their unyielding firmness.

Michael didn’t answer her question. Not with words, at least. He never did.

“You should know that by now, Evelyn.” His voice dripped with amusement, with wicked delight. “I’ll make you figure out the answer soon… very soon. You just need to be patient.”

Patience. A virtue she had never truly mastered—especially not when it came to him.

The moment his hands finally cupped her breasts, a shuddering gasp escaped her. His palms, warm and slick with lather, molded over her skin, the contrast of heat and slipperiness sending shockwaves through her nerves. She waited, breath held, for him to squeeze, to knead, to toy with her the way he had done before.

And, oh, he did.

But this time… he was gentle. So excruciatingly slow, so painstakingly tender, that she found herself holding her breath. Her back arched instinctively, pushing herself further into his touch, desperate for more.

She expected him to twist and tug at her aching peaks, to tease her mercilessly, the way he had on their wedding night. That night. The one she still couldn’t erase from her mind. The one that haunted her thoughts when she was alone.

Was he doing this on purpose? Was this the punishment? To drive her insane with unbearable need until she shattered? Until she begged him?

A low, strangled sound slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

“S-Seb—”

She stopped herself just in time, biting down on her lower lip so hard she nearly tasted blood.

Michael heard, though.

“Hm?” he purred lazily, his breath hot against her ear. There was no mistaking the feigned innocence in his voice, the unspoken dare laced within his tone.

Oh, he was playing with her.

And she was falling right into his trap.

She needed to stop this. Needed to regain control before she lost herself completely.

So she did the one thing that might—just might—throw him off.

“I thought you said you don’t do gentle?” Her voice trembled, but there was defiance in it, too. A reckless challenge. “Or was I… wrong?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

Oh, my god.

What the hell was she doing?

Was she provoking him? Did she want him to lose control? Was she insane?

Michael’s laughter, deep and deliciously sinful, rumbled through the air, wrapping around her like a silk ribbon.

And then—before she could brace herself—his lips brushed against her ear. A whisper of a touch, yet it set her entire body ablaze.

“If we’re talking about f**king,” he murmured, voice low and lethal, “then no, you weren’t wrong.”

Her stomach clenched.

“But baby girl…” His hands resumed their torturous caresses, slow and languid, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel her. “What I’m doing right now isn’t that.”

His lips ghosted over her ear, the barest hint of a smirk in his tone.

“I’m just bathing you.”

Evelyn fought against the overwhelming urge to cover her face with her hands, her entire being vibrating with the weight of embarrassment. Instead, she straightened her spine and attempted to sound as composed as possible. “I… I wasn’t talking about f-f**king,” she stammered, her voice breaking midway. “Did I ever say that?!! I was talking about punishments! I just assumed you don’t do gentle punishments based on the… the thing you did to me on the couch.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she cringed inwardly. That was not the comeback she had been aiming for.

Michael’s breath was warm against her damp skin as he exhaled a low chuckle. She could feel his amusement radiating from behind her, his chest vibrating lightly against her back.

“Oh… is that so?” he mused, dragging out the words as if savoring her flustered state. “My bad, then.”

Then, without warning, he let go of her.

The sudden loss of warmth and contact sent a strange pang through Evelyn, though she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. She wouldn’t turn around. She wouldn’t give in to her body's desperate desire to cling to him, to demand that he touch her again. No, she had to keep her dignity intact.

She took slow, steady breaths, waiting, anticipating his next move.

But seconds ticked by. And then more.

And still… nothing.

What was he doing? Was this another part of his so-called punishment?

A battle raged within her. Curiosity clawed at her insides, urging her to steal a glance over her shoulder. But her pride held firm. No. She wouldn’t be the one to break first.

The stalemate stretched on—until Michael shattered the silence with a command that sent a tremor through her body.

“Turn around, Evelyn.”

His voice was deep, husky, laced with something so utterly intoxicating that her knees nearly buckled.

Slowly—painfully slowly—she turned to face him, determined to mask the ridiculous relief that flooded her system at his words.

But the second her gaze landed on him, her breath hitched.

Michael was crouched on the floor, looking up at her with those wicked, smoldering eyes of his. The sight alone sent a shiver down her spine.

“It’s time to move on to the next part,” he murmured.

Before she could even process what that meant, his hands reached out, grasping her hips with ease. The strength of his hold sent a thrill coursing through her, and her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

A sharp inhale left her lips as she instinctively stepped back.

But Michael didn’t let her go.

“Be good and stay still, Evelyn,” he commanded, his fingers tightening slightly as if to reinforce his words. His gaze, dark and intense, never wavered from hers.

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. And then… he lowered his eyes.

She followed his gaze, and heat erupted in her veins as she realized where he was looking.

Down there.

Her breath caught when a flicker of something raw and unfiltered flashed across his silver eyes. Hunger. Starvation. It was almost… feral.

Oh, dear lord.

Her stomach clenched as Michael’s hands began a slow descent, trailing from her hips to the curve of her backside.

She winced when his fingers brushed against the tender skin of her rear, still stinging from the earlier spanking.

His thumb traced over the area, featherlight. “Does it still sting?” His voice was softer now, husky with something she couldn’t quite place.

Evelyn nodded, keeping her gaze averted. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Michael hummed in response, his hands gliding over her skin with an unexpected gentleness. He massaged the sore spot in slow, soothing circles, his touch a stark contrast to the punishment he had delivered earlier.

“Just to clarify…” he began, his voice laced with amusement, “just because I was rough before doesn’t mean all my punishments have to be like that.”

His lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“In fact…” His fingers traced a languid path down her thigh, brushing ever so lightly against the sensitive skin between her legs. A teasing touch. A warning.

“… have I told you that I also love slow, sweet punishments too?”

Evelyn’s entire body tensed. Her breath hitched. She knew—oh, she knew—that he was doing this on purpose.

Her suspicions were confirmed when his fingers accidentally—definitely on purpose—glided against the soft folds of her core as he lathered soap onto her inner thighs.

Heat coiled deep in her belly, a sensation so potent it nearly made her legs tremble.

She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay still, to not react, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he was affecting her.

But then… he crouched lower.

Lifting her leg, he rested her foot on his thigh. His hands—strong, practiced, devastating—massaged her ankle before trailing upward.

Evelyn could do nothing but stare.

The sight before her was ruinous.

Michael, the ever-composed, dangerously handsome prince, was kneeling before her, washing her feet with an unhurried tenderness that made her insides twist.

Something about the image—about him—made her chest tighten with something too heavy to name.

She bit her lower lip, hard, trying to suppress the emotions swirling within her.

She wasn’t thinking about him like that. She wasn’t!

And yet…

Her gaze drifted to his tattooed forearms, to the taut muscles shifting beneath his skin. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to touch him, to trace her fingers over the inked patterns, to feel his warmth against her palm.

Would he let her?

Would he want her to?

She was lost in the thought, caught in the storm of her own forbidden desires, when—

A strangled moan tore from her lips.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Michael’s fingers had brushed against her core again—this time, with undeniable intent.

She had moaned. Loudly.

Oh, god.

Their eyes met.

Michael’s smirk was pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

But that satisfaction was quickly overtaken by something else.

Hunger.

A raw, all-consuming hunger that made Evelyn’s breath catch.

Warm water cascaded over her body, washing away the soap—and with it, the last remnants of his teasing touch.

It was over. The slow, sweet torture had finally ended.

And yet… she wasn’t relieved.

She wasn’t happy that it was over.

Michael rose to his feet, towering over her once more.

Just as Evelyn thought he was about to step away, he did something that made her heart nearly stop.

He licked his lips.

Then… his gaze dropped lower.

And when he looked back up, his silver eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her entire body heat.

His voice, thick and sinful, spilled into the air between them.

“I’m contemplating…” He tilted his head slightly, silver eyes dark and unreadable.

“Which one should I use to wash you here, hmm, Evelyn?”

His fingers grazed the curve of her hip, his touch featherlight yet deliberate.

Her stomach clenched.

He exhaled, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her damp skin.

“My fingers…” His voice was a slow, deliberate drawl.

His other hand lifted, his knuckles brushing against her inner thigh.

“Or my tongue?”

Evelyn’s breath caught.

Every muscle in her body tensed as a wave of heat crashed over her, drowning her in something she wasn’t prepared for.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Michael’s smirk deepened, wicked amusement flickering across his face.

“I suppose I should be thorough

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