Darkest Love by Melody Tweedy Page A

as he went along. She watched his shins shift as he adjusted his buttocks on his seat. The tone in his voice was so hard that she gulped.
    â€œThis will be my homage.”
    She allowed herself a peek up at Rain’s face. He towered above her, head so high that his chin disappeared into his neck. But God, he was still handsome. Those shoulders and arms Annie loved spread out like a man-muscle mountain range and his eyes darted like cruel birds, swooping and piercing. He observed Annie on her knees.
    â€œEyes down,” he ordered.
    Annie lowered her eyes and stared at her own fingers gripping her thighs. Her knuckles were white. She couldn’t wait for him to let her start. They had agreed she had to wait. She had to wait for the blasted words.
    â€œYou may begin.”
    â€œI may begin.” Hand shaking, Annie gripped the sponge at her side and drenched it in the bucket of fragrant water she had prepared. With Rain’s blessing each step of the way, of course.
    â€œNow you may prepare my foot bath.”
    â€œNow you may set it down.”
    â€œYou may not look me in the eye.”
    â€œYou must walk with your head lowered.”
    Annie could already feel her clitoris pulsing and wet space around it quivering in anticipation as she drenched her sponge in the soapy water. She followed the sponge with her pumice stone. Each shuffle of her knees on the dirt floor sent a wave of sensations through her body. She could scarcely focus on anything else. There was so much . So much emotion, so much sensation. It was not just her horniness—the slick between her legs and the hot ache that circled her bead—though that was distracting indeed.
    Bits of pressure almost made her gasp, they were so delicious, and at one point when she shuffled back to avoid head-butting Rain’s knee, she moaned unwittingly. Her thighs were wet as hell and her clit pulsed with blood, relishing the quick applications of pressure from her inner thighs. A tropical storm circled the bead, wet and hot, and lush sensations ran in streaks, like devastated city streets, down her legs and up her spine.
    Biggest casualty: Me.
    Me and my dignity, really .
    Annie squeezed the sponge, feeling the other distractions: Humiliation. Fear. The peach scent of her bath bomb, the ache of her knees. The sweat down her face. The crick beginning to develop in her neck.
    Eyes down; Rain had ordered it. She wanted to look up above his shins, into his face as she prepared the bath and worked the sponge. Rain hovered like a cruel god, not even moving aside when she showed discomfort. It was she who had to shuffle away. And her excited slit? All that longing concentrated between her legs? That was proof she was a twisted individual.
    It was as she had suspected; she was a sucker for punishment.
    â€œYou may begin your homage.”
    Annie squeezed a final sudsy waterfall from the sponge and shuffled back, lifting Rain’s foot so it rested in her lap. For the next ten minutes that foot was her world. She cleaned the ankle, soles and veined front segment above the toes. She got to know each curve and cord and sinew, each hair and patch of dryness.
    She began with a great soapy swish that sent so much water into her lap he barked. “Less mess!”
    His sharp kick almost got her in the face. Annie continued, wiping the foot with smaller strokes, enjoying the shape of Rain’s toes—so square, with such wide, low-sunken toenails. The tops of his toes were so bulbous–so different from her own.
    Annie focused on these small details. Her body relaxed and her back and arms flooding with heat as her body prepared for the sex she knew, deep inside, was coming. Something about concentrating all her attention on this task, something about being ordered and limited aroused her. It melted her body in preparation for Rain’s dick.
    But she barely allowed herself to think about that. She sponged on. Toes. Ankles. Sole. Heel. The foot