Bath with Mother
Rose leaned her head to one side, half-lidded eyes.
"Are you embarrassed… of your own Mother?"
That single word—Mother—ought to have put space between them.
It only fueled the fire within him.
No blame in her voice. Only warmth. Conviction. As though belonging to her made him more worthy, not less.
He remained silent.
But his body responded. One unwilling step at a time, he approached the boiling water, attracted to her touch like a moth to flame. He reached out and grasped her hand.
The instant their skin touched, he drew a sharp breath. Her fingers were cold, like moonlight on dark stone—yet melting into warmth against his hand. A new surge of hunger surged through his chest, not from his heart, but from deeper—where his dragon core beat steadily low.
Desire is not weakness. Power comes from wanting. From needing.
He entered the bath.
The warmth closed in around him the moment it hit him, causing a shiver to creep up his She drew him gently in between her legs, settling him down into the water. He reclined gradually, his head resting just below her collarbone. Her skin was warm, smooth, and the feel of it against his own caused every nerve to flare.
Her arms enveloped him in a loose, protective hold—but her firm breasts were against his upper back, unhidden and maddening in softness.
His entire body tensed involuntarily.
Then her hands, dipping down into the water and then flowing over his shoulders. Her fingers in slow, careful strokes, working out the tension deep within his muscles. Down his arms… following the shape of his chest with a loving attention, as if she were discovering him again.
The water lapped gently at each touch.
"Easier than ever to rattle," Rose breathed against his ear, her breath caressing his skin. "But I think your body remembers me."
His gut clenched. A rush of heat exploded beneath his waist.
Her hands trailed on. along his belly. and lower. Fingertips touched his hips—and just for an instant, tickled the base of his manhood.
He jerked.
A sharp breath hissed through his teeth, the contact searing like a spark thrown into dry kindling.
"Sensitive already, hmm?" she murmured, her voice now dipped in affectionate mischief. "That's normal. Your body is young again, Alex. Not by vampire standards—but by human ones… you're a man now. Desire… is part of adolescence."
"I-I didn't mean to—" Alex began to stammer, trying to pull away, but her hands remained calm, steady.
She laughed quietly, her voice deep and comforting. "Don't worry. I am just cleaning for you. However, if you wish… I can assist with this as well."
His whole body blushed, the flush rising up his neck.
"N-No! I'll… I'll take care of it later. I'm just… not used to this," he mumbled, each word clumsier than the last. Embarrassment fought with pride, but another part of him—a quiet, instinctual part—felt no shame. Only the thick tension between them… dangerous, seductive.
She didn't protest. She smiled softly instead, her voice dropping to a whisper. "As you will, my son. But don't be afraid of your nature. Vampires are fiery creatures by nature. And purebloods…" She whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against his earlobes. "Purebloods are the most fiery of all."
He shifted his head, looking back at her. His eyes darted upward, hesitant but firm. "I get it, Rose… I do." His tone was subdued. Uncertain. Ashamed—but sincere.
Her face softened.
But she held him fast with a soft touch to his breastbone, anchoring him.
"I wasn't joking," she whispered. "I just want to help you. That's all."
She did not press on.
Instead, she extended to the side, her hand breaking the surface of the water gripping a short knife—curved and slender, made of black bone and silver, its crescent moon curve for a blade.
"What is that for?" he questioned, his eyes tracing the spark of the knife with wary interest.
She smiled. "Your hair. Too long… though lovely, like myself." Her eyes captured his, serene but forceful. "But I would like to see your face."
The tension shifted—softly, subtly. Alex did not stir as her fingers slipped into his wet, matted pink locks. The scissor glided quietly, each snip peeling away a layer of the past. Steam curled around them, warm and private. Her nails skimmed his scalp in soft strokes, descending slowly to his cheek. Her hands swept through his hair like silk, moving with comfort.
Lock by lock drifted into the water, cut with delicacy. She cut his unruly, waist-long mane back until it ruffled his shoulders—shorter, neater, more royal.
With a final brush of her fingers, she swept his bangs back, exposing his full face.
"There," she breathed. "My dashing son. A prince again." Her voice lowered, gruffer. "My charming son… a man now."
Their eyes met—his over the top of his shoulder, hers regarding him as if he was precious and perilous.
Red. Glowing. Ageless. Her eyes contained more than maternal pride—they contained old veneration, an otherworldly tenderness. Not the human warmth of a mother. but something deeper, older. Divine.
She did not regard him as a child, but as something dear. Long-promised. Valued.
Alex's heart skipped a beat. Her red eyes sparkled like rubies in the moonlight, and in them—he saw no cruelty. Only hunger. Affection. A bond against logic. And something else.
Something reflecting the forbidden thoughts that had begun in him. Neither of them uttered it. But it hung between them.
"Thank you…" he whispered, voice shaking, chest constricting. "For… the bath.
She turned his face gently with the back of her fingers. "Why are you thanking me, my son?" There was a teasing note to her voice, soft but aware. "Between us, there's no need for thanks… or apologies."
He swallowed, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. "I… I didn't mean—"
She cut in with a small smile. "Shh. It's okay, Alex." Her voice stroked him like velvet. "Now go. Your robe awaits."
He rose slowly, water running down his wiry body in streams. Muscles rippled under wet skin.
Grasping the towel, he cinched it hard around his waist, jaw clenched. His erection throbbed—visible, irrepressible. Her eyes darted down, then rose to meet his.
Same smile. All-knowing. Dangling just a little too long. Long enough to make him shiver.
Without a word, he turned and stepped out of the bath chamber, breath ragged.
________________________________________
Outside the Bath…
As soon as the cooler air struck him, Alex gasped. Goosebumps roughened on his arms. He leaned against the chilled stone wall next to the bed, chest still laboring.
"What the hell…" he breathed, body slick, towel gripped around his waist. His pulse pounded. "That wasn't just a bath…"
His skin zinged—still warm from the heat, yet more so from her hands. Her eyes. Her proximity.
His body wasn't simply stimulated—it was awakened. Stirred by something deeper than lust. A yearning that felt like fate. Something ancient, long buried, now surfacing.
Blood and desire. Flesh and tie.
He gazed at his chest. Under his skin, softly shining, his dragon core pounded like a second heartbeat.
This isn't Earth.
This realm didn't constrain itself to human morality. Here, power was holy, and bloodlines. divine.
And she? Rose wasn't merely his mother.
She was his beginning. His initial warmth. His goddess.
He moved closer, attracted to the bed. Spread across the sheets was a stately red-and-white robe lined in golden thread. The fabric glimmered dully, as soft as breath.
He stroked his hand across it, the heat strangely familiar. As if her touch still clung. As if she had selected it just for him.
Her smell lingered on his skin—roses and something more sinister. Seductive. Forbidden.
His fingers shook as he put on clothes, allowing the beautiful robe to fall over his shoulders. The material molded like a second skin, cool initially… then warm. As if it were alive.
But nothing hid the pain still throbbing under the towel he had just removed.
The memory of her hands… her voice…
It remained in his blood. In his air.
He balled his fists. Shut his eyes.
"This is just the start," something deep within whispered.
This is… madness.
The truth frightened him. And yet… exhilarated him.
The pain within him was not just bodily. It was psychic. Emotional. Profound.
Why her? Why now?
He covered a palm over his heart, where the dragon core pulsed with gentle heat.
"Is this because of the core?" he grumbled. "Or that bloody system within me…?"
He shook his head, jaw clenched. It was all happening too quickly. The memories, the instincts, the cursed desire for her…
But even now, his eyes shut tight, he could still sense her.
That whisper-touch on his scalp.
Her eyes. That smile.
He wanted to deny it. Tell himself it was confusion, fatigue, trickery.
But he knew better.
He could deceive himself in the morning.
Tonight… he craved more.
And that scared him.
He sat down slowly, the bed creaking beneath him. The robe rustled around him. Her scent lingered, familiar and haunting.
In this new world, he was something more than a man.
He was hers.
And the idea didn't repel him.
It tempted him.