Chapter LXVIII: Bruises
The king had the harem’s bathing house carefully prepared by the maids. Steam rose from the hot water, mingling with the fragrant scent of herbs and oils. Despite the luxurious surroundings, there was only one concubine there to tend to him: Isabella.
Isabella approached the king, her movements graceful and purposeful. She began by removing his armor, piece by piece, the metal clinking softly as it hit the floor. The weight of the battle seemed to lift from his shoulders with each discarded piece. As she removed the last of his armor, she revealed his strong, muscular form marred by cuts and bruises.
“Be gentle,” the king murmured, a rare vulnerability in his voice.
“I will,” Isabella replied softly, her eyes filled with concern and tenderness.
She led him to the edge of the bath, the water invitingly warm. As he lowered himself into the tub, he sighed deeply, the heat easing his weary muscles. Isabella knelt beside him, dipping a cloth into the water before gently washing his body. She was careful to avoid his injuries, her touch as soft as a whisper.
The king closed his eyes, surrendering to the soothing sensation. Isabella’s hands moved with a practiced grace, her fingers gliding over his skin, washing away the grime of battle. She poured warm water over his head, letting it cascade down in rivulets, cleansing and comforting.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes opening to meet hers.
Isabella smiled, a small, tender expression. “It’s my honor,” she replied, continuing her gentle ministrations.
The king watched her as she worked, his eyes following her every movement. There was something deeply comforting about her presence, a sense of peace that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the battlefield.
“You’re so gentle,” he murmured, wincing slightly as she washed a particularly sore spot on his shoulder.
Isabella paused, her eyes meeting his with a soft, caring gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you more,” she said quietly.
She worked silently, her focus entirely on him, her care evident in every movement. As she washed his back, she noticed a particularly nasty gash. Her heart ached, knowing how much he had fought for the palace and for her and Ikkar.
“You were brave,” she said softly, her voice filled with admiration.
The king looked at her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. “I had to be,” he responded, reaching up to touch her cheek. “For you and our son.”
Isabella lowered her hand until she reached the king’s groin, her fingers brushing against his cock with a deliberate softness. He moaned, a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the marble walls of the bathing house. She stroked him gently, her touch both soothing and electrifying.
The king, driven by a surge of desire, tried to pull her closer to himself, but a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, causing him to wince. Isabella hushed him softly, her eyes filled with a tender authority.
"Let me take care of you," she whispered, her voice a calming balm to his frayed nerves.
She entered the water, the warm waves lapping at her legs, her nightgown billowing around her in the gentle current. The delicate fabric clung to her curves, becoming almost translucent as it absorbed the water. She knelt before him, the water enveloping her waist, and slowly pulled down the straps of her dress, revealing her bare breasts.
The king’s breath hitched as he watched her, mesmerized by her every movement. Isabella’s eyes never left his as she eased the nightgown down further, exposing more of her skin. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability, created an electric tension between them.
Her hands moved back to his cock, stroking him with a practiced tenderness that made him moan again, louder this time. The pain in his shoulder seemed to melt away, replaced by the intense pleasure of her touch. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his chest, placing soft kisses along his skin.
"Isabella," he murmured, his voice a mixture of need and gratitude.
"Shh," she whispered, her lips moving against his skin. "Let me take care of you, my king."
Isabella climbed up the king and settled onto his lap, her knees pressing against his sides. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the residual strain from the battle, and she moved with deliberate care, mindful of his injuries. Her eyes locked with his, a silent promise of tenderness and passion.
Her hips began to move slowly as she allowed his cock to penetrate her, a gentle rhythm that matched the pulse of the warm water around them. She rocked against him, her movements fluid and controlled, ensuring she didn’t aggravate his shoulder. The king's hands rested on her hips, guiding her with a gentle firmness, his fingers digging into her skin as he lost himself in the sensation.
"Isabella," he breathed, his voice husky with desire and gratitude.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "My king," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.
Her movements became a little bolder, her body undulating against him in a steady, sensual dance. The king's grip on her hips tightened, his moans mingling with the sound of the water sloshing around them. Isabella’s fingers traced the contours of his chest, careful to avoid the bruises and cuts that marked his skin.
The tension in the king's body began to ease, replaced by a growing wave of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. Isabella's eyes never left his, her gaze filled with a mixture of lust and determination. She wanted to give him this moment, to offer him solace in the midst of chaos.
With every rock of her hips, she felt his breath hitch, his body responding to her with an intensity that matched her own. She could see the battle fading from his eyes, replaced by a need that only she could fulfill. Isabella leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both tender and fervent, her tongue dancing with his as their bodies moved in perfect harmony.
The water around them seemed to rise with their passion, the petals floating on the surface swirling in the wake of their movements. Isabella's breath came in short, heated gasps, her heart pounding in her chest as she continued to ride him, careful yet relentless in her quest to bring him pleasure without causing him pain.
The king’s moans grew louder, his hands gripping her hips with a desperation that sent shivers down her spine. Isabella's name was a whisper on his lips, a prayer, a plea, and she answered with a kiss, her body moving faster, the rhythm of their passion reaching a fever pitch.
The king reached his climax, his body tensing beneath Isabella as he spilled himself inside her. A low, guttural moan escaped his lips, and she felt the warmth of his release deep within her. Isabella continued to move gently, savoring the intimacy of the moment, her own breath hitching as the waves of their shared pleasure slowly subsided.
She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling as they clung to each other. The water around them settled, the petals floating serenely once more. The king’s grip on her hips softened, his hands sliding up to cradle her back.
"Isabella," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
She smiled softly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Rest now, my king," she murmured. "You deserve it."
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