"Do I have to—"
"The host said entire body."
"Right. Yeah. Entire body." Wish took a breath. Scooped more mud. Then applied it to his backside with as much clinical detachment as she could manage.
Which was approximately zero.
Because his backside was very firm and very well-shaped and her hands were absolutely lingering longer than strictly necessary, which she was aware of, and which she was choosing not to examine.
"Are you done?" Dusk's voice held amusement.
"Shut up." She moved to his legs. Thighs. Calves. Focused entirely on being professional.
When she finished, she stepped back. "Your turn."
Dusk turned around. His eyes met hers.
Then he reached for the mud.
"Arms up," he said.
Wish raised her arms.
His hands settled on her shoulders first—warm mud spreading across her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch was surprisingly controlled. Careful in a way she hadn't expected from someone who had spent the last twenty-four hours being actively dangerous.
