She heard the stream of water running into the tub as soon as she walked into the house. Her thoughts were how odd for the tub to be running this early in the evening, before a cocktail, before dinner, before anything. She lay her purse in the customary place and walked up the stairs, his name on her tongue, questioning. Her query received no response, so she opened the bedroom door. She noticed a wrapped, flat rectangular box with a red bow at its center.

“Is that for me, Tim?” she asked, assuming he was in the adjoining room. No answer. Her curiosity about the box was piqued and she walked over to it. Tugging the bow, she unraveled it, opened the box to find the satin dress neatly displayed in it. A deep merlot with spaghetti straps and low cut, the dress swept down past her knees when she held it up against her chest over her work clothes. That was when she felt him behind her, felt his hand at the curve of her back.

“Tonight we go out. No TV, No popcorn under a quilt. Tonight you are my jewel, treasure,” he whispered in her ear, having curved her hair around its cup. “I have a tub waiting for you.”

He undressed her as she stood in a haze. Her white blouse, black skirt that hugged her round ass so well were folded and put on the dresser. She stood before him in panty hose and a white bra. She felt his eyes drinking in her creamy skin. He hugged her into his broad chest, kissed her hair while quickly releasing the three eyehooks of the bra. Her nipples burned as he slid the bra straps down her arms. Stiffened by the look of his eyes, her nipples wanted everything. To be suckled. To have his tongue tip circle the areolae touching everywhere but the hard center, rolling over her love bumps. To be bitten as he was prone to do. To feel his spit upon them, wet and shining. To feel the delightful sting of his fingertips slapping the nipples. That ache. The throb of it to be assuaged… every throb, every ache, every sting he would ever apply to her flesh, he would balance with the light touch of tongue and lips and fingertips. A heady combination of sensations he would create. Her nipples hardened with memory, with anticipation. With want. He tweaked one, looked in her eyes and with a cockiness that infuriated and intoxicated her, he winked at her and said, “Not yet, babe. First, we dance.”

He dropped to his knees quickly, hands at her waist, thumbs inside the band of her thigh-high stockings. He tugged down her panties, bunching at her ankles, over her delicate feet. This last action brought his face to her belly. He sucked the pad of her stomach, followed with kisses to the top of her pubis. He looked up. When she looked down, his eyes locked on hers.

“You smell amazing,” he said honestly. Her aroma was earth and sweet and musk. A dangerous fragrance. He forced himself from her belly. Stood up again, towering. “Let’s get today bathed off of you,” he said, taking her hand and leading her naked into the steamy bathroom.

The hot bath misted the