Hellen squeezed a generous dollop of cool shampoo into her palm—zesty orange laced with creamy vanilla—tilting my head back gentle as she worked it slow into my raven hair, fingers kneading my scalp firm but tender, nails scraping delicious tingles from crown to nape.
Suds foamed thick white under the messy bun's total collapse, bubbles trailing warm rivulets down my neck and shoulders, easing every knot of tension.
"You like this scalp massage, don't you, princess? Admit it—feels like heaven."
"Yes," I admitted breathy, emerald eyes half-lidded in reluctant bliss, hot water lapping my foam-covered chest. "But I'd like it more if you weren't acting like a hooligan—kissing my nipples without asking." Hellen was really attacking my virtue without any single thought.
