Chapter Sixteen
This steam room has less wood and more tile all over, and I soon see why. A woman stands up from her seat, walks over to a nearby bucket with water, and pours the water over her head.
Huh. Given that you can see her n*****s through her top, the water must be icy, yet she’s clearly enjoying herself. That, or she’s putting on a show for Art. The way she’s looking at him, she must be wet in many senses of the word.
To his credit, Art doesn’t seem to notice her existence. Instead, he sets up a spot for us on a top bench and sits down.
When I join him, he asks, “Do you want me to put the honey on your back?”
Is water wet? “Yes, please.”
He gently smears me with honey, his touch sending tendrils of heat through my body that could teach the steam room a thing or two.
The bu
