Chapter 519: A Very Good Masseuse

The private bathhouse attached to their master bedroom suite was thick with warm, fragrant steam. Rose oil and sweet pine mingled in the air as water lazily trickled from the carved marble spout, filling the massive sunken tub with crystal-clear, steaming water.

Cherion leaned his back against the sloped marble rim of the pool, his upper body submerged up to his chest in the soothing warmth. His eyes were half-closed, a soft, content sigh escaping his lips as two huge, calloused hands worked their way through his wet hair, gently massaging his scalp with slow, rhythmic pressure.

“Ah…” Cherion groaned, letting his head tilt back onto the edge of the tub. “Oh, Zarius… you’re actually a really good masseuse. A masseur? Whatever the word is, you know what I mean.”

Zarius stood knelt just outside the tub’s edge, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, corded forearms dripping with water. A rare, faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked down at Cherion’s relaxed face.

“Is that so?” Zarius murmured softly, his large thumb pressing gently into a tight knot near the base of Cherion’s skull. “I’ll take your word for it. It’s my first time massaging anyone’s head.”

Cherion opened one eye, looking up at the Grand Duke in utter disbelief. “No way. You’re lying. With fingers this skilled? You’ve definitely done this before.”

“Never,” Zarius replied smoothly, his hands gliding down to rub behind Cherion’s ears with firm, soothing strokes. “I have spent my entire life wielding a sword. You are the only person who has ever had my hands anywhere near their hair.”

Cherion let out a quiet, throaty laugh, closing his eyes again as a shudder of pure bliss washed down his spine. “Well, you’re a natural. Don’t ever stop.”

Zarius worked in silence for a few moments, rinsing the scented lather from Cherion’s dark locks with a small wooden scoop of fresh water. His gaze eventually drifted down, landing on Cherion’s right hand, which was resting on the marble ledge. The white linen bandage wrapped around his knuckles was damp and starting to unravel at the edges.

Zarius’s brow furrowed, a flicker of stern concern darkening his features.

“You should have used a stool,” Zarius grumbled, his voice dropping into a low, protective rumble. “Or a heavy candle stand. You shouldn’t have used your bare hands to beat that scum into the stone. What if you had broken a bone?”

Cherion opened both eyes, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, please. You’re fussing over nothing.”

Cherion undid the wet knot and unwound the bandage, allowing the soggy linen to land on the tiles with a soft plop. He thrust his right hand toward Zarius.

Behold! The supposedly injured hand.

Smooth knuckles. Perfectly intact skin. Not a single scratch to its name.

If anything, Cherion suspected the bandage had been fighting for its life while his hand enjoyed a perfectly comfortable vacation

Zarius blinked. “It’s completely healed.”

“Of course it is,” Cherion chuckled, flexing his fingers playfully in front of Zarius’s nose. “I channeled my healing power the second I stepped into the hallway to get ice. The whole bandage thing was just an act!”

Zarius took Cherion’s hand in his large palm, inspecting it closely under the warm lantern light. “An act?”

“Yeah! A total cover story,” Cherion explained, leaning his chin casually on his left forearm against the tub edge. “If I came out of that washroom after punching a man twenty times with completely uninjured hands, Derrick, and the house guards would have thought I was some kind of freak. Or worse, they’d start asking awkward questions about how fast my body regenerates. So I wrapped it up to play the part of a bruised victim.”

He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “And it was definitely the right move, considering Derrick insisted I stay for dinner at the Avery estate. Imagine trying to explain magic-healed knuckles to Marquess Avery over roast duck.”

Zarius ran his thumb gently across the smooth back of Cherion’s hand. Even knowing it was just a clever ruse, the sight of Cherion placing himself in harm’s way still made Zarius’s chest tighten with lingering anxiety.

Slowly, Zarius brought Cherion’s hand up to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss directly onto the center of his knuckles.

“Still,” Zarius murmured against his skin, his dark eyes locking onto Cherion’s with fierce, quiet intensity. “Don’t do that again. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you walking up the driveway with a bandaged hand.”

Cherion’s expression softened instantly. He reached out with his left hand, resting his warm, wet palm against Zarius’s rugged cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath his fingers. “I know, I know. I’m sorry for making you worry. But hey, I survived. And I didn’t let him hurt me.”

Zarius leaned into the touch of Cherion’s hand against his cheek, letting out a heavy, contented breath. He returned his hands to Cherion’s head, resuming the soft, deep scalp massage, his fingers digging gently into the muscles behind Cherion’s temples.

“You had a rough day today,” Zarius said softly.

“Indeed I did,” Cherion agreed, letting his eyes flutter shut as the tension melted away from his shoulders. “Shopping for hours, watching a long play, getting ambushed in a washroom, beating up an ex-noble, and then sitting through an awkward high-society dinner. I deserve an award for surviving all of that.”

“You worked very hard,” Zarius purred, his voice thick with genuine affection.

“I really did,” Cherion murmured.

Then, with a sudden, playful spark of energy, Cherion turned around in the warm water. He spun his body, resting both elbows over the smooth marble rim of the tub, propping his chin on his hands as he looked straight up at Zarius.

Zarius paused, his large hands hovering in the air as he met Cherion’s bright, amused gaze.

Cherion reached up, wrapping his wet fingers around Zarius’s right index finger. He pulled it closer to his face, lifting Zarius’s finger to his lips and taking the tip into his mouth, nipping down on the leathered skin with a tiny, teasing bite of his teeth.

Zarius’s breath hitched, a dark, sudden heat flaring deep in his chest as he stared down at Cherion.

Cherion let go of his finger, a dangerous, seductive smile curling his wet lips. “You know, Zarius… you can do so many wonderful things with these hands of yours.”

“Cherion…” Zarius warned, his voice turning raspy and thick.

“So,” Cherion purred softly, trailing his wet fingers up Zarius’s broad wrist, tugging gently at the rolled-up fabric of his sleeves. “Aren’t you going to give me some kind of gift? A present? A little reward for being so brave and handling everything so well today?”

Zarius let out a low, gravelly chuckle, his dark eyes burning as he looked at the alluring sight of Cherion resting against the tub rim, glistening with water and steam.

“Of course,” Zarius murmured, his tone dropping into an unmistakable promise. “You deserve whatever reward you desire.”

Cherion’s smile widened into a confident, irresistible smirk. He leaned back into the warm water, splashing it softly as he looked up at the towering Grand Duke.

“Well then,” Cherion whispered, his voice dripping with playful invitation. “What are you waiting for then? Get in, my handsome wolf.”