SSS-Ranked Surgeon In Another World: The Healer Is Actually OP!

Chapter 238: A Quiet Bath (R-18)

As the kiss intensified, Bruce felt his heartbeat steady under her touch.

Her hand traced downward then, unhurried and deliberate, brushing over his chest. With a faint, knowing smile against his lips, her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and began to undo them one by one, the gesture intimate yet tender, more caring than provocative.

She finally pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes warm, filled with quiet affection and unmistakable closeness.

“Relax,” she whispered softly, her forehead resting against his. “You’re home now.”

And in that moment, with the steam curling around them and the scent of cedar and warmth filling the room, Bruce believed it completely.

Sophie’s fingers lingered at the last button of his shirt, her touch light, deliberate, as though each small motion was a promise. When the fabric finally parted, she eased it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a soft hush.

Her palms slid slowly down his arms, tracing the lines of muscle still taut from days of strain, as if she could smooth away the memory of battle with nothing more than warmth.

Bruce exhaled, long and slow, the sound almost involuntary.

She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the faint heat radiating from her skin. Her eyes never left his while her hands moved to his belt, unhurried, reverent.

The buckle gave with a quiet click, the leather whispered free.

She knelt briefly to guide his trousers down, her cheek brushing the line of his hip as she did, and Bruce’s fingers threaded instinctively into her hair again, not guiding, just needing the contact.

When he stepped out of the last of his clothes, he stood bare before her, and Sophie rose slowly, drinking him in with a look that held no teasing now, only quiet awe and something fiercer beneath it.

“You’re really here,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her hand settled over his heart, feeling the steady thrum beneath her palm. “Let me take care of you.”

Bruce’s voice was low, rough at the edges. “You always do.”

A small smile curved her lips. She reached for the bottle on the nearby marble counter, something she’d chosen earlier, a soft, luxurious soap infused with sandalwood and a trace of jasmine, warm and grounding.

She poured a generous amount into her hands first, rubbing them together until the lather bloomed thick and fragrant between her palms.

Then she took the natural sea sponge, soft as silk, and soaked it beneath the warm stream of the handheld shower.

She started at his shoulders. The sponge glided over his skin in slow, unhurried circles, the suds spreading in creamy trails.

Every pass was deliberate, across the broad span of his back, down the slope of his spine, over the his clear skin that’ll make many girls jealous.

She traced them with the sponge, then with her fingertips when the lather thinned, as though she could erase the hurt they represented. Bruce’s head tipped forward slightly, eyes half-closed, the tension in his muscles loosening under her touch.

When she moved to his chest, she stepped in closer again, her body brushing his as she worked.

The sponge circled over his heart, then lower, across the ridges of his abdomen. Her breathing had gone softer, deeper, so had his.

She washed his arms next, lifting each one gently, running the sponge from shoulder to wrist, then turning his hand palm-up to trace slow, soapy patterns across his lifeline.

Bruce watched her face the entire time, the quiet concentration, the faint flush rising along her throat, the way her lower lip caught between her teeth when she focused.

Lower still. She knelt again, unashamed, unafraid, washing his thighs, the backs of his knees, the arches of his feet. Every touch was care, devotion, worship.

The steam curled around them both now, thick and fragrant, the scent of sandalwood mingling with the faint cedar warmth of the room. When she rose, she let the sponge fall away and used only her hands for the last traces, palms sliding over his hips, the curve of his waist, the line of his jaw. Soap clung to her own skin now, too, transferred in the closeness.

She reached for the showerhead again. Warm water cascaded over him in a gentle, steady rain. Sophie angled it carefully, rinsing away every trace of lather, watching the suds swirl down the drain like the last of his exhaustion.

When the water ran clear, she let it pour over his hair, her fingers threading through the dark strands, massaging his scalp until he groaned softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

Only when he was completely clean did she step back, just far enough to meet his eyes. Bruce reached for her then, thumbs brushing along her collarbones, but she caught his wrists gently and shook her head, smiling.

“My turn,” she whispered.

She turned slightly, presenting her back to him without a word. Bruce’s hands moved to the zipper of her dress, drawing it down with the same deliberate slowness she had shown him.

The fabric loosened, slid from her shoulders, pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it gracefully, then reached behind to unfasten her bra, letting it fall.

Her movements were unhurried, almost ceremonial, as though she wanted him to see every inch of her the way she had seen him, fully, openly, without shadow.

Her perky full breast, her amazing figure, her entire existence where all his and his alone.

When she was bare, she took the sponge again, refreshed the lather, and began to wash herself.

Bruce watched, leaning against the wall, arms loosely folded, gaze heavy and warm. Sophie’s hands moved over her own skin with the same tenderness she’d given him, circling her throat, across her collarbones, down the soft curve of her breasts.

She lifted her arms to wash beneath them, then lower, over the plane of her stomach, the flare of her hips. Water beaded on her skin like tiny jewels, steam clung to the fine strands of hair at her temples.

She turned to give him her back again, letting the water slick her long black hair down her spine.

Bruce stepped forward then, unable to stay apart any longer.