Another World

Chapter 38

To say the bathtub was 'huge', was an understatement - at least in Charlotte's eyes, anyway.

The bathroom resembled something that could only found in the pages of a glossy magazine, whose pages featured an exclusive glimpse inside the homes of the fabulously rich and famous – a lifestyle that oozed lavish expense and was most definitely unobtainable.

The tub in question was more akin to a hot spring found in the belly of a cave, though this one was, instead, hewed into the Elvenking's mountainous kingdom. It was currently filled to the brim with warm water, the steam swirling like misty tendrils over the water's surface.

The floor of the bathroom was tiled with slabs of irregular shaped rock, the color blending in naturally with the walls of the mountain; brown and smoky grey converging and swirling together to form a unique montage.

Hanging lanterns illuminated the room in a warm glow, and as Charlotte glanced around, she noted small glass vials filled with liquids of an assortment of colors were neatly lined up at the one end of the bathtub. A tall marble table was situated close by, its rounded surface stacked with thick fluffy towels that promised to be as luxurious as they appeared.

Thranduil was used to a certain a level of comfort and finery, this much was obvious. How he managed to live in her house for a month was a mystery to Charlotte.

"Honestly, how did you make do with my itty-bitty shower?" she asked as she edged closer to the edge of the hot spring. She was sticking to that terminology, for there was no way in her mind that this was an actual bathtub!

"With great difficulty," he replied drily from behind her.

Charlotte smiled to herself. Yes, she could imagine it had been rather difficult for him...

She turned around to ask another question and her mouth suddenly went dry, for Thranduil was staring at her with a penetrating gaze; his crystalline eyes were locked onto hers as he slowly and deliberately disrobed, the charcoal grey material fluttering to the floor and pooling around his feet. His gaze never wavered as he gripped the edge of his tunic, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips as he pulled the garment over his head, his movements deliberately unhurried and teasing.

The tunic joined the robe and he now stood before her shirtless, absolutely breathtaking in his perfection. His smirk widened at Charlotte's slack-jawed expression as she drank in the sight of him.

"Shall I continue?" he asked, a hint of amusement lacing his voice.

"Please," she replied hoarsely.

"I thought you wanted to have a bath first?"

"Later," she replied, "Right now, I think those need to come off," she stated, her eyes wandering suggestively to his pants.

Thranduil's movements became that of a predator as he advanced towards her with what could almost be described as a prowl, his nimble fingers unlacing the front of his pants as he neared her. He stopped just in front of her, and it took a great amount of effort for Charlotte to drag her gaze upwards.

"And tell me, little one," he said, his voice having dropped to a husky octave as he ducked his head, "why am I undressing when you are obviously still in your clothes?" He raised a dark, thick brow in question, as well as suggestion.

Charlotte blinked, her lust-laced brain battling to comprehend what he had just said. She glanced down and realized that she was, indeed, still in her clothes.

She looked up, but found Thranduil already sauntering away. He stopped at the edge of the tub and glanced over his shoulder with a teasing light dancing in his eyes as he stripped off his pants and boots. He straightened, now gloriously naked, and all coherent thoughts fled her mind. He was mind-boggling perfect in every way, from his silver-white hair that flowed over his shoulders like a silky curtain, to the sinewy muscles rippling beneath the surface of his pearly white skin.