The water sluiced from her skin as he climbed out of the Jacuzzi with her and set her down on the tiles. Then he took a pair of towels from the heated rail.
He threw one huge, fluffy bathsheet over her shoulders and tied another around his waist like a loincloth. Jas enjoyed the view of his dripping chest and shoulders while he patted her down then rubbed vigorously at her skin, turning her around to focus on different parts of her—gentle with her bre
asts, rough between her thighs—until she was dry and ready to be anointed with the tiny bottles of essential oils in the cabinet.
His jet black hair was plastered to his forehead, droplets running down to be caught in his eyebrows. The handsome face looked even better wet somehow, so that Jas couldn’t tear her gaze from him while he gave himself a brisk towel-dry.
“Pick an oil,” he said. “I’ll moisturise you. Give you a massage while I’m at it.”
Jas smiled shyly. This was all too good to be true. Was he going to be a considerate lover as well as a handsome beast? Surely he had to be the product of some genetic experiment to construct the perfect man.
“This one looks nice,” she commented, making her selection. “Grapeseed oil, neroli, lemon, vanilla and cinnamon.”
“Good enough to eat. Like you. Go and lie down on your stomach. Give me the bottle.”
He rubbed at his hair with one hand, extending the other to take the oil.
Jas skipped over to the gigantic bed, diving on head first, making a Jas-shaped dent in the pillowy softness.
“I’ve never known such a comfortable bed,” she purred, rolling to the left and right, revelling in the downy waves she made.
“A time will come when you sleep in beds like this every night,” remarked Ajay. “Hopefully with me.”
He was just being charming, she thought, but it was lovely all the same, a lovely fantasy future. She and Ajay, living the life of movie stars, a five star existence of restaurants and premieres and private jets.
She wriggled her fingers and stretched her toes, sighing pleasurably.
“Are you making a new movie when you go back?” she asked.
He arrived on the bed beside her, his weight forcing her body to tip to the left, and she heard the unscrewing of the bottle cap along with his low, deep voice.
“I’ve several irons in the fire. In fact, I hope to direct my first picture very soon. I’m in talks with several studios.”
She gasped as the oil, unwarmed, dripped down onto the small of her back.
“What kind of picture?”
He heated the oil for her in his palm, then he splayed out his fingers and began to distribute it evenly across her skin, up to her shoulder blades and into the crease of her neck. Oh, how sure and deep were his caresses. She groaned beneath them.
“I want to make a romantic comedy with, well, a sexy, erotic side to it. I feel Bollywood is ready for this now.”
“Not a porn movie?” Jas lifted her head and stared.
He answered with a crisp smack to her behind.
“No, Jasmeena, not a porn movie,” he said severely. He resumed his work, pushing and gliding his fingers between her ribs, sending her to a rich, luxurious place of deep relaxation. “Something tasteful. But which will stimulate the parts other movies don’t reach, you know?”
“What’ll it be about? Does it have a plot? Or just lots of writhing bodies?”
“Like yours right now, you mean?” He had reached her hips. He began kneading them, his hands heavy as he used his thumbs to tackle her naked bottom with the oil.
“Uhhhh-huhhhh,” was all Jas could say.
“Of course it will have a plot.” He smoothed his fingers over the curve of her buttocks, squeezing and stroking. “Sex is an important part of our heritage, Jasmeena. Look at the Kama Sutra—the most famous erotic book in the world. I think it’s time our film industry reflected that and opened a discussion about the place of sex in our culture.”
“I…see…” Jas fell into a cushioned abyss of bliss. “Don’t stop.”
He reached the centre of her cheeks, parting the crack to massage its tender, inner skin.