A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 21: The Bath of a Queen

Without warning, he lifted her again—this time lowering her into the warm water with slow, deliberate care.

The heat enveloped her instantly, coaxing a soft gasp from her lips as her body adjusted to the sudden warmth. Lavender oil clung to her skin, its faint scent wrapping around her like a second touch, delicate yet inescapable.

She should have been relieved—the heat masked the flush in her cheeks, and the water concealed the tension coiling low in her stomach—

But then—

Crocodile knelt beside the tub.

Not to leave.
Not to give her space.
Not to grant her a moment to recover.

But to stay.

He leaned forward, resting one arm against the edge of the tub, his golden eyes locking onto hers with slow, unshakable intent. The air between them thickened, heavy with unsaid words, unsaid promises that hovered just beyond reach.

"Lean back," he commanded softly.

Sineka hesitated—just for a moment. The heat of the bath curled around her, a fleeting excuse to retreat, to break the gaze that stripped her bare even more than her naked skin ever could.

And then—

She obeyed.

Her body sank deeper into the warmth, shoulders relaxing against the curved porcelain as steam rose around her, clinging to her skin like a veil of temptation. Her pulse pounded beneath the surface, each heartbeat a faint echo in her ears as her breath quickened despite herself. Still, her gaze never left his—though she could feel her composure fraying at the edges, her heart caught somewhere between anticipation and something far more dangerous.

Crocodile reached for a cloth beside the tub, dipping it into the warm water before wringing it out with slow, deliberate movements. Water dripped from his fingers, splashing softly against the surface as he lifted the cloth, brushing it against her collarbone with unhurried care.

Sineka shivered, the contrast of heat and touch making her breath catch in her throat. The cloth trailed down the curve of her shoulder, then along the line of her arm—slow and steady, a caress disguised as practicality.

"This isn't necessary," she whispered, though the words came softer than intended.

Crocodile's smirk deepened, golden eyes sharp as if reading every unspoken thought beneath her skin. The cloth grazed her collarbone again, slower this time, dipping slightly lower in a motion that was neither rushed nor accidental.

"Maybe not," he replied, voice low and rough-edged. "But I intend to make a point."

Her fingers curled against the edge of the tub, nails pressing faint crescents into the porcelain as warmth pooled low in her stomach. The heat of the water was no longer the culprit—it was the deliberate way he touched her, the unhurried control woven into every motion as if he had all the time in the world to dismantle her piece by piece.

She should have resisted.
Should have found a way to regain control.
Should have stopped this before it unraveled further—

But she didn't.

Crocodile grabbed a silver pitcher from the counter, its polished surface glinting faintly beneath the amber light.

Sineka eyed him suspiciously, heart still unsteady against her ribs.

"What are you doing?"

The faintest pause.

Then—

He tilted the pitcher slightly, letting a stream of warm water trickle over her shoulder, slow and deliberate, tracing a path down her collarbone and across the swell of her breast, just enough to make her inhale sharply, heat clashing with sensation in a way that left her breathless.