The academy bathhouse was tucked behind the old dormitory wing, shrouded in ivy and silence. Few students came here anymore. It was too private, too ancient, too steeped in the rumors of scandal from decades past. That made it perfect.
I stood just outside the arched entrance, the stone warm from sun and age. Evening had begun to fall, casting the marble in gold. From inside, the thick perfume of steam, oils, and female presence drifted outward—lavender, jasmine, and something deeper. Human. Real.
Lily was inside. Alone.
I hadn't chased her. Not exactly. She had spoken about this place during our idle classroom chatter earlier, letting the name slip like an accident while avoiding my eyes. I filed it away, the way I always did when a heroine tested the waters. And now, here I was. Curious. Expectant.
The wooden door creaked open before I knocked.
She stood there, freshly bathed, the soft white towel wrapped just tightly enough to be modest but clinging in all the wrong places. Her wet red hair clung to her shoulders and neck, framing flushed cheeks and the nervous tension tightening her jaw. Droplets rolled down the gentle slope of her collarbone and disappeared between her breasts. Her thighs gleamed with water and heat.
"You followed me," she said quietly.
"I was just walking by. Lucky timing."
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but she didn't close the door either. That alone told me everything I needed to know.
She stepped aside.
I walked in.
The chamber was larger than I expected, lit by wall sconces casting flickering amber light across carved stone and mosaics of bathing goddesses. A shallow pool of steaming water occupied the center, and another towel had been folded neatly at the edge, as if it were waiting for someone. The air was heavy with humidity and unspoken intent.
She sat near the water's edge, her towel still clutched tightly across her chest. Her legs were crossed, but loosely. Her gaze flicked to me, then away again.
"If you're going to stare," she muttered, "you might as well sit down."
I did. I left a bit of distance between us. Not too much. Just enough to build something between us worth closing.
"I didn't expect you to be here," she said after a pause.
"Liar," I replied softly.
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite annoyance. "You're arrogant."
"Confident," I corrected. "There's a difference. Arrogance is thinking I could have you. Confidence is knowing I already do."
Her breath caught, subtle and barely noticeable—unless you were looking for it. And I was.
She turned slightly, exposing more of her thigh. She didn't notice. Or maybe she did.
"I could scream," she said again, quieter now.
"You could."
She looked at me. The candlelight made her eyes burn like honey.
"But I won't."
I reached over and brushed a damp curl away from her cheek. My fingers lingered just long enough to test her. She didn't flinch. If anything, her chin lifted slightly, like she was daring me to continue. So I did.
My hand slid down to her neck, fingers gliding over skin still hot from the bath. Her breath hitched. Her towel shifted with the movement, loosening at the top. She tensed, and for a moment I thought she would stop me.
Instead, she leaned closer.
Her lips brushed mine with the hesitation of someone who wanted to pretend it was a mistake. But it wasn't. Her mouth opened beneath mine with quiet hunger, soft and wet, her hands coming up to clutch at my shirt.
I let the towel slip.
It fell in a soft roll to the floor, revealing the full pale expanse of her breasts, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the pink peaks already hardening in the cool air. She looked away briefly, her body tense—but she didn't cover herself. That silence was louder than any yes.
I kissed her again, slower this time, tasting the heat of her lips, the sweetness of her breath. My hand slid to her waist, then further, fingers exploring the curve of her hip, her thigh, the slick warmth of her skin.
When I touched her between her legs, she gasped, her legs parting instinctively, hips twitching beneath my hand. She tried to muffle the sound, biting down on her lip, but her eyes gave her away—wide, dilated, brimming with sensation she hadn't yet learned how to mask.
I didn't rush her. My fingers moved with practiced patience, teasing her folds, grazing her clit with the edge of my thumb until her thighs began to tremble and her back arched slightly off the stone. Her moans came out in short, breathless bursts—half-shame, half-desire.
She tried to say my name, but it caught in her throat. She settled for gripping my arm, nails digging into my skin, grounding herself as she broke apart in a quiet, shaking climax against my hand.
Her body writhed under the aftershocks, legs still twitching slightly as she collapsed against my chest, breathing fast, damp curls plastered to her temple. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
I kissed her forehead gently, then stood, collecting her towel and wrapping it back around her with slow care. Her arms tightened around my waist for a brief second before she let go.
She looked up at me, still flushed, still dazed.
"This doesn't mean anything," she whispered.
I smiled.
"Of course not."
But she watched me as I left the bathhouse, her gaze following me all the way to the door like she was trying to memorize the shape of my back.
Not out of fear.
Out of want.
And I knew the next time we met, she wouldn't be hiding behind towels or excuses.
She'd be the one reaching first.
---
> [System Notification: "Temptation at the Springs" Completed]
[Lily Rosenthal – Orgasm Count: 1 | Lust: 52% | Affection: 71% | Resistance: 27%]
[New Trait Unlocked: Submissive Curiosity – Lily is more likely to initiate private encounters and obey non-verbal commands]
[Unlocked Gallery Scene: Bathhouse Seduction – Replayable]