Bath with Mother
The instant the golden doors of the imperial bath room slid shut with a gentle thud, Alex was engulfed in a world other than the one he knew—drinking in hedonistic heat and a taboo sophistication that caused his heart to stop.
Red chandeliers suspended like sobbing stars above, casting the large room in a softened, seductive light. It was the smell that hit him first—roses steeped in dark wine, thick on the air, overlaid with a raw, near-ancient undertone that wrapped about his senses like a lover's breath. Each step he took rang faintly across the obsidian marble, its black surface threaded with ruby veins and gleaming so highly it reflected the dancing lights like a blood-kissed mirror.
Silver sconces smoldered low on the walls, their red candles casting shaking light that vibrated in the rolling mist. The whole room pulsed with hedonistic heat, like a womb carved out for kings, or something greater.
And at the heart of it all, the bath itself lay in wait—an immense oval tub cut from raw obsidian, golden runes suffusing its curves like vital writing with faint pulses of life. Within its depths, the water rippled with a dark scarlet sheen, thick and creamy, as it released soft tendrils of steam that stroked the air. Blood-rose petals floated listlessly on the surface, spinning slowly around crimson ripples, as if all the flowers had been awakened by kiss and desire.
Alex froze, breath trapped in his throat. His legs took a step before he'd instructed them to, drawn by something he could not identify. It was more than a bath. It was a shrine. A holy sanctuary submerged in warmth, fragrance, and something older than history. Something sinister. He felt as though an unworthy mortal entering the secret center of a goddess's temple—uninvited, undeserving, and completely enchanted.
But before Alex stood stock still, his gaze sidetracked by the great, steamy splendor of the bath before him, she shifted.
Rose.
She moved forward as silently as a breath of air embodied, every step light as breath on the hot obsidian ground. Her feet left no noise behind, but the air itself rippled, curving around her to accommodate her. She didn't say a word. Didn't look back. But the quiet she bore weighed heavy—so packed with meaning it felt like intangible hands pushing against his flesh.
There was gravity in her stillness, elegance in every motion, and an unspoken command that tugged at him from within. He couldn't look away.
Then, with a fluid grace that stole the moment, her hands lifted—not to her throat, but to the hem of her gown.
"W-Wait—" Alex's voice shook, his tone cracking with amazement and a hopeless wonder. But even as he spoke, he could not step back. The room itself seemed to be alive, holding him fast, as if he'd passed a boundary he could never go back from.
He heard it before he really knew.
The gentle, silk-like whoosh of cloth releasing.
She stood at the side of the bath, her queenly gown unwinding in one sweeping motion—obsidian and ruby falling from her shoulders in one fluid movement, curling around her feet like a conceding veil. The cloth whispered as it hit the ground, as quiet as a breath. It dropped to the ground in a soft whisper and lay there at her ankles, unneeded and forgotten.
The Empress of the Vampires. the Supreme Progenitor. his mother—stood before him, completely, lavishly nude.
But she didn't stumble.
She didn't cover herself. She didn't even redden with shame.
Instead, she stood tall under the light of the candle illumination, her body shining serenely and divine beauty—unapologetic, eternal, and breathtaking.
Alex couldn't step back.
His breath caught in his throat, chest constricting as his gaze was drawn to every inch of her. She was. not real. Like a marble sculpture breathed into existence by the moonlight.
The soft sweep of her neck dissolving into her narrow shoulders, poised and elegant. Her breasts—lush and flawless—rose smoothly with each tranquil breath, their nipples a soft rose blush. Her waist narrowed to hips that flared wide and feminine, strong. Her lengthy legs were gleaming and chiseled, her stance relaxed, as though she did not bear the burden of so many centuries but hovered barely above time itself.
Her rosy hair fell in lustrous waves down her spine, dampened at the tips, clinging softly to her radiant skin. Locks of it caressed the delicate rises of her breasts and the rise of her lower back. She was scented with rose and something else—something heady.
And lower still—his eyes dropped before he could prevent it—between her legs, she wore none. She was clean-shaven. Soft. Unouched. Innocent and inviting in a manner that made his heart beat in protest and hunger alike.
Alex's lungs protested. His pulse pounded in his ears.
He tried to look away… but his gaze kept drifting back, tracing the contours of her hips, the soft shimmer along her thighs, the regal stillness that made her feel both divine and dangerously close. Every inch of her body seemed to call to him and caution him in the same breath.
He shifted his head, hoping a change in angle might help—but it didn't.
From this angle, the candlelight caressed the rise of her back, highlighting every lovely curve with a golden glow. Her skin shone dimly in the rising vapor, burnishing like polished ivory. When she shifted ever so minutely, he again caught the swaying of her body—the subtle lift of her breasts, the full curve of her hips, the sacred stillness of an unblemished form, unmarred by shame, unmarred by years.
His mind disintegrated into heat. He couldn't create words—only sensation. Everything was burning and confusing and too much at the same time.
Something deep inside him changed.
Not arousal. Not plain desire. It was something older… darker… primitive. A low, quiet hunger whispered from his veins—claim—and it left him trembling.
And yet, she just stared at him. Unconcerned, unwavering. No flash of judgment or shame. Her eyes were steady. Knowing.
She was there with the silent dignity of a woman who had waited so much longer than he realized. She was eternal—unaffected by time. A goddess sculpted out of adoration itself.
His virility stirred.
Then he was aware of the state he was in—the manner his eyes had shamelessly lingered on each inch of her shining skin, how he hadn't even blinked once while his manhood twitched beneath the surface, heavy and hard. Panic coursed through his veins.
In a frantic whirl, he turned around, his hands shooting to cover himself in a futile bid to conceal the visible. His whole face glowed—cheeks, ears, even the area under his eyes reddened, as if the steam that billowed about him now emanated within.
But it was futile.
He already knew it.
She had watched it all.
Rose's eyes had already lowered there.
Behind him, her voice floated gently—like velvet brushing against bare skin. Calm. Amused. Unashamed.
"You've grown well," she murmured, her tone laced with gentle pride. "Your shoulders, your arms… and down there as well. Nine inches, hmm? The blood cocoon has been very generous to you, my sweet boy."
The words hit him like a lightning strike. His spine straightened, the flush on his skin deepening until it reached his chest.
"D-Don't say it like that!" he panted, voice breaking into humiliation, struggling to get the words out. He wrapped his fingers closer around himself, heart slamming against ribs.
"Why do I feel this way?" but what he feel only he know "This shouldn't be right… but why does it feel safe?"
But she laughed, only—soft, musical, like sunbeams playing across silk. No cruelty in that, but playful love. and something else beneath. Something dangerous.
She stepped alongside him, slow and calculated, her pace flowing like water. Each inch of her movement was guarded, like a dancer coming to meet her partner, her body close enough to awaken the fire already burning inside him.
Without hesitation, she entered the bath. The water washed against her thighs as she lowered herself into its warmth, a breathy sigh escaping her lips—a sound that seemed to melt the tension holding the space between them.
She turned her head and glanced back over her shoulder, holding out a thin hand toward the boy who stood stock-still behind her.
"Then? Come, I'll tend you. It's been too long I bathed you."
"M-Mother, I can manage for myself…" he grumbled, voice hardly steady. Warmth flushed under his skin, radiating through his chest—and down. Every nerve was afire, hypersensitive to the soft contours in front of him, water beading on her skin, the way her bare flesh shone beneath the steamy veil. His dragon core stirred with a slow, rhythmic throb just under the surface. He couldn't stand to glance at her… and yet, couldn't help but picture her. The way the water caressed her waist, the rise and fall of her chest—it was seared into his senses. But under the flicker of shame was a deeper fire that smoldered. One that didn't resist.
But even as his cheeks flushed, something within him was unwilling to recoil. His human brain cried out in embarrassment, but the draconic beat in his center moved differently—untroubled, interested, even. hungry.
It didn't perceive shame. It perceived a woman—his blood. His creator. A being of power and purity. A goddess to be worshiped, and a woman to be claimed.
The contradiction tore at him. His body wanted to turn away, but his soul… his soul leaned forward.
"You're trembling," Rose murmured, her voice as soft as silk.
"I-I didn't…" Alex tried to respond, but his voice faltered, tangled in confusion and arousal. He instinctively shielded himself with his hands, though his body was already bared. "You're… you're seriously okay with this?"
Rose tilted her head slightly, eyes half-lidded.
"Are you ashamed… of your own Mother?"