realization

And the scents. Him. Soap, clean sweat, and something muskier, uniquely Adunbi. It lingered around her, a cloud she could swim in. And then, softer, closer to the bed: vanilla lotion and jasmine. Quivina.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” Adunbi murmured.

His hands were at the knots securing her wrists to the hard posts of the… what was it? A massage table? A bench? She’d never seen it. He’d led her here blindfolded from the start. The ropes fell away, and her arms dropped like lead weights. A groan escaped her as blood rushed back into her fingers, a thousand tiny pins and needles dancing under her skin.

“Easy,” he soothed, his hands moving to her ankles, working the restraints there. His touch was methodical, caring. Not the cold, clinical hands from before. Those had been… different. Purposefully detached. His hands now were her brother’s hands, the ones that had braided her hair as a girl, held her steady learning to ride a bike. The dissonance made her head spin, her already liquid body feeling even more unmoored.

Her legs were freed, and she instinctively tried to close them, a feeble attempt at modesty that was laughable given the last hour. A soft, feminine chuckle floated from nearby.

“None of that now, sweet thing,” Quivina said, her voice like honey poured over gravel. A warm hand landed on Osa’s knee, gentle but firm, keeping her thighs apart. “Let us see. Let us take care of you.”