"The grime first," he said with a soft laugh, and continued methodically to soap her until she was mad with wanting him.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the next room, its tiles the red-orange of sunset, which was taken up by a great pool of very hot water. Usually this chamber would be occupied by anywhere from six to a dozen men or women. But tonight Sophia and Daoud were quite alone.
Still carrying her, he descended the steps into the hot pool. Ribbons of steam rose around them. He lowered her into the water. When she stood neck-deep in it, the heat was almost unbearable, as if she were about to be boiled to death. But then the heat soaked into her until her very bones felt liquefied. Her whole being melted until she was not a person who felt desire, she was desire itself.
With her arms around his neck she pulled his head down and kissed him, flicks of her tongue tip luring his tongue into her mouth.
He pressed her back against the warm tile wall, and she knotted her legs around his waist as he took her standing up.
Moments later her ecstatic cries were echoing through the bathing rooms.
They forgot about time.
Her voice rang again and again in the vaulted chamber. They made love in the hot water and then lying on linen cloths on the masseur's slab beside the pool. They nearly fell asleep in each other's arms.
Laughing at their bodies' foolishness, they plunged into the last pool, cold water in a blue-tiled room, then hurried through a door to the place where they had started and dressed again.
When they were back in their room, Daoud's voice was drowsy as he lay beside her on the gold-curtained bed.