Thanks for the reviews, Wikkr, Devourer_of_Worlds, Kizaru_Etrus and Kohlrabiz. Not gonna lie, made me tear up a bit reading them (I just tear up easily 'kay....) While people over at NovelBin might have given more reviews, most just feel more like an comment rather than review.

Your reviews were really really good, and highlighted what the story was about, and how it goes. (There is just one review of this kind over there, and that was written by a friend of mine after reading the book)

If any of you guys wish to cross-post it on NovelBin page of the book, do tell me, I will pin it on top so people can actually see what an review actually looks like.

And regarding the update thing that Wikkr was talking about, its not that NovelBin gets more frequent updates, it was more due to the book starting earlier there, compared to NovelBin so it was more ahead and when I uploaded an chapter there (regular update schedule is Sun-Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday), many a times, I forgot to do it here cuz of different chapters needing to be uploaded on different sites. (pyschological thing, i am forgetful)

We have nearly reached even chapter count on both sites so update are gonna be same on both sites (Through you gotta give readers on NovelBin some credits cuz I have to frequently do bonus chapter gigs there to motivate them to vote more, and as such, in between the regular updates, you get more chapters.)

And also, there is some issue on my side as my mobile network just refuses to connect with NovelBin for some reason. I have to always connect to an VPN or cloudfare to open this site. I am moving back to college so their wifi might heal this issue.

WARNING FOR THOSE TREADING AHEAD: As per the wish of readers here, I am not gonna remove any detail from the og scene and as such, there are many gratituous explicit details (don't blame me, I was writing it while I was pent up) that don't serve the plot but only the D or the P. If any reader is uncomfortable with such depictions, you may skip the chapter. I would give a summary /TDLR in comment section of CH 25

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Vasha reached for the shampoo, her muscles flexing in all the right ways as she stretched under the spray. Water ran in sleek rivulets down the smooth plane of her back, disappearing beneath the towel that clung to her hips like it owed her rent.

"You gonna help me with my lekku or what?" she called, tossing me a glance over her shoulder that could’ve melted durasteel.

Oh. Oh, we’re still going.

I wasn’t ready. My soul wasn’t ready.

Hard place, meet soft place. I am now trapped forever.

Also, side note: waistband of my underwear was doing God's work right now.

I swallowed. My fingers twitched, like they had ideas of their own. Just touch them. Just do it. Be cool. Don’t stutter. Don’t explode.

This time, I didn’t chicken out.

(Okay, maybe just a little. Internally. But she didn’t need to know that.)

"If you’re that eager," I said, catching the bottle mid-air, "I can do better than just wash them. My mom used to say I had magic fingers."

Vasha snorted, already turning, presenting her back like it was a challenge. "Prove it, gremlin."

Gods, grant me strength.

She really just… turned around.

Back muscles flexing. Lekku dripping. Water doing gravity's finest work.

I stepped in closer and reached up, heart hammering way too fast for someone who claimed to be chill. My thumbs started at the base, slow circles where her skin transitioned from deep blue to that perfect orange at her nape.

The moment I touched her, she jolted like I’d cast a spell.

"Fuck—" Her shoulders dropped, a shiver running through her whole body. "Okay. Okay. You weren’t lying."

Achievement Unlocked: Professional Lekku Massager.

Also: +10 to Will Save against Immediate Arousal.

Encouraged (and slightly panicking), I let my hands glide down the thick curves, kneading the muscle with the kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient Jedi artifacts.

Water cascaded down us both, steam wrapping us like a scene straight out of someone’s very specific fantasy.

Her next groan was pure filth, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from letting out some pathetic little whimper. She was into it. Like, into it.

"Mmmph... yeah, right there—" Her head dipped forward, lekku twitching under my fingers. "Kriff, kid, we opened a repair shop for nothing. Should’ve started a ‘Massage & Bathing Parlour’ with you as the main event."

I smirked, trying not to think too hard about the fact that my junk was one wrong move from making this very awkward.

"Still time to pivot," I said, hands climbing higher to work shampoo into her scalp. "Just relax. I’ve got you."

And she did. Melted under my touch, like I’d flipped the off-switch on all her stress. Her breath slowed, a low hum vibrating through her. Her lekku practically puddled in my hands—loose, soft, and holy kriff I was way too into this.

Then I heard myself say it, voice dropping lower without permission.

"Want me to do the front too? While I’m at it?"

There was a pause.

Then—Vasha chuckled, lazy and unbothered, like this was the most natural thing in the world. "Why not? Might as well get the full treatment."

And she turned.

Leaning back against the tiles, arms casually crossed beneath her—dear stars—her chest, which rose just enough to make my brain short-circuit. Water rolled between her curves like some kind of moisture-themed blessing from the gods.

My mouth went so dry it felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper.

I lathered my hands slowly, pretending like I wasn’t seconds from internally combusting.

"Just… uh… tell me if it’s too much," I said, mentally praying she didn’t look down and see what the towel was barely hiding.

Because, yeah. I was cool.

Totally normal. Not losing my kriffing mind at all.

[Narrator: He was, in fact, losing his mind.]

“Pfft. Like you could overdo it,” Vasha muttered, leaning her head back against the tile like this was just another Tuesday. Her eyes were closed, shampoo clinging to her brow like a crown of suds. “Go wild.”

Me, internally:

Wild? You sure? Because I’ve got exactly two brain cells left and both of them are screaming 'boobs' in unison.

The steamy air felt heavier now. Not just with humidity or the cheap floral soap clinging to our skin—but something warmer. Thicker. That unmistakable, lazy heat that always followed her around like a scent only I could smell. That… Vasha-ness.

My hands hovered, slick with lather, directly over them. And by them, I mean the absolute, physics-defying situation on her chest. Just looking made my nervous system short-circuit. I had to focus. Slow and steady. Just a good boy doing a good deed. Totally innocent. Definitely not having an identity crisis about underwear elasticity right now.

“Alright,” I said, pitching my voice higher than necessary, all sing-song and sunshine. “Gotta get all the grime, Vas.”

I started safe. Above the danger zone. My fingers traced her collarbone gently, working suds into the elegant curves, dipping into the soft hollows like this was all very clinical and not remotely soul-shattering. Water sluiced down her skin, rinsing everything immediately—except the images getting burned into my brain forever.

Lower. I followed the natural dip between her breasts, the gentle slope leading straight into temptation. My palms skimmed the upper curve, brushing just where blue skin gave way to softer, paler hues.

Vasha didn’t even open her eyes. “Getting a bit focused down there, aren’t ya, gremlin?”

Her tone was casual, like she was watching a rerun. No heat. No suspicion. Just… Vasha being Vasha.

I blinked at her, full innocent anime eyes. “Huh? But they’re like… big soap bubbles! So bubbly! And kind of fun to wash!”

I let my hands glide gently across the upper mounds again. Broad, soft sweeps. “See? Big surface area. That’s basic efficiency.”

She snorted—actually snorted—a puff of air escaping her lips. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Bubbly.’ That’s one word for ‘heavy’ and ‘in the damn way’. Don’t get distracted. I’m not trying to prune up while you worship the twins.”

Despite her words, a flush bloomed across her cheeks and nose—visible even through the steamy mist and shampoo runoff.

Progress.

Achievement Unlocked: Flustering the Hot One Without Getting Slapped.

“Right! Yes. Efficiency!” I chirped, shifting gears. My hands slid lower, fingers slipping underneath the heavy weight of her breasts, into the warm, borderline sacred space between her curves and her ribs. It was hot there—not just warm, but humid, soft, dense with that trapped body heat that could short out a weak man’s brain.

I worked with care. Knuckles and flats of my fingers kneading slowly, mimicking the massage from earlier. It was deliberate. Intimate, yes—but justifiable. Because soap. Because cleaning. Because I was holding onto exactly zero sanity and trying desperately not to let her notice the awkward bulge that was now just barely restrained by my waistband.

Vasha exhaled—long, low, and dangerously pleased. “Mmm. Okay, that… actually feels pretty good. Getting all the junk out.”

The sound vibrated through her chest and into my palms like an echo. I could feel her heartbeat, steady and slow, right beneath the skin.

Encouraged—and probably one bad decision away from spiritual collapse—I let my hands cup her more deliberately. My palms molded around the plush curves, thumbs brushing along the sides, lifting slightly just enough to clean the undersides.

Not a grope. Technically.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t memorizing every contour like it was a map to buried treasure.

I shifted focus. Hands sliding upwards—slow and smooth—my thumbs just accidentally-on-purpose brushed across the taut peaks of her nipples.

And oh.

A sharp inhale sliced the air. “Ah! Kid! Tickles!” Her lekku twitched like antennae catching a signal.

“Sorry!” I squeaked, pulling back with half fake and half genuine alarm. Did I over do it? I hope not...She didn't react much to it after that, so I suppose not.

Then, like a total professional, I circled right back gently.

My thumbs glided directly over the dusky blue nubs, slow and deliberate, circling with just enough pressure to walk that line between teasing and actual service delivery.

Massage-level care. Therapist-tier technique.

Yup. Definitely not thinking sinful thoughts at all.

Vasha’s breath caught. One of those real, unguarded little sounds slipped past her lips—a soft, needy noise that hit me harder than a blaster bolt. Her back arched just a fraction, enough to press into my hands but she didn't say anything..again.

She shifted slightly. A subtle retreat. But her eyes were still closed. After a moment, during which I may or may not gotten a bit more daring with my fingers, she responded.

“Okay, okay,” she exhaled, a little breathless. “Enough with the fancy nipple work. Tickly and… distracting. Move on.”

I nodded like a student taking orders from the Headmistress of Flustered Fantasies.

“Yes Ma'am! Got it. Moving on. ”

The ghost of her nipple still haunted my thumb like a war memory. 10/10 tactile feedback. Would panic again.

“Water’s getting cold,” Vasha muttered, her voice lower now—thicker. The flush creeping down her neck was definitely not from the steam. Shampoo still clung to her forehead like a soap crown, but there was no mistaking the color blooming beneath it.

“Right! Navel next!” I said far too brightly, like I hadn’t just been contemplating the mortality of my self-control.

My hands moved lower, zeroing in on the dip of her belly button like it was some sacred relic. I treated it with deep reverence. My pinky finger traced its rim, slowly and carefully, as though I were defusing a bomb and not touching abs that could kill me in my sleep.

She twitched. Just a tiny flex of her stomach muscles, like her body wasn’t quite sure if this was cleaning or foreplay on hard mode. Either way, I felt it.

The intimacy here wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grabbing or groping. It was slow. Focused. The kind of deliberate attention that made it way worse (and by worse, I obviously mean blissfully, torturously better).

“Kid…” Vasha sighed, her tone sitting halfway between amused older sister and you’re testing my patience but I’m kind of into it. “It’s a belly button, not a hyperdrive intake. Scrub it and move down already.”

“Almost done!” I chirped, voice cracking just slightly, like a man barely holding his soul together with duct tape.

My hands slid lower. The soft slope of her lower belly was warm, firm, and utterly unfair. I smoothed the soap gently, carefully, inching toward the place where the towel clung to her hips like it knew it was on its last mission.

I just wanted to get the very top of her pelvis. That’s it. Innocent work. Hygiene. Normal stuff. Nothing sinful.

Then my fingers, slick and greedy, hooked under the edge of the towel. Just a little. For better access. For… cleanliness.

And the universe said: Bet.

Vasha shifted.

The towel—waterlogged, barely hanging on—gave up.

It slid.

I didn’t pull it. I swear to every celestial being watching, I did not pull it. It just slipped. Surrendered to gravity like my last brain cell.

With a wet, smack, it hit the tile floor.

CRITICAL ERROR: FULL EXPOSURE.

SYSTEM OVERRIDE.

PANIC.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING.

I stared. Couldn’t help it. My eyes dropped like they were controlled by an invisible force—probably the same one that hated me.

And what I saw was… was…

A vista. A work of art.

Powerful thighs. Smooth hips. The subtle curve of her lower belly tapering to a perfectly groomed triangle of deep blue-black. The kind of sight that punches you in the chest with a sledgehammer and then asks why you're breathing funny.

My brain bluescreened. Emergency shutdown engaged. Thoughts? Gone. Blood? Rerouted. Dignity? Absolutely obliterated.

That single glimpse was enough to nuke my brain from orbit.

Vasha glanced down, brows arching slightly. Then, unfazed as ever, she simply reached down and adjusted the towel—placing it back over her lap

, this time a bit more intentionally.

“Ugh. Damp as hell now,” she muttered, shaking her head like the towel had just mildly inconvenienced her morning routine. She settled back onto the ledge, shifting her hips to get comfortable. The towel stayed put—but only just, casually draped, doing the bare minimum to meet the definition of coverage.

Then she leaned back against the tiles and looked me dead in the eye. Relaxed. Confident. Regal, somehow, even while covered in soap.

“Well? You gonna finish the job, Ezra, or are we done?”

And then, as if she hadn’t just nearly ended my entire blood pressure system, she added—genuinely:

“I’m liking this, by the way. A lot. Been forever since someone gave me a massage like this. Don’t remember it ever being this good.”

And she just said that—like we weren’t living in a full-on softcore bathhouse scene.

My brain reeled. She was calm. Chill. Still seated like she was getting a pedicure instead of blowing my entire nervous system to hell.

That nonchalance was somehow even more destabilizing than the nudity.

Cultural override engaged. My mind scrambled through everything I knew about Ryloth. Communal bathing? Casual nudity? No big deal? Affectionate massages among friends??

Another part of me (the part currently in a very tight situation) just screamed NOT COMPLAINING.

But holy kriff, it was a lot.

Meanwhile, every single internal organ I owned was staging a rebellion, trying to abandon ship. My cock throbbed against the wet prison of my waistband, pulsing like it was sending out an SOS.

“Alright,” I finally croaked, voice cracked and hoarse like I’d just climbed a mountain and seen God at the summit.

I needed motion. Focus. A lifeline.

“Lower body now?” I asked, gesturing vaguely toward her legs.

Legs are safe. Legs are neutral ground. Legs won’t kill me.

Vasha chuckled, warm and low—like someone pouring honey over thunder. The sound curled around the steamy air, hitting me in the spine.

“Sure thing, bossy.”

She shifted, settling against the wall with that same lazy confidence of someone definitely not wearing anything under the towel barely pretending to exist.

“Y’know,” she mused, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, “this place is way too big for a fresher. Maybe old Gornt did throw wild parties. I can practically hear Devaronian laughter and smell the cheap spice.”

She winked.

Just… winked.

Like she wasn’t currently sitting there, thighs parted ever so slightly, radiating unbothered naked energy while my soul staged a violent coup inside my ribcage.

Golden Hands currently occupied with not spontaneously combusting, I thought, borderline hysterical.

I dropped to my knees on the wet tiles, every movement precise and overly careful—like I was disarming a thermal detonator, not about to touch the thighs of a naked Twi’lek war goddess.

Start with the feet. The feet are neutral. The DM can’t call a horny penalty if you’re massaging feet.

They were strong, calloused from years of shop work, still graceful in a way that made me irrationally obsessed with their shape. I focused intensely, lathering the soap and working over her arches, heels, and toes. My entire brain had zoomed in to this tiny square of safe, blue skin.

Then I moved up.

Her calves were dense muscle—firm and powerful, like coiled ropes beneath soft skin. I worked slowly, deliberately, as if the friction would keep me sane. But the moment I reached her thighs, all bets were off.

Her thighs.

Thick. Sculpted. Absolute divinity.

Like someone had modded her with a cheat code from the Thick Thighs Save Lives expansion pack.

As my hands moved higher, my fingers sank into muscle wrapped in plushness. Perfectly firm. Ridiculously soft. It was like kneading some forbidden hybrid of strength and indulgence. I lingered, caught between awe and full-on panic.

The heat radiating from her core was unmistakable the closer I got.

Abort? Can’t.

Proceed? Probably illegal.

Towel? Hanging on by one damp thread of dignity.

My gaze—traitorous, curious, desperate—flicked upward. Her position was relaxed, but also... revealing. The towel was draped over her lap like an afterthought. The swell of her ass sat right there, perched partly on the ledge—exposed, glistening, sculpted like it belonged in a museum curated by horny gods.

Thorough cleaning, my brain whispered.

Neglecting this would be suspicious.

Suspicious. That was the line I was clinging to now.

So I slid my hands upward. Past the back of her knees. Onto the glutes. Slowly, reverently. Like I was massaging the hull of a vintage starship. The soap foamed under my touch, my fingers gliding in firm circles across the curves. The pressure was careful, professional—technically.

My thumbs found the crease where thigh met buttock and pressed in gently. Vasha let out a soft, content hum. Then she shifted. Slightly. Just enough to open herself more to my hands. That sound alone hit my groin like a seismic charge.

I immediately retreated back down the thighs to regroup—like a coward. But the inner thighs weren’t any safer. That heat? Stronger now. My hands slicked with suds, I moved with torturous slowness, pretending it was all extremely hygienic.

Each pass climbed higher.

Each breath grew shorter.

The texture of her skin changed. Soft became softer. Heat became feverish. My fingers kneaded gently, but every motion was an inch too close to danger. Rational thought had drowned somewhere between her sighs and the cheap floral soap clinging to my lungs.

And then it happened.

I didn’t mean to.

I swear to every star in the galaxy, I didn’t mean to.

During a slow, kneading pass—my right hand slid just a fraction too far inwards. A slip. Just a graze. But the contact was real.

My fingertips brushed skin that was different.

Softer. Hotter. Wetter in way water cannot ever be.

Vasha froze.

Every muscle in her body tensed like she’d just been hit with a stun baton. Her back, her shoulders—coiled tight beneath slick, steamy skin. Her lekku twitched, violently, a sharp movement like a snap. Her breath caught in her throat, a tiny, involuntary gasp slicing through the heavy silence of the fresher.

And me?

I flatlined.

Body locked. Muscles seized. Every neuron fired the same desperate message:

“BACK OUT, REVERSE, GO TO JAIL.”

The air was thick with humidity and something else now—something charged. The silence buzzed, crackling like a faulty conduit.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us breathed.

Kriff. Kriff kriff kriff.

My brain scrambled, clawing for the innocent-kid protocol. Don’t flinch. Don’t pull away too fast. Act like nothing happened. It was just… skin. Soft skin. Like washing her arm. Innocent!

I forced my fingers to remain exactly where they were, though they felt like blocks of ice. Slowly, deliberately, I resumed the kneading motion on her inner thigh muscle, my touch shifting outwards by a crucial fraction of an inch – away from the dangerous heat. My voice, when I found it, was pitched high and deliberately oblivious, maybe a touch confused.

“Vas?” I asked, tilting my head up slightly, squinting against the spray. “Did I poke you? Was it too hard?” I kept rubbing the muscle, my touch firm but focused solely on the safe zone now. “Sorry! Just trying to get the soap out. Your legs are super strong! Like… like durasteel cables!”

I injected a note of childish admiration. Focus on the muscles. Ignore the location. Ignore the fact you just brushed the gates of paradise.

Vasha didn’t move for another agonizing second. Then, with a visible effort that rippled through her shoulders, she forced herself to relax. The rigid tension bled out, replaced by a slightly artificial looseness. She took a slow, deliberate breath.

“Nah, kid,” she said, her voice rough but carefully controlled. She shifted her weight slightly, subtly adjusting her position on the ledge, creating a tiny bit more space. “Just… startled me a bit. Ticklish spot. Didn’t expect it.” She chuckled, the sound strained but making a valiant effort at normalcy. “Sensitive skin there. Like… uh… like the inside of your elbow. Yeah.”

Sensitive skin. Inside the elbow. Right. My internal monologue was a scream. Force preserve me.

“Oh! Sorry!” I chirped, pulling my hands back entirely now, feigning contrition. I held them up, dripping. “Didn’t mean to tickle! All clean now?” I looked pointedly at her legs, then back at her face, radiating earnest innocence. “Water’s getting cold. And… and my fingers are getting all wrinkly! Like prunes!” I wiggled my pruny fingers for emphasis.

Vasha’s gaze flickered down to my hands, then back to my face. Her expression was unreadable for a moment – a complex mix of lingering shock, forced calm, and something else… maybe a flicker of profound relief at my apparent cluelessness. The flush on her cheeks and neck, which had deepened dramatically during the thigh massage, seemed to recede slightly.

“Yeah,” she breathed, the word heavy with unspoken relief. “Yeah, kid. More than clean. Spotless.” She pushed herself off the ledge, standing up smoothly. The wet towel, forgotten on her lap, slid down her legs to the floor again with another wet slap.

She reached out and turned off the shower abruptly. The sudden cessation of noise was jarring. Steam hung thick in the sudden quiet.

“Right,” she said, her voice regaining some of its usual pragmatic briskness, though it still held an underlying tremor. “Enough spa day. Time to get moving.” She ruffled my wet hair, a gesture that felt more automatic than affectionate this time. Her touch lingered for a fraction of a second, her eyes searching my face. “You… did good, Ezra. Real thorough.”

Ezra’s big, earnest eyes stared up at her, still dripping wet, his tiny hands clutching the towel around himself. She wondered what's even the use of using a wet towel. She had it on her cuz her underwear had gotten dirty, but Ezra was wearing one fine some minutes ago.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice soft and hopeful.

"Vas… How was it? Any feedback or repeat performance later on? I think it might help you, afterall you carry all the heavy stuff."

Oh kriff.

Vasha’s lekku twitched. Her first instinct was to say no—absolutely, categorically no. That accidental brush against—nope, not thinking about it—had sent a jolt through her system she hadn’t felt in… well, a long damn time. And that was wrong. He was a kid. A sweet, oblivious, dangerously good with his hands kid.

But…

He had been amazing. The massage had melted tension she didn’t even know she was carrying. And his little face was so damn hopeful.

It’s fine, she told herself firmly. Just set boundaries. He doesn’t even know what he did. Just tell him to avoid… that area next time.

"Yeah," she heard herself say, the word slipping out before she could second-guess it. "Yeah, okay. We can do it again."

"Really?"

"Really." She ruffled his hair again, forcing a casual smirk. "You’ve got magic fingers, gremlin. Can’t let that go to waste...."

She turned away before he could see the heat creeping up her neck again, stepping back under the spray for a quick rinse. The water was cooler now, but it did nothing to douse the lingering warmth under her skin.

This is fine. Totally fine. Just gotta be clear next time. ‘No touching there, kid.’ Simple.

She scrubbed the last of the soap off, hyper-aware of Ezra still in the fresher with her. She could feel his gaze, probably just waiting his turn like a polite little scrap rat, but she refused to turn around and confirm.

Then she stepped out, grabbing a fresh towel and briskly drying off.

"Your turn, kid," she said, tossing the damp towel over her shoulder as she strode toward the door, completely unabashed in her nudity.

"Wash yourself with half the enthusiasm you washed me with, and I might see a shiny Ezra today"

Behind her, she heard a tiny, choked sound—like someone trying (and failing) to swallow a squeak.

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[Ezra's POV]

Sweet merciful Force.

Vasha moved like she wasn’t even aware of the gravity of what she was doing. Water droplets slid down the smooth curve of her spine, over the spectacular swell of her—

Nope. Nope nope nope.

Ezra’s nose prickled. He slapped a hand over it just in time to stop the traitorous trickle of blood threatening to escape.

Damn those cheeks. Damn them to the deepest pit of Mustafar.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image was already seared into his brain—the way her ass moved with each step, the perfect, hypnotic jiggle, the way the muscles flexed under smooth blue skin—

Focus. Think unsexy thoughts. Engine grease. Burnt wiring. Zako’s stupid face.

By the time I dared to open his eyes again, Vasha was already gone, the fresher door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

One thing was painfully clear: I'd survived the encounter, but the war was far from over.

And worse? She'd probably want a repeat performance. Hell nah, Interstellar FBI might just end up arresting Vasha, and I loved her just too much to subject her to such legalities.

So I did the only sensible thing and turned the water to cold. Freezing cold.

Let the rising peanut shrivel into oblivion....

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