"Sweetheart, does it feel good, or am I pressing too hard?" he asked softly, his tone gentle and indulgent, like a devoted concubine tending to his emperor.
Hera's eyes crinkled in pleasure as she enjoyed the massage, but then she remembered the decision she'd made last night. "Hmm… I'll call a nurse to take care of me while I recover, so you can focus on your work," she said suddenly.
Dave froze, then shot upright like a lion whose tail had just been stepped on. "Why, sweetheart? Are you sick of seeing my face? You'd rather hire a nurse than let me help you?" he asked, looking wounded. Hera felt her temples throb, caught between falling for Dave's pitiful act and feeling utterly helpless against it.
"It's not that, Dave. You're the Young Minister of the country, you have so much work piled up. You can't always keep me company, and it's not good to neglect your responsibilities," Hera explained, but her reasoning only seemed to infuriate Dave even more.
