Not yet. He could live with that. “Then if I am to stand here while you luxuriate there, we might as well continue.” He licked his lips. “Slip your hand between your legs.”
“Now what?”
“Stroke the length of your cunny, love.”
She made a strangled sound, but her shoulder bobbed above the rim of the tub in a rhythmic motion.
“Clever, clever lady. Keep at it, moon maiden. If I were there with you, I’d have one hand between your legs, the other on your breast, and my mouth devouring yours. I’d learn the taste of you and the feel of you with every stroke of my tongue and of my fingers.”
She moaned as her silhouette undulated.
“I’ve kissed you twice, but I’ve not kissed you properly. I would if I were back there. Hell, as soon as I rip this screen away, I’ll kiss you properly. Tonight. Kiss you all over until every one of your worries melts away.”
Worries. He had them, too, should be focused on them. But who the hell could focus with an erection like a tuning fork leading him tothiswoman. There would be time for worries after.
“I want to feel your teeth scrape across my skin,” he said. “I want to brand every part of you, so when you enter a ballroom, every single person there knows you’re mine.”
“I’m not yours.” But the breathiness of her voice said otherwise. She growled. “I’m so close to something. But I cannot… I cannot…” She arched her back, and for a lovely, fire-limned moment, her breasts were silhouettes arcing toward his hand before disappearing beneath the water once more.
Enough.Enough.
He pushed the screen aside, and there she was, red-cheeked and gasping, one arm thrown across her breasts, the other sank beneath the water between her legs.
“Stand,” he demanded.
She sank lower, holding her breath, only her eyes visible beneath the water line.
He whipped the linen towel off the nearby chair. “Stand, Emma, and let me dry you.” He bent and flicked his fingers into the water, so very close to her body. “It’s cold. Let me warm you.”
She stood, shivering, the fire outlining her body, and he allowed himself to look his fill. She glowed. He’d thought he loved her in moonlight best. Not true. The red-gold flames loved flickering across her smooth skin, illuminating large swathes of it, casting tantalizing corners of her into shadows. Her breasts, small and pert and perfect, were hidden behind her arms, and her soft belly gave way to lovingly rounded hips, thighs perfect for sinking between. Legs as long as a sinful life and made for pleasure.
“Christ, Emma. You’re so beautiful.”
She bit her bottom lip, looked toward the fire.
“Can I touch you?”
“You seem to be set on it.”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
She nibbled still, torturing that lip and refusing to look at him. She studied the floor beneath his feet. Something there must have given her resolve, for she raised her chin steadily until she met his gaze. “Yes, I do want that. And I… I want you to show me what I’m missing.”
All he needed.
He whipped the towel out and draped it around her back, over her shoulders, holding it tight in front of her chest and sinking his other hand into the curls at the nape of her neck. Her eyes closed on a trembling breath, and she let go, let him hold her up, let him take charge. He helped her step over the edge of the tub, and then he worked the linen up her neck and into her hair where the curls dripped onto her skin. Then down her arms where he discovered freckles on the inside of her elbow, her wrist. He dried off her ribs and belly and back, then paid particular attention to her breasts, the rosy nipples, the soft, creamy handfuls.
Then he knelt before her on a knee and dried the rest of her. Every inch of skin he touched, the linen an enticing barrier between his skin and hers, enflamed him. He could burn the water off her skin and carry her to the bed and show her quickly what she sought.
But he slowed every movement, every stroke, and when a drop of water slid down her ribs and waist and onto the curve of her hip, he licked it away, leaving the indentation of his greedy fingertips in her skin and discovering the taste of her on his tongue. Clean, golden moonlight, heat and silvered darkness. Impossible spices, but hers just the same. He kissed that place to suck up any remaining water.
And his hands bracketed her hips to keep her right there. With him.
Andshetouchedhim. She surrendered, hands smoothing across his temples to sink into his hair and grip at the back of hishead. “Samuel,” she whispered, her back arching, and if he did not finish this task, he’d leave ten little half-moons on her hips, marking her with his need where his hands gripped her.
The towel completed one quick journey up and down each leg, and then he pressed it against her core.
“Oh.” Her hands in his hair gripping hard, her back arching to press her sweet cunny into the towel, into his hand.
