Page 39 of Ardently Yours

“Too obvious. People would notice and start talking. There’s no point in dealing with gossip if we don’t have to.”

“You just performed a cost-benefit analysis and chose the practical solution. How very McRae of you.”

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I would very much like to rub off on you.” The purr is back in his voice.

I laugh but squirm, water splashing against my breasts as I shift in the bathtub. My nipples harden, and heated arousal pools in my pelvis.

It’s different, getting to hear his voice. Addictive.

“Are you still nervous?” he asks gently.

“I wasn’t. Until you asked me if I was.”

“Even when I’m the one giving directions, you’re in charge. Call it off if you’re not having a good time.”

“This could turn out to be the most awkward, uncomfortable thing ever. I will bail so fast if it is. See if I don’t.”

Arden’s tone is a growl. “Good. Did you go with the bubble bath or the bedroom?”

“Bath.”

“Are you relaxed?”

“I’d be more relaxed if you came here and taught me how to use your present, in person.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then says quietly, “Don’t tempt me unless you mean it.”

It was an unthinkingly cruel thing for me to say. I’m the one afraid of the press digging too deeply into my life. I’m the one who has to stay here and keep Polford well and truly hidden. I swallow past my shame.

Arden clears his throat. “I’m imagining you in that bathtub, but there are things I can’t picture. How big are your nipples? Tiny? Large? Somewhere in between?” His voice is a growly grumble. I can imagine what it would be like to feel his lips against my neck as the vibrations of sound lift every small hair on my body.

“They’re not small. Maybe the size of a quarter after my pregnancy.”

He groans. “That is sexy as fuck, Charlotte. I need you to get those pretty nipples hard for me.”

“They already are,” I admit.

“Pinch them, then rub your wet fingers over them. If you close your eyes, you can imagine those soapy fingers are my tongue. If I were there, I’d lap at them like a cat with cream.”

I close my eyes, touch myself, and let everything else go, sinking into the image of Arden here with me. He’s sent me photos of himself on the beach in swim trunks. Arden isn’t a super hairy guy, but he doesn’t shave or wax his body hair. For me, he’s absolute perfection. A trail leads from Arden’s belly button into his shorts, and he does have a six-pack.

I picture that big body, in this tub with me, rubbing against me. His tongue laving my nipples. It doesn’t matter that we’d never fit in this space together in reality. It’s my fantasy, and in it, I can make it work. “Where are you? Your bed?” I ask.

“In my mind, I’m right there with you. Imagine that, Charlotte. I am.”

“Yes.”

“Trail your fingers down your abdomen. Explore. Enjoy the sensation of smooth skin under your fingertips. But don’t touch your pussy, yet.”

That word is a record scratch in my mind. I’ve never heard it used in an intimate setting like this. Around here, it’s an insult.

But Arden’s words are no insult. That word, in that tone, makes it impossible not to focus on the aching arousal pulsing in that part of me. “Okay.”

“Slide your hand from your hip all the way down the long muscles of your thigh. Not your fingertips. Your whole palm, fingers spread wide. That’s how I’d touch you, if I were there. I’d lift that leg and prop it on the edge of the tub so you were wide open for me.”

I do as he says. The hot, but not too hot, water caresses newly exposed nerve endings, and I whimper without intending to.

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