Page 101 of The Seeker
She walked to the drinking-water barrel and dipped a large gourd in. Then she walked to the bathhouse rehearsing what she could say to Rhys to make him understand her confusion.
I want to be your mate and I know I will not regret it.
You could never be an obligation.
Just because a mating is logical doesn’t mean it’s unwanted.
I think I love you, but I’m not sure what that means.
You make me feel alive and reckless and a little crazy, and I want to feel that way for the rest of my life.
“Rhys?” She stepped into the damp air of the bathhouse where a fire burned in a potbellied stove in the corner, heating the stones that Rhys poured water over to fill the room with steam. He was naked to the waist, scrubbed clean, dressed only in ceremonial linen and his black-inked skin.
He was so beautiful Meera was struck dumb.
Rhys turned and saw her in the doorway. “Is that water for me?”
She nodded and held out the gourd.
He walked over, took it from her, and tipped it up to his lips, drinking so deeply it spilled from the corner of his mouth and dripped down his neck and chest.
He held out the cup. “Are you thirsty?”
Meera nodded, but her eyes were locked on his chest, following the drips of water that trailed down his neck, over his heart—bare skin waiting for a mating mark—and followed the ridges of his abdomen to disappear beneath the linen.
He put the cup down and reached for her, hooking his arm around her waist. “Meera?”
“Yes?” Her voice was thick with wanting him.
“Are you thinking about our argument this morning?”
She finally lifted her eyes. “Yes. And no.”
Meera couldn’t decipher the expression he wore. Sexual hunger. Tenderness. But with an edge of anger. Or was it frustration?
“Rhys, I think—”
“Don’t tell me what you think,” he said quietly. “Tell me how you feel. Right now. This moment. Tell me how you feel.”
“Greedy,” she whispered. “Rebellious. More than a little unwise.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then he nodded and muttered, “That will do.”
Rhys took her mouth before she could speak another word, and Meera was glad for it. She didn’t want to talk or debate or reason with him. She wanted his body. Wanted his mouth. His hunger and desire. The longing was elemental in nature. She bit down on his lower lip, and Rhys’s hand came down on her backside in a hard slap.
He pulled away and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” Then he smoothed his palm over her buttock. “Actually, not sorry.”
Meera blinked in surprise. “Um… not sorry either.”
“Good.” His mouth took hers again, and he tugged at the buttons on her shorts until Meera unbuttoned them and shoved them down her legs. Her shirt was already off, and Rhys made quick work of her bra and underwear. He picked her up by the waist and walked her over to the warm basin of clear water where he dunked a washcloth in and squeezed the water over her shoulder, following with his mouth.
Rhys licked from her shoulder down to the tip of her breast, sucking hard and catching her as her knees buckled. His mouth and hand worked in tandem. Clean, kiss. Clean, bite. Clean, suck. He covered every inch of her skin with warm water and his lips before he stripped off the linen he wore at his waist and rubbed her from shoulder to toes, drying her off before he nudged her toward a low pile of furs and linen cloth in the corner.
“Remember how I said I enjoyed anticipation?” He pulled the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back so he could kiss her throat.
“Yes.”
Her back hit linen, and Rhys came to rest between her legs, kneeling on the furs heaped on the floor of the bathhouse. Her body was ready for him. The hard line of his erection pressed against her inner thigh.
