Page 39 of Veiled Flames
This powerful and experienced master is so self-assured, always in command of everyone in our caravan, and this momentary pause reveals another dimension to Saxon.
Could it be that he’s nervous too?
As if refuting that thought, he deftly undoes the other clasps, leaving my jerkin hanging open. The fresh air swirls under it to cool my upper body and tighten my paps under their bindings. I keep my eyes on Saxon, but he respectfully averts his gaze, and my breaths come more quickly as he removes the leather garment, setting it aside.
Crouching, he loosens the ties along the fronts of my boots, and then gently urges one of my feet off the ground. Instinctively, I lean onto his shoulders as he removes one boot and then the other, along with my woolen socks. My feet sing with happiness at gaining their freedom, and at the chill of the damp grass underfoot.
His hands fall onto my calves, gently stroking my ankles and the exposed skin at the base of my breeches. The warmth of his touch rises through my entire body. But, as if catching himselfdoing something Dresser would not, Saxon rises to his full height, moving his hands to his sides.
Our gazes meet, and it’s like I’ve been struck by a hundred bolts of lightning.
In the browns of his eyes, I see battles: between urgency and restraint, between desire and trepidation. This confident man is as uncertain of this Dresser and Princess game as I am. But I don’t want it to stop—even though Nurse’s disapproving warnings have invaded my thoughts.
Nurse isn’t here,I remind myself.
Breaking eye contact, I raise my chin slightly, and my body automatically takes the posture I use when Dresser or Nurse works to disrobe me. Then I wonder how my brothers and father deal with having their breeches removed. I’m about to find out—I hope, because my body is aching to feel his touch against my cleft.
As Saxon undoes the tie at the top of my chemise, his thumb brushes my jaw, and I struggle to hide my reaction. I fear any evidence of desire will break this illusion, and he’ll leave me to undress on my own. As he fully loosens the ties, his fingers brush my chest bindings, and the effect is so overwhelming I close my eyes to absorb it.
The hem of my chemise rises, and I lift my arms, allowing him to raise the garment over my head. I see a brief flash of him, before the linen covers my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The hairs on my arms rise to meet the cool night air, and Saxon’s large hands land hot around my torso, his fingers and thumbs meeting, back and front, as he encircles my ribs over the bindings.
Opening my eyes, I find him staring down at my chest, then his gaze lifts to meet mine. “This must be painful.” His fingers stroke the bindings.
Trembling under his soft touch, I shake my head. “I’ve grown used to it.”
“Do you want me to leave it on?”
I shake my head no. It seems our game of Dresser and Princess has ended, and that’s fine with me, because I crave his touch everywhere and no longer want him to be so respectful.
Saxon finds the knot against my right side and works to untie it. “This knot has become very tight.” His eyes squint as he struggles.
“I didn’t want to risk it coming undone.”
Bending forward, he lifts my arm higher and uses his teeth to release the knot. Once it’s done, he rises with a satisfied grin. I grin back, but then his expression transforms into what seems like hunger. Looking into my eyes, he slowly unwraps me, his hands transferring the end of the cloth behind my back, as he removes the tight binding that’s been secured around my bosom for eight days now.
When I’m released from bondage, more cool air bathes my skin, and my paps ache as blood flows to fill them after being so long confined. I expect Saxon to examine what he’s revealed, but instead he leaves me, and I’m suddenly embarrassed by my small bosom. He must have found me lacking.
He tosses the contents of the basin and refills it with hot water from the pot. I fight the urge to turn, listening as thewater sloshes and drips as he dampens the sponge and tests its temperature.
Remaining behind me, Saxon bathes my back, slowly using the sponge more gently than Nurse ever did, and the contrast between the heat of the freshly dipped sponge and the coolness of my dampened skin turns my nipples into very hard peaks.
He slides the sponge over a tender place on my side, up near the pit of my arm. I wince.
“That tight fabric marred your beautiful skin.” He presses a soft kiss against the raw place, and it impacts my entire body.
The heat of his lips spreads to pool between my legs, and I fight to breathe evenly as the warmth spreads, and the lavender from the water fills my senses.
Saxon gently strokes my back, and then dampens the sponge again, before he moves around to my front. Looking into my eyes, he wipes the sponge over my neck and across my collarbones. Small droplets of water trickle to tease my bosom. But instead of washing me there, he transfers his attention to my arms. Lifting one and then the other, his sponge tickles under my pits, and then carefully washes my arms from shoulder to fingertip.
I’ve lived the life of a princess and have never bathed on my own, and yet I’ve never felt so pampered, so cared for. And I’ve never trusted anyone quite so fully.
Then he looks into my eyes, and I remembereverythingI plan to trust him with. I tremble.
“Are you too cold, ma chérie?”
I shake my head.
