Page List

Font Size:

“Get in the tub, mouse,” he says hoarsely.

I hesitate, wondering how far I should push him. Why is he doing this to himself, adding more temptation to the desire he already feels for me?

In that second of hesitation, he loses his patience, picks me up, and lifts me, naked and kicking, into the air. A moment of breathless suspension, and then he flings me into the hot water.

I tumble into the tub with a gasp, submerging immediately.

Glorious heat. Impossible bliss. I relax at once, letting my limbs float. The tub is just long enough for me, and I don’t want to make room for anyone else.

But I don’t have a choice, because the Warlord’s great body splashes in next to mine. I lurch upright, tilting my head back so the loose strands of wet hair don’t cover my eyes. I tug at the twine knotted around my braids, loosening each one—but I leave a few of the bones tied in place, just in case there are more demon-monsters around these parts.

The Warlord grabs a bucket nearby and dunks it into the tub before pouring the liquid over himself. He exhales with pleasure at the rush of hot water, eyes blinking slow, water beading on the dark gold of his lashes.

The firelight gilds both of us as we bathe silently. The Warlord passes a bar of dark brown soap to me and I lather myself with it, from scalp to toes, before handing it back to him. The suds sting my scratches a little, but being clean is such bliss that I don’t mind.

In the glimmering amber light we rinse our bodies until they shine. And then we sit opposite each other, elbows hooked over the edges of the wooden tub, reveling in liquid comfort.

The tips of my small breasts peek over the rippling surface of the water, and most of the Warlord’s broad chest is exposed, wet curls of hair glistening over his pectorals. He watches me, while a red glow heightens along his cheekbones.

Tentatively I shift one foot under the water, probing toward him. My toes nudge the hard, thick length that arches up from between his legs.

He sucks in a harsh breath, but he doesn’t move. He lets me rub my foot along his length, pushing it toward his belly.

Only for a second, and then he leaps out of the tub with a mutteredfaenand snatches one of two thick blankets lying over a chair nearby. He strides to the back door—he has it half open to the cold dark blue of the night when I say, “Wait.”

45

The Warlord stops, fingers arched rigid around the edge of the door. “What?”

“You always do this. You go outside to pleasure yourself—out in the cold. Why?”

“I won’t take your body,” he mutters.

“But you could let me touch you, as you touched me.”

“No.”

“Because you find me frail and disgusting, not worth your admiration or pleasure.” My voice falters.

“No, by the gods!Faen, you—you make me hard simply by speaking to me. By moving, byexisting—”

I almost whimper with the thrill of those words. “Then let me touch you.”

“No.” He pulls the door wider, heading outside.

“You’ll freeze,” I protest. “If you won’t let me touch you, at least release yourself here, in the warmth… where I can watch.” My heart shudders with the wicked boldness of those words, and the Warlord’s shoulders tense.

Very slowly, he closes the door.

He turns toward me, half-draped in the blanket. “Stand up in the tub,” he says quietly.

I rise, liquid trailing off my body in glittering rivulets. The bathwater comes partway up my legs when I’m standing, while the rest of me is bared to him. Most of my wet hair falls behind me, grazing my butt, but one yellow lock is plastered to my breast and stomach, its slick curled end trailing against my hipbone.

“Spread your legs a little,” he orders.

When I obey, he drops the blanket and walks forward, erect and magnificent. He stops opposite me, at the edge of the tub, and curls his thick fingers around himself. His cock looks so long and hot and silky that it’s all I can do not to approach him and touch it. My fingers creep toward my sensitive center, aching to tend myself, but the Warlord stops me with a brusque, “No.”

Inhaling, I clench my hands and stand, trembling and inflamed, while he strokes himself to the sight of me. Slow movements at first, then faster while he groans and his stomach hardens, every muscle of his glorious body contracting, his great shoulders bending.