Page 86 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
He skimmed his large hands, warm and rough, up them, sending shivers of delight through her. Unfolding his body, he took her hand and helped her into the tub.
As she sank into the water, she smiled. “A shade past warm.”
With his eyes never leaving hers, he removed his jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth. He unbuttoned three buttons of his shirt and his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and she wondered why that last action seemed so remarkably sensual, more so than if he’d stripped himself of his shirt.
Kneeling beside the tub, he slipped a hand into the water and glided it over her toes, her arch, her ankles, up her legs, her thighs and back down. Up again, a little higher, and back down. “You’re silk,” he rasped.
“You’re velvet.”
“More like sandpaper.”
She shook her head. “No.”
His hand went higher, brushing over a hip, dipping in at her waist, gliding over her ribs, higher still until he was cradling a breast as the water lapped at it. Leaning over, he circled his tongue around her nipple, and once more her hands were in his hair, holding him near. With his hand kneading, he closed his mouth around light pink.
She was grateful these hadn’t been memories to lose. They could not have done this before if he thought it was like looking at her for the first time. They had kissed, yes, but they could not have gone farther. Surely this would all feel familiar, surely there would be flashes of memory.
But there was nothing except the wonder of the sensations, as though she were only now being introduced to them. He trailed his mouth up to the curve of her neck, nipped at the delicate flesh with a satisfying growl, and she wanted to curl in on herself even as her head dropped back to give him easier access.
His hand skimmed back down, lower, lower, until his fingers were parting her and pleasure speared her. She released a little cry that was part moan, part sigh.
“Not yet,” he grumbled, and she didn’t know if he was talking to her or himself, but his fingers and lips left her.
She opened her eyes to see strain in his features as he reached for the soap. He concentrated on rubbing it over his hands. Lifting her foot from the water, he worked the soap between her toes, over her heel. Rough silk over smooth satin. The soap added a texture that delighted, yet she longed for his bare hands.
He washed her slowly, every line and curve, every nook and cranny, taking his time, exploring every aspect of her as though it were truly the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She watched the appreciation lighten his eyes, the passion flow in to darken them. Once more, she reached out and sifted her fingers through his hair. She wanted to touch him, needed to.
“Join me,” she said.
He peered over at her. She flung some water droplets at him. “In here. I can wash you while you wash me.”
Leaning in, he blanketed her mouth, his tongue exploring with the same intensity that his hands did, as though he could unearth something new about her. Their relationship would change. She knew that, but then it had already changed.
She didn’t do her chores around the house because they were her duties. She did them because she wanted to please him. She wanted him happy. She wanted him to want to come home to her. She wanted to greet him with a smile and a kiss. She wanted him to take her into his arms. She wanted him to return at midnight, slip into bed beside her, and cradle her. She wanted him to sleep beside her, his breaths matching hers.
It all seemed right. From the moment she had awoken in his bed, some things had seemed correct and others had felt wrong. He had felt right. He had always felt right. Her feelings for him were the only thing she truly trusted. They were real, they were absolute. They carried with them no doubts.
Drawing back, he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. Although she’d seen that chest before, she still marveled at it. And the flatness of his stomach. He removed his boots and then his trousers. Oh yes, he was a man comprised of astonishing lengths.
He stepped into the tub, his feet on either side of her. Lifting her feet, she placed them on his chest as he lowered himself into the water, which rose and threatened to spill over. Taking her foot, he kissed her toes, her ankle, her calf.
The devil was in his eyes. How she loved that devil.
Locating the soap near her hip, she picked it up and rubbed her hands over it. She rose up on her knees and began washing him. “I think I was a silly girl to only ever wash your back,” she said, skimming her hands over his chest, his arms.
“I was the fool for not insisting you do more.” He braced his hands on either side of her ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts as he brought her nearer and peppered kisses over her.
“You’re distracting me from my purpose here,” she told him.
“Concentrate.”
But how could she when he was eliciting such marvelous sensations? Lowering her hands into the water, she stroked them over his hips. He stilled.
“Oh, I have your attention now,” she said.
“You’ve always had my attention.”
She moved her hands around, wrapping her fingers around the heat of him. He growled low in his throat and she felt the vibrations going through him.
