Outside, the rain began to pour, the wind to howl. Inside was all sultry warmth and glowing firelight. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast, then slid shut as she lost herself in sensation-the texture of his skin beneath her sensitive fingertips, the unyielding form of his sculpted back, the heat rising from the water, from his very body.
For her work, she honed and tweaked, iteration after iteration, until she found her creation faultless.
I wouldn't change an inch of his body. Not one single inch.
As she wondered if she could grow addicted to this . . . this exploration, she kneaded his neck. He exhaled a relaxed breath, sinking back into her hands.
She went up on her knees to reach farther forward-and possibly to steal a peek. But the water still concealed him. All she could make out was a shadowy shape at his groin, that enticingly large shape she'd stroked. Had it pulsed in the water?
How titillating. She would give karats to see it.
Too late, she realized she'd dipped her palms over his shoulders, down past his collarbone. She was officially tending to his "front."
Relaxed no more, he grew tense as a spring trap, even as his knees fell wide.
Instead of alarm, excitement coursed through her. Her hands slipped lower.
His knuckles went white as he gripped the side of the tub. The metal began to bend under the pressure. . . .
Don't drag her into the water . . . don't force her hands down.
Last night Trehan had restrained himself-barely-and had been rewarded with her desire this eve. Tonight he must do the same.
Bettina wasn't immune to him, and he was one step closer to seducing her. Which meant he needed to deny instinct once more, and use his mind to win her. Remember the plan!
Again, easier said . . .
Even now her dainty hands glided over his collarbone, her graceful arms lightly draping over his shoulders.
Even now her breaths fanned over his damp ear. Each exhalation made his c*ck jerk hungrily beneath the water.
Chapter 21
His Bride was teaching him much about himself this eve, awakening him even more. He'd never known how sensitive his ears were. Or his shoulders. Or the back of his neck. . . .
When she'd begun kneading his muscles, he realized his plan had worked all too well. She was lost to sensation.
A sensual little sorceress. His Bride was o comoara. A treasure.
Comoara mea. My treasure.
Was she leaning forward to get a look at his shaft? She'd felt it; now she must want to see it. Though he wasn't often the subject of scrutiny, he was about to be.
Zeii, I want to show it to her. The idea aroused him unbearably; his h*ps began to rock. Would his be the first one she'd seen hard? Definitely the last one.
Should he take himself in hand and present it . . . ? The notion faded when she rubbed her palms lower than before.
This had been his plan. His seduction. Now he could barely think. Was my chest always this sensitive-
She grazed his ni**les; he hissed, bowing his back for more, clenching his fists on the sides of the tub.
When his fingers dug furrows into the groaning iron, she went still.
He'd frightened her, ruining this-
She grazed them again.
"Bettina!" he roared, bucking his h*ps uncontrollably. For a brief second, cool air met his upthrust cock.