her to turn in the tub. His beautiful face was even with the portion of her anatomy the most aflame. He leaned forward, licked a drop of water from her hip. His gaze devoured her.
“I am going to assume it was a plea,” he rasped. “Place your foot on the lip of the tub, sweet.”
She had known the distinct pleasure of his mouth upon her often enough to understand what he intended. And she ached for it. But still…
“What if I slip?”
The porcelain of the tub basin was slick inside.
He gave her hips a gentle squeeze. “I have you.”
Yes, he did. He had her. She trusted him, she realized in that moment. Trusted him in a way she had never imagined she would be capable of trusting any man. Not after Southwick. How was it possible that Tom could dismantle her walls with such skill and ease, and so soon?
His gaze linked with hers when she remained as she was, the implications of her thoughts slamming into her.
“You do trust me, do you not, Hyacinth?” He kissed her right thigh after he posed the question.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
“Good.” He grazed her inner thigh with his teeth before dipping his hand into the water, his fingers closing around her ankle. “Then trust me some more. I will not allow you to fall. I promise.”
She braced herself on his broad shoulder, relishing the heat and strength of him, and allowed him to guide her foot to the lip of the tub as he had instructed. The action left her legs parted. She was open to him, for him. Cool air kissed her intimate flesh. She swallowed against a rush of yearning at the expression on Tom’s face.
He looked at her as if he wanted to consume her.
As if she were worthy of all his worship.
And she felt, for the first time, that she was. She felt beautiful and free and alive. The ugly words and accusations, the bitterness and cruelty of Southwick, none of that could hurt her now. None of it could touch her. He was gone. And she was here, alive, on fire. She was Tom’s.
“So perfect,” he murmured, his gaze upon her. “So pretty everywhere.”
His praise settled into her heart. There was no excising it now. That part of him would forever be there.
He chased the words with his lips, dipping his head to kiss her starved flesh. The touch of his lips on her swollen pearl made her jerk. But when she would have lost her balance, Tom was there to hold her, to keep her from falling.
She clutched his head as he laved her with his tongue, her fingers finding purchase in the damp, silken strands of his blond hair. He licked her as if she were every bit as delicious as the dessert he had claimed her to be. When his tongue traveled down her slit to her entrance and he thrust inside her, she moaned, arching into him, wanting him deeper. As deep as she could get him.
And he obliged. By the time he returned his attentions to the sensitive bud awaiting him, she was ready to spend. He gave a lusty suck, and she lost control. A thousand tiny sparks unleashed inside her. Pleasure ricocheted, starting at her core and rippling outward. She cried out, her fingers tightening on his hair as she gasped for breath and grappled to stay on her feet.
Her heart was pounding, her entire body weighed down by sensation. As she gradually returned to herself, the urge to do the same for him hit her. Tenderly, he aided her in getting out of the tub. When he joined her on the tile floor of the bathing room, she went to him with a fluffy towel, which she used to blot the water from his magnificent body. Satisfied with her efforts, she dropped the towel to the floor and sank to her knees upon it.
“Hyacinth,” he protested.
But his cock was hard and long and thick, and she wanted him in her mouth. She wanted to make him lose control the way he had done to her. She wanted him to find his pleasure, and she wanted the taste of him on her tongue.
It was an act which had been expected of her in her past. Distasteful and unwanted—a duty just like her marriage to Southwick had been. She had held her breath, closed her eyes, and done the deed, separating her body from her mind.