With a slow, purposeful motion, Kane presses two thick fingers into the pomegranate’s soft pulp. Juice begins to flow, spilling over his fingers, staining them with its rich, vibrant crimson as he delves deeper, the pomegranate yielding to his touch, the seeds exposed and glistening.
He turns his hand, letting the juice drip in a tantalizing slow stream back into the bath, while the air around us thickens with the syrupy sweetness.
“Tell me, Fawn, is your fruit always so wet?” Kane’s gaze, dark and unyielding, remains fixed on mine.
Heat creeps up my neck, but I refuse to look away. “Only when it’s ripe.”
His lips part slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the edges. “You should have stayed before—with me.” He lifts his fingers, slick with pomegranate juice. I watch, transfixed, warmth humming through me, as he slowly, deliberately, licks the seeds from his fingers.
I lean forward, drawn in by the tortuous glide of his tongue over each scarlet pearl.
“Tell me you should have been a good girl and stayed here with me.” Every word he utters tightens the threads of lust that keep us tangled together, pulling me closer to the edge of surrender.
Kane dips his fingers back into the flesh for another scoop and holds the seeds to my lips. “Tell me, Fawn.” The demand thrums through me, pouring into my limbs.
“I—I should have stayed.” The words are a breathless whisper, catching in my throat.
“That’s my good girl.” Kane presses the fruit against my lips. I tilt my head back as he dips his fingers into my mouth.
My tongue grazes over the rough tips of his fingers, the salty tang of his skin intoxicating as it swirls with the sweet tartness of the pomegranate. Juice trickles from my lips, trailing down my neck, pooling against my collarbones.
“You know where you belong.” His words caress my cheek, heavy with a possessiveness that makes me ache. He traces a path down my neck with two scarlet-tinged fingers, leaving a sticky crimson trail that feels almost scalding against my sensitive skin. “Baths are supposed to be cleansing,” he says, tracing the dip of my collarbone. “But, my dear Little Fawn, you seem to have only gotten dirtier.”
My breath comes out in shallow pants as his touch slides farther down my chest, and his rough fingertips encircle my nipple in a slow, seductive loop that sends a pulse of heat between my thighs.
I gasp and arch forward, my body craving more of his touch, more of him.
His fingers fall away from my skin, leaving behinda tingling sticky-sweet trail as he plunges his hand into the bathwater. The warm liquid swirls, sending ripples cascading against me, their gentle waves brushing my aching breasts. “You’ve made a mess, haven’t you?”
My gaze finds his, dark and intense, and I nod, my lips parting as I draw in a trembling breath.
“And you need to be cleaned.” His fingers resume their tantalizing movements in the water, gently stirring the surface, creating soft swells that fan out and wash over my skin in warm waves.
The heat in my belly twists tighter, coiling into a knot of desire. I nod again, a whimper catching in my throat.
“Tell me, Fawn,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with temptation. “Be a good girl and tell me you need to be licked clean.”
“Kane, I—”
The door to the room swings open, the sudden intrusion slicing the raw need that hangs hot and sweet within the room.
“My lady—” The attendant’s voice flutters through the steam like a startled bird as she clutches the freshly pressed gown to her chest, her gaze darting between Kane and me.
The maid’s entrance is a cold splash, an abrupt reminder of where we are and who we’re pretending to be.
“Pardon me. I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a vivid pink. “I’ll—I’ll busy myself elsewhere.” She turns on her heel, ready to escape, but I can’t let her leave—not when her interruption has stopped me from acting out the mistake I’m both drawn to and terrified of making.
“No, wait, please stay,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. “Ashwood and his erection were just leaving.”
She freezes, her body rigid, her eyes wide as she glances back at me.
“Actually”—Kane’s voice cuts through the steam-thickened air, his devilish smirk widening—“I was hoping to come, not go.”
The maid lets out a mortified squeak.
“My lord,” I scold, “I believe you speak out of turn.”
“Next time, there will be no speaking.” As he rises to his full height, he trails his hand out of the water. His wet fingertips graze my tight nipple with a featherlight touch. “Only doing.”
