Page 54
She stood, fresh cloth in hand, and ran it over his neck and shoulders. Warmth seeped into his skin, wisps of heat swirling around them. Her free hand traveled a path over him, cradling his nape while she attended to his upper body, fingers massaging softly. Braced his arm, thumb brushing over his wrist as she washed each arm. Knuckles grazing over his hip, thigh, calf, as she traveled down each leg. Then she gently encouraged him to turn and did the same thing down his back.
With every pass of the cloth, gooseflesh rose in its wake, and the overwhelming pressure in his chest grew. He didn’t understand what was happening.
Water splashing rang through the room, then she handed him a bowl and turned, pulling her hair over her shoulder. She glanced back at him. “Would you mind? It’s not the easiest for me to get myself.”
Did he mind? “I’d never pass up an opportunity to touch you, Miss Dawson.” His gut tightened. Miss Dawson. How he bloody hated calling her that. He wanted more than that. Which was even more of a reason not to allow it.
He dipped the cloth in the water, then pressed it to her skin. Water droplets skated down her skin, following a path down her spine. Her skin was so soft, so unblemished. Except for the remnants of his seed drying. He carefully washed it away until it was back to how it was meant to be. Pure. Beautiful. None of his ugliness tainting it.
When he was done, she turned back to him, a warm smile curving her lips. “Thank you. I took care of the rest in the kitchen.” She winked.
She was so bold. So…unashamed. This part of coupling was usually fraught with embarrassment or a reversion back to modesty after the high of lust and orgasm was gone. But not for this woman. She wouldn’t let anyone or anything make her feel less than, insecure, or shamed.
He wanted to be like her.
She pressed a palm to his stomach, her fingertips pushing in a touch so gentle it was almost indiscernible. “Sit,” she whispered.
Once he did, she gripped either side of his jaw, lifting his face so their eyes locked. Slowly, she straddled him, then paused, hovering over him, body just out of reach. Those hypnotizing brown eyes searched his. “All right?”
His nostrils flared. He dipped his chin.
She shifted closer and then carefully settled in his lap, skin pressing against skin, strong thighs flexing around his hips. Her eyes didn’t leave his, her fingers didn’t move from where they cupped his jaw.
Now their position had their eyes directly in line. Neither had any advantage over the other. Naked. Both bared completely. Equals.
Her gaze trailed over his scar. Her fingers followed.
Rafe’s eyes slipped shut, his features twisting.
“Do you want to tell me about the monsters?” Her whisper danced over his skin.
He slid his hands over the mattress until he reached her thighs. He skimmed over her warm skin. Flesh. Real. He dug his fingers into her hips, grounding himself in her.
He finally opened his eyes. “There are too many. I couldn’t possibly tell you them all.”
Her finger made a path over his eyebrow and then down his nose. Then she leaned forward and brushed a barely there kiss to the tip. His heart shook in its cage.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day, Duke. Let’s slay them one at a time.”
Rafe’s hands tightened on her thighs, and he just stared at her in wonder. Because she was so brilliant. So logical. So…
“How sensible of you, Miss Dawson.” The tremor in his words slightly ruined the lightness he’d been aiming for. But light still sparked to life in her eyes, one that rebounded and lit up in his chest.
Her lips curled. “I am nothing if not sensible, Your Grace.”
Thank the bloody gods for that.
He let out a slow, controlled breath. The question was…where to start?
“Are you aware of my father’s reputation?”
21
Theo
“Are you aware of my father’s reputation?”
His ominous words hung in the air around them. His grey irises were dark, a guarded iron, just like their owner.
