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Not me.

He repeats the process with the other leg, leaning closer over the bath until heat from his body mixes with the steam. Then his hand disappears under the water, the sponge gliding between my thighs before he lets it float away.

Now it’s only his hand touching me.

Instinctively, I part my legs wider.

The warmth of the tub mingles with the heat coiling through my body as his hand moves against me beneath the water, deliberate and unhurried, and he smirks.

“What?” I whisper breathlessly.

“Never heard you this quiet before.” The smile lingers on his mouth as he leans closer, tipping my chin up with his free hand. He kisses me softly, playfully, before murmuring against my lips, “I love nothing more than the sound of your voice, Alice, so make some noise for me.”

The praise, the control in his voice, the way he knows exactly what he’s doing—it all catches me at once as he slips his fingers inside me. I’m falling, swirling in a vortex of pleasure, the whirlwind of it threatening to knock me sideways.

“Owen,” I breathe, clutching the edge of the bath as his fingers drive into me. “Oh my God, Owen.”

“That’s it, Alice,” he says, cupping my chin, keeping my gaze fixed on him, his hand never slowing, never stopping.

“That’s so good. So goddamned good.” I’m squirming in the tub, my body writhing, the water splashing up the sides as I sway to the rhythm of his fingers and the pleasure crawling over my skin.

He kisses me, deeper than he has before, and I moan into his mouth as I come, my orgasm spiralling through me. I grip onto his neck, supporting myself through the tremors.

“Owen.” His name comes out all raspy, like it’s the oxygen I so badly need. I gaze into his eyes and know I’m in a dangerous place because he’s all I want.

I never want to breathe anything ever again other than Owen Shea.

56

Owen

She can’t get out of the bath fast enough, her arms pulling at me as she kisses me so violently, so deeply, I’m caught off-guard. Wrapping her in a large bath towel, I lift her, then sweep her from the bathroom and into my bedroom, where I lay her on my bed.

Fighting all my urges to just pounce, I step back and take her in—her beautiful nakedness, the way she’s spread out for me, her arms above her head, her skin still wet, her parted lips.

“You’ve started something, Owen Shea,” she says.

“It was always my intention.”

“You’d better hope you can finish it.”

I climb onto the bed and straddle her, unbuttoning my shirt as I take in her hard nipples, the glow to her cheeks, and the flushed skin across her chest.

“If I have anything to do with it,” I tell her, “there’ll be no end to this.”

She grins, helping me pull my shirt from my arms before fumbling with the buckle of my trousers.

Together, we slide the fabric down and discard them, our fingers brushing each other’s, Alice giggling like she’s had one too many glasses of wine.

There’s a pause, me just taking in how beautiful she is, how lucky I am to have her here now, like this, just the way I want her. I hope she’s thinking the same, pray she feels one ounce of what I feel, because if not, I’m doomed. After all, it’s taken me a long time to find this woman, and I’ll be damned if I’m ever letting her go.

“I want you, Owen,” she says, and it’s all I need to hear.

“How do you want me?” I whisper. “Like this?” I bite her bottom lip. “Or this?” I move my lips down her chest, caressing her skin with my mouth. “Or this?” I let my hand stray between her legs, and she lets out a little whimper that gets me twitching.

God. She’s just so edible, so moreish.

“All the ways. I want you all the ways there are to have you.” Alice closes her eyes briefly before she opens them, licks her lips, and says, “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”