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was surely unacceptable in a wife. She needed a legitimate reason for having touched him. Spying the washing cloth, she grabbed it and began scrubbing between his shoulder blades.
“I’ve a bit of the road on me, but I’m not a dirty pot to be scoured,” he said after a moment.
Though too embarrassed to speak, she answered by gentling her touch. Gradually, her inhibitions drained away. Soon, the cloth was forgotten, and her bare palms slid once more over his broad shoulders and trailed down his long spine.
Slowly, he turned to face her.
Sabrina paused in her ministrations, staring at his broad chest. His was the body of a laborer or a warrior, not a soft aristocrat. She marveled at the clearly defined muscles, the hard, ridged stomach. A few old scars marred his flesh, mostly fencing nicks, but there was one long, faded weal across his ribs that looked a bit more serious.
Briefly, she wondered how he’d earned such a ghastly memento. Before she could think to ask, however, her eyes were drawn to the trail of dark curls beginning just below his navel. Curiosity led her gaze downward to the dark thicket from which proudly sprang his manhood.
A mighty weapon, to be sure.
Had she not already known the bliss it could bring, fear might have overcome her, but the memory of that afternoon’s pleasure allowed no such trepidation. With a single, tentative finger, she gently circled its soft, plum-colored rim. His member leaped at her touch, seeming to have a life of its own. A giggle escaped before she could stop it, and she looked up sheepishly.
“I am finding it incredibly difficult to remember you were a virgin earlier this day,” he said, his violet eyes filled with mischievous warning.
Still, he allowed her to explore, and she took her time, well aware that she was tormenting him. The smile that crept over her lips as all of his muscles tightened, as his breath caught, was irrepressible. Dipping into the clean water bucket, she doused him from the neck down, rinsing away the soap. Stepping back, she unfolded a drying sheet and shook it.
Obediently, he stepped from the tub and held out his arms, inviting her to continue her ministrations.
She dried him as slowly as possible.
When she straightened from toweling off her husband’s taut buttocks and legs, she was again confronted by his broad chest. An outrageously naughty idea popped into her head.
A strangled gasp erupted from her husband as her mouth closed over his nipple, and his hands flew to bury themselves in her hair. He groaned as she circled and flicked, gently drawing on him in a mimicry of what he’d done to her breasts earlier.
She took it as a signal to switch to the other side.
That lasted about ten seconds.
With strong arms, her husband scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
Heated skin met cool linen, raising gooseflesh all over her body. He kissed it away, slowly, meticulously. His mouth closed over one puckered, aching nipple, teasing until she gasped, crying out wordlessly. Helpless against the invisible, inexorable chains of desire binding her, her hips bucked, silently pleading.
Smiling, he shook his head and turned his attentions to the other breast, paying it equal, loving homage.
The limit of her tolerance rapidly approaching, she clutched him fiercely, demanding that he move beyond such torments.
He grinned and sank to his knees before her.
With a shiver of anticipation, she let her knees fall apart for him, presenting herself for his delectation. Liquid fire spilled into her limbs, saturating her, tightening the backs of her quivering thighs as his tongue worked fiery magic on her swollen flesh.
The pleasure was almost unbearable. Her every nerve was alive, her straining body singing in rhythm to the drumming of her heart, wracked with uncontrollable shivers as he propelled her closer and closer to, but never over, the chasm’s edge.
When she could take no more, she drew him up, meeting his lips with her own. The taste of herself on his mouth nearly drove her mad. “Please, Henry—please!” she heard herself whisper raggedly.
TASTING A FRESH burst of honeyed sweetness, Henry chuckled with satisfaction and withdrew. His already throbbing cock strained forward, becoming granite. He’d never been so hard in all his life. In an agony of need, he rose from his knees and stared down at her. Her glistening, pink lips were parted in a purely wanton expression, and wild desire blazed in her smoky, lust-glazed eyes.
Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. How she could ever imagine him wanting any other woman was unfathomable. Bending swiftly, he reclaimed her lips, reveling in their softness, nipping, tasting.
Poising himself above her, he hesitated. He wanted—needed to be gentle, since it was only her second time; but the way she writhed beneath him, pulling at his shoulders, suggested that gentle might not be enough. For either of them.
Luminous hazel eyes flew open, plainly demanding to know why he was not yet inside her, and he at last surrendered. With one long, satisfying thrust he impaled her, burying himself in her tight, moist heat.
For one instant, he worried he might climax then and there.
He stilled, feeling the sweat form on his brow, the breath rasping in his lungs as he fought for control, fought to climb back from the brink. The moment slowly passed, and he began to move once more, withdrawing almost completely before slowly sinking back into her depths.
