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Pierce’s deep, resonant voice jarred Daphne from her reverie. She started, her eyes flying open to see her husband crouched down beside her, clad only in trousers and an open shirt.
“Pierce. I thought you were gathering men to safeguard your estate in Rutland.”
“The arrangements have been completed. Missives are in the process of being delivered. Rutland will be well guarded by the time of your mother’s arrival.”
“You’re wonderful.”
He smiled, lowering himself to his knees and rolling up his sleeves. “And you’re beautiful.” He brushed her damp hair aside to kiss her nape. “Did I waken you?”
“I wasn’t asleep. I was daydreaming.”
“About what?” His hands dipped into the water, then glided up and down her bare arms with slow, lazy motions, breaking the surface to caress her shoulders.
“About you,” she managed.
“I’m flattered.” Submerging again, his fingers found her waist, curved about her tingling skin, stroking up and down, pausing on each upward journey, always stopping just shy of her breasts.
Daphne began to tremble violently, everything inside her going liquid. With each whisper-soft caress, her stomach knotted, her nipples tightened into hard buds of need. “Pierce—”
He kissed her nape again, shifting a bit to feather teasing kisses down her neck.
“Pierce.” His name was a plea. She was going to die from the tension.
He claimed her breasts in one fluid motion, cupping their weight in his palms, lazing his thumbs over her nipples.
A muted whimper escaped Daphne’s lips.
“It’s late afternoon, my exquisite wife,” he murmured. “Are you ready for me?”
Wordlessly, she nodded.
“Are you certain?” His hands left her breasts, drifted over her rib cage and hips, then slipped between her thighs.
She bit her lip to silence the harsh cry threatening to erupt.
“Are you, sweetheart?” He touched her, parting her with his fingers, circling with his thumb. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, nearly unraveling from his first intimate caress. “Pierce!”
He was on his feet, taking her with him, sloshing water everywhere and not giving a damn. Their rooms were adjoining. Pierce carried Daphne through her bedchamber and into his, lowering them both to his bed.
“I’m drenching your sheets.” She uttered a token protest, simultaneously tugging at his shirt.
“You are, aren’t you?” Live flames blazed in Pierce’s eyes. “Let’s remedy that.” Lowering his head, he began licking droplets from her throat, the hollow between her breasts. “Better?” he breathed raggedly, brushing her hands away to tear off his shirt, fling it to the floor.
“God.” Daphne’s eyes drifted closed. “Better. And worse.”
“Ah. More droplets of water.” Pierce’s tongue flicked over her nipple once, twice, then, together with his lips, surrounded the velvet peak, drawing it deep into his mouth.
“I’m going to die,” she gasped.
“Only of pleasure.”
“Pierce.”
“I love the sound of my name on your lips.” He moved up to kiss her, opening his mouth hungrily over hers. “You taste like scented rain.” He lowered his torso over hers, crushing her sensitized breasts beneath the hard wall of his chest. “Christ,” he rasped, rubbing his skin against hers. “You feel like heaven.”
Helplessly, Daphne arched against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection pulse against her tender flesh, impeded only by his trousers. “Now, Pierce. Please, now.” She tugged at the hindering material.
