AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next evening, after a long day of handling contracts and divorces and other legal grievances, I decide it's time to give my wife something other than sex and a shared bedroom. Every little thing I do for her makes me feel lighter somehow, but I'm sure that's only because the weight of guilt has hung around my neck since the day we said our vows in a magistrate's office. As much as I don't want an overblown wedding, I can tell Emery does want it. But I have other things to offer her too.
My wife had told me she planned to take a bath in the ground-floor tub before bed, so I hurry downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I'm not excited to see Emery. It's simply the most expedient way to get to the ground floor. Taking things slow has never been my strong suit.
The door to the bathroom hangs open. Emery lies in the large, claw-foot tub with her arms on the rim and her fingers lazily swishing in the water. Her head rests against the tub, and her nude body is on full display, with the water lapping around her breasts and a thin layer of bubbles floating around her.
I barely notice the sunset outside the windows across the hall, too distracted by the vision of her. "Emery."
She peels her lids apart.
"A bubble bath?" I say, sounding baffled because I am. Aren't bubbles for children? But she looks delectable surrounded by translucent pockets of suds.
Emery dunks her arms into the water, then raises them above her head. Suds drizzle off her creamy skin while the water slides down her arms, leaving only a few bubbles on her flesh. She lays her arms on the tub's rim, bending one knee to raise it above the water level.
"Bubbles are fun," she says, and hoists her leg fully out of the water, lifting her foot high and wiggling her toes. "Why not join me? It's warm and slippery in here."
"I don't lie in tubs." But I can't resist watching the suds as they glide off her foot and dribble down her leg. "I have showers."
"Mm, we could do that together too."
I curl my fingers into my palms. "We can fuck later. I need to speak with you in my office first."
She pushes away from the tub's edge and stretches her arms out to me. "Give a girl a hand?"
While I have no doubt she can get herself out of there, I cross the room and take her hands, helping my wife stand up inside the tub. I drink in the sight of her nakedness, moistening my lips three times before I can tear my focus away from her body.
"Getting chilly," she says.
Though her nipples have hardened, I know it's not from a chill. Perhaps I haven't learned everything about her, but I'm well acquainted with my wife's insatiable nature.
I grab a towel from the rack nearby and wrap it around her torso. Sized for me, the terry cloth drapes down to Emery's knees. I tuck in one corner of the towel to secure it, sling my arms around her, and lift my wife out of the tub. Soapy water sloshes over the rim.
Although her feet are flat on the tile floor, I keep her bound in my arms.
"Thanks for the assist," she says. "One of these days, I will get you in a tub with me."
"Dry off and meet me in the office."
"Sure thing, Rory baby."
I give up her body and hurry out the door.
Ten minutes later, my wife sashays into the room while I'm focused on the papers on my desk. Peripherally, I notice when she sits down on the chair across from me, but I still have my arms on the desktop on either side of a neatly arranged spread of folders and papers. I have my reading glasses perched on my nose, and glare on the lenses makes it difficult to see my wife without raising my gaze to her. I'm too engrossed by the documents in front of me to look up. That might be an excuse. Her behavior in the ground-floor bathroom left me on the verge of an erection.
Emery props her bare feet on the desk in front of me and crosses her ankles.
I have no choice but to notice that since her feet are inches away. Glancing up from my papers, I flick my gaze to her naked feet and follow a path up her legs. Reclining in my chair grants me a measure of distance, though I still feel my mouth crimp at one corner.
The cheeky lass is wearing nothing but her short satin dressing gown.
"I said to get dressed," I remind her in the most patient tone I can muster. "A robe is not clothing."
"Sure it is." She wags her foot. "Besides, you said dry off, not get dressed."
I fasten a hand over her wiggling toes. Her foot feels cold, probably from walking barefoot across the wood floors.
When she shifts her erse, as if to find a better position, the halves of her robe fall away from her legs, revealing nothing but skin up to her hips. Only her crossed ankles prevent me from glimpsing the hairs between her thighs.
