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Sigurd takes the other end of the tub. Despite its size, he manages to fill it up, one arm draped over either side as he stares at me across the water.
He crooks his fingers. “Come here, Wren.”
As if I would say no. I go to my knees and make my way through the water as gracefully as I can muster. I’m barely halfway when he reaches out like a viper, grabs my waist, and hauls me into his lap. I gasp as we slide together, my knees on either side of him, his manhood prodding my lower stomach. His fingers trail down my side before cupping my backside in his palm and urging me closer. I grind against him in the process, the planes of his chest teasing my nipples at the water’s edge.
“Not yet.” He squeezes my ass, almost like a warning, and I still. “I do believe we were bathing first.”
“You’re that eager for me to wash you?” I flick water at him in return, earning a wicked grin.
“I’ve fantasied about it more than I’d like to admit.” He reaches for the little table near the rim of the tub and grabs a vial of something blue. “Though as much as I’d enjoy that, I think I’d enjoy washing you even more.”
He pops the stopper, and I’d swear the scent alone transports me to the beach, a place I haven’t been in years, and never with company this sexy.
“Do all victors get pampered this way?” I ask.
Sigurd laughs, pouring some of the substance into his hand before rubbing his palms together to form a bubbling lather. “Not by me.”
He starts tame, washing my arms, my sides, and seeming to carefully avoid the more sensitive regions of my body that his gaze tends to linger on. When he tells me to turn around, I can’t help the little pout before I twist to give him my back.
Sigurd is methodical in his approach. He takes his time soaping my hair, using his fingers to massage my scalp and remove errant tangles. I don’t protest when he tips me back to wash out the soap, even though I catch only the barest glimpse of his focused expression. The way he washes my back, using his thumbs to soothe the tense knots in my muscles, earns a groan of delight that’s in no way sexual but just as satisfying. I can’t help but relax into the warmth of the moment and the deft touch of his hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to soothe me into a restful sleep.
I lean back against his chest as his arms come around to wash my front again. The slick heat of his skin against my own is a delight, one I’d happily rest against for hours if not for the clock ticking in the back of my mind, reminding me that this night can’t last forever, no matter how I may want it to. I’m about to protest the lack of certain attentions when he cups both breasts in his rough palms, and I jolt against him. Whatever edge of sleepiness he coerced my body into vanishes instantly.
“Do you like that, Wren?” His thumbs make broad, soapy circles, coasting over my nipples with each swoop.
“Y-yes.” My nerve endings come alive, urging me to lean into his touch. Slickness builds between my legs that has nothing to do with the bath water.
He continues the touch under the guise of cleaning, but it’s so much more than that—so different from his almost clinical touch thus far. A sigh slips from me as his hands slide away to vanish under the water, but my disappointment doesn’t last long. My body stiffens as he palms me between my legs.
“Sigurd.” My voice is hoarse. My heart races.
“Do you not want me to touch you here?” He flexes his fingers for emphasis, the tip of one dipping into my opening as he places a kiss on my shoulder.
“Yes, please touch me. I want you to.” Now that he’s started, Ineedhim to. Leaving this tent, his world, without having all of him and giving him all of me? Impossible. I meant what I told him with every ounce of me. I want to be his—in all ways.
He places another kiss at the base of my neck. “Good. Then relax. Enjoy. Let me take care of you.”
“But you—” I protest.
“This”—he slides one finger deep into my heat—“is exactly what I want right now.”
The firm and insistent stroke of his fingers silences all of my protests about him prioritizing my pleasure overourpleasure. All words vanish, as do my thoughts when he adds another digit, stretching me in the most delightful way. Finally, I let my body go loose, my head falling back to his shoulder, as I give myself over to his touch.
“That’s it,” he croons. His other arm is banded tight around my middle, sealing us together, and it’s impossible to miss the hard prod of his erection against my back.
In moments, I’m squirming against him, water sloshing near the side of the tub. His fingers alone would be enough to bring me over the edge, but the slick slide of his palm over my clit is maddening, drawing me toward my orgasm far too soon.
Sigurd takes my earlobe in his sharp teeth, eliciting a little yelp. No sooner does he release it than his lips are there, whispering, “Do you know how I felt when you said you’d be mine?”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I shake my head side to side, unable to think of a response, much less form the words.
His deep chuckle echoes into my body, bringing me ever closer to the edge of release. Sigurd grinds his palm hard against me as he thrusts his fingers deep. “You will when you come.”
Release barrels into me. I clamp around his fingers, bucking in Sigurd’s lap as I moan his name. My fingers dig into his thigh for purchase, anything to steady me as he draws out the waves of my pleasure with his continued slow thrusts.
I’m still coming down from my release when he rises from the water with me in his arms.
“I didn’t get to wash you,” I say in breathless protest.
