Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(65)

When the waves of pleasure subsided, he stared unfocused at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. All the while, she kept caressing and stroking him, smoothing those talented fingers over his spent body. He couldn’t believe the small miracle of it: that she not only wanted to touch him, she would keep doing so willingly, after the deed was finished.

And he felt the same about her. He wasn’t filled with self-loathing and a sudden, irresistible urge to yank on his clothes, toss a coin on the table, fling himself on a horse and ride away so hard, so fast, he just might finally outrun himself. No, he wanted to stay right here, and a team of draft horses couldn’t have dragged him away. He would touch and caress and kiss and stroke and lick and pleasure her all night long. Just as soon as some strength returned to his limbs.

“You were right,” he said moments later, still blinking up at the ceiling. “That is remarkably fine scrollwork.”

She laughed and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He sat up with sudden purpose. “Let’s get out of this bath.”

Beside the tub were two pitchers of clean water for rinsing. He stood up and raised one over his head, quickly dousing himself clean, then shaking like a wet dog.

“Rhys!” she squeaked, holding her hands up as a shield.

“What? You’re already wet.” He stepped out of the tub and directed her to stand in the center. Hefting the second pitcher in one hand, he told her, “Now turn your back to me, hold up your hair, and be still.”

She did as he asked, and he rinsed her slowly, allowing just a trickle of water to escape the pitcher as he moved it over her shoulders and neck. When the water cascaded down the elegant curve of her spine, she shivered and laughed. He poured water over the taut, pale globes of her backside, watching gooseflesh ripple over her skin.

“Turn around.”

Smiling, she turned to face him. He dashed water over her collarbones. Then, with great concentration, he applied a small trickle to each of her br**sts in turn. Carefully aiming the stream, he poured water directly over her nipple. Between the chill of the bath and this new stimulation, the round nub puckered tighter than ever. Which was, of course, exactly his hoped-for result.

Still holding the half-empty pitcher at his side, Rhys bent his head and sucked that lovely pink nipple into his mouth. She jolted with surprise, but he slid his free arm around her waist to steady her.

Damn, but he’d been waiting to do this forever. And thanks to her selfless efforts in the bath, now he could take all the time he pleased. Alternating between her br**sts, he sucked and licked those delectable buds, pressing his face close to breathe in the fresh, clean scent of her skin.

Curling her fingers around his shoulders, she released a low, breathy moan. And though he’d just experienced a devastating climax not five minutes ago, Rhys felt his loins beginning to stir again.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her br**sts. Her ni**les were darker and harder than ever. They looked like a pair of tightly furled rosebuds, glistening with dew. He moved the pitcher over her belly and poured a stream of water straight over her navel. The water quickly overflowed the small depression, channeling down to her pelvis and between her legs.

She gasped and stiffened. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders.

Evidently she’d liked that.

With measured caution, he pressed the pitcher’s curved lip to the top of her mound, just above the triangle of dark curls that concealed her sex. Little by little, he tilted the pitcher forward, until a trickle of water came forth, coursing straight over her intimate flesh.

This time, she cried out.

He tilted the pitcher a bit more, increasing the flow of water. Her hips tilted and she spread her legs, until the tiny stream ran between the folds of her sex. Her throaty sounds of delight echoed off the tiles.

“Does it feel good?” he asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. Over and over, not just once.

“It feels so …”—she gasped as he tilted the pitcher farther still—“I can’t even describe it.”

His chest swelled with a primitive, male sort of pride. “I’m out of water,” he said, crouching to set the pitcher aside.

“Oh.” Her whimper of disappointment was brief. “Perhaps that’s best. I’m getting cold. I think there are towels in the—”

“Not yet.”

He knelt before her, pressing his mouth to her core.

Chapter Sixteen

Meredith shrieked. And very nearly fell on her arse. It was a fortunate thing she already had her fingernails hooked into his shoulders like talons. Still, he had to clutch her waist with both hands to keep her from losing her balance completely.

Once he had her steadied, he reapplied himself to his task, caressing her most intimate flesh with his tongue. Gently … so gently, his attentions felt just like the water had. Warm, subtle, unrelenting in their tenderness.

His hands left her waist, sliding down to her sex. Using his thumbs, he carefully parted and spread her feminine folds.

“Rhys.” Her voice tweaked. “I’ve never …”

“Hush. Neither have I.” The words sent huffs of delicious warmth rushing over her skin. “So neither of us will know if I’m doing it wrong.”

He swirled his tongue over the swollen bud of nerves at the crest of her sex, and Meredith nearly lost her footing again.