The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(55)

He wasn't wearing any underwear.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dried. He was huge. Long and thick and sublimely aroused. She'd seen the male penis in books, on Web sites she shouldn't have visited and movies she shouldn't have watched, but never in person. Never like this. His testicles were drawn up tight and surrounded by coarse dark hair.

"I believe I gave you a specific task," he said, his pointed gaze between her legs making her quake deliciously.

Need flooded her, more intense than ever before. The need to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, consumed her. A sharp ache pounded through her. "Are we really going to have sex?" she asked breathlessly, hopefully.

"Oh, yes," he replied, stalking toward her. "Oh, yes, beauty, we really are."

Maddox gripped Ashlyn under her arms and lifted her off the floor. He tore the center of her bra apart with his teeth. The buttery material ripped easily and fell open, revealing the sexiest pair of breasts he'd ever seen.

They were a little fuller than a handful, with rosy-tipped nipples begging to be sampled. He couldn't hold back a moment longer. Everything inside him cracked, needing contact. Beyond desperate.

He sucked one hard bud into his mouth, surrounding it with hot, wet intensity. Ashlyn moaned. She threw back her head and arched toward him, a plea for more. He let his tongue dabble, flicking back and forth, then sampled the other one, giving it the same treatment.

His blood burned for more, but he set her back on her feet and pushed her toward the sink. Soon. Without a word, he handed her the toothbrush he'd acquired for her earlier and claimed his own. He wanted to be perfect for her.

She appeared dazed, wobbly, as she stared at it in confusion. Slowly her cheeks pinkened in embarrassment. Why? They brushed their teeth and used the mouthwash in silence. Afterward, Ashlyn stood in front of the mirror, gripping the sink as if she didn't know what to do next and was afraid to ask.

"Off," he said, pinching the top of her panties. "Please."

She appeared nervous as she slid them over her hips and stepped out of them.

Gods. He nearly crumpled to the floor in a blubbering, thankful heap. A small triangle of honey-colored hair, deliciously rounded thighs. Nostrils flaring at the beauty of her, he once again picked her up. This time, however, he placed her inside the tub and pulled the curtain around them. She gasped when the water hit her, and then she groaned in ecstasy as the heat pounded gently at her skin. He wished he had caused that groan.

Soon, he promised himself again. Soon.

He stepped in behind her. She was already soaked, hair plastered to the elegant slope of her back. Her bottom was perfectly curved, full enough to overflow in his hands. He liked that, liked that she wasn't skin and bones.

"So lovely," he said, but doubt suddenly filled him. Should he turn her around, or hold her like this? Should he lay her down or let her stand? His first shower with a woman, and he wasn't exactly sure of the best way to go about it.

Mine. Do... everything.

As instinct and thousands of years of fantasies took over, he closed all hint of distance between them and rubbed his erection in the crevice of her ass. She gave a shuddering gasp. He reached around her and grabbed the pine-scented bar of soap he used every morning to wash away the lingering effects of his midnight trials.

She tried to turn around, to face him, but he locked her in place by resting his chin on top of her head. At first she stiffened. Gradually, though, she relaxed against him. He was already on edge and didn't want to push himself too far. Yet. He barely had a hold on the spirit as it was; it seemed to want to jump out of his body and touch her itself.

"You were made for sex, weren't you?" he purred into her ear. He laved the delicate shell with his tongue.

"I guess we'll find out," she replied on a trembling breath.

She'd been made for him, really. More perfect Bait could not have been chosen. If she'd been sent to distract him, she was succeeding. If she'd been sent to learn about him and his friends, well, she'd succeeded in that, too. He'd told her more than he'd ever told another.

If she'd been sent to punish him, well, she'd done that, too. He'd never been more ashamed of himself. He should be anywhere but here right now, should be doing anything else. Instead, he was here. Was going to make love with Ashlyn. And he didn't care about the consequences.

Arms still banded around her shoulders, he lathered his hands. He set the soap on its perch and began the slow - really slow - process of cleaning her from head to toe. His soapy fingers snaked around her nipples, along the soft curve of her hips, on the sweet roundness of her belly.

She gave another of those groans, the sound eager and this time just for him. Her head fell onto his shoulder in open invitation, an action that said, Do with me what you will.

"Do you like having someone clean you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Are you still dirty?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Everywhere," was the raspy answer.

He almost smiled. Almost. His desire was too dark for humor. Except blended with the darkness was wonder and awe.

His touch was rougher than he'd intended as he soaped her arms. She didn't seem to mind. He could see that she'd  closed her eyes and was nibbling on her bottom lip, breathy little sighs emerging every few seconds.

"Have you ever showered with a man before?" Soap in hand, he dropped to his knees.