Page 39 of Aries

Sweet male. He certainly knows where. He learned my body well enough in that cell on theWarbird Oneall those years ago.

“Start with my shoulders.” Turning my back to him, I gather my hair up, exposing my neck. “Remember—not one touch,” I remind him, although of the two of us, he certainly has more to lose than me if a mistake is made.

The puff glides over my skin, guided by his careful hands. Each stroke feels more intimate than any touch of skin on skin, accompanied by his ragged breathing and the soft splash of water.

“Lower,” I murmur, arching slightly. A sound escapes him—half growl, half groan.

“You’re killing me,” he says roughly, but the puff continues its journey down my spine, through the water, all the way to the top of my ass.

“Just following the rules.” I splash water on my neck and let him watch it trickle between my breasts as I turn to face him. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a spot.”

His eyes have shifted to molten gold, pupils dilated as he watches rivulets trace paths he can’t touch. The puff moves with agonizing slowness across my collarbone, down the curve of my breast.

“The Manual,” he grits out, “did not anticipate this.”

“But it doesn’t forbid it. Lucky us.” Leaning back, I let him see everything the water makes glisten. “Keep going.”

Each stroke of the puff builds the tension higher. His breathing grows more ragged as he works his way down, maintaining that crucial distance while his gaze devours every inch revealed.

It’s been long minutes with no interference by the Committee. Aries’ shoulders are no longer up around his ears. His forehead is no longer tight with worry. His mouth isn’t pressed into a thin, anxious line. Instead, he’s revealing those sensuous lips of his.

Now that he’s relaxed, he takes his time, using long strokes to wash my arms and shorter movements to get my neck and ears.

The floral scent reminds me of honeysuckle as it swirls around us. Between the scent and the low light from the candles, it’s almost hypnotic.

“Open your thighs,” he orders hoarsely. “I want to see all of you. I want to watch the water cascade over every curve while I clean you.”

The rough command in his voice makes my core clench with want. This is the dominant side of him I glimpsed when he fought—the side that takes charge when desire overwhelms his usual careful control.

“Wider,” he breathes as I comply, his golden eyes fixed on my most intimate places. “Perfect. You’re so beautiful here, Callie. So pink and perfect.”

“I like this part of you,” I say.

His head jerks back in surprise.

“Dear God, I’m so tired of the man who only communicated his apologies. I like the Aries who orders me to split my thighs for him.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he’s far too smart to ask even one follow-up question. Instead, he almost grips my knees to pull them apart even wider, but catches himself in the nick of time.

“I almost…”

“You don’t have to yank my legs wider, Aries. A simple request will do.”

With that, I lift the leg nearest him and settle my sole on the side of the tub. I imagine he has a ringside seat to every fold and hollow of my most private parts.

He gasps and forgets what he’s supposed to be doing with that puff. He’s staring now, not even pretending the sight isn’t the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. I’ve never felt more feminine.

“Callie.” His voice has reached his deepest register. “How can you be so beautiful? And feminine? You’re a different person than the female I met all thoseannumsago. You’re strong, sure of yourself. Theannumshave only made youmoredesirable.”

My lids flutter closed as I allow myself to feel what his words do to me. This is more than a sex game, more than what I asked for. This is the male I’m falling for, telling me I’ve grown into someone he admires more than the girl whose virginity he took.

His hand is trembling as he shakes his head. It’s as though the moment is so powerful he can barely tolerate the emotions cascading through him. I understand. I feel that way, too.

Grabbing the puff, careful not to break the rule, I clean myself down there. For some reason, though I wanted this to be titillating, it’s become so emotionally powerful, I don’t want to play anymore.

When I’m done, he grips the puff and washes my legs with long, adoring strokes, taking special care behind my knees and somehow managing to get the puff between my toes without touching an iota of skin.

He drops the puff into the soapy water with a plop.

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