Page 23 of The Rebellious Countess
He needed the cold bath. His body demanded it…or satisfaction. One or the other. He wanted the other. He couldn’t have the other, dammit.
“I will make it quick.” He put his hands in her hair and immediately regretted not calling the maid. He’d washed his own hair plenty of times. The feel of long hair sliding through his fingers should be nothing new, but he’d never washed a woman’s hair before and somehow this was much more intimate than he’d imagined. She pressed her head back into his fingers, making little noises as he massaged her scalp, and he found himself hoping that bar of soap in her graceful hand would travel lower.
Those thoughts sent him straight to hell. He didn’t know how she knew, but her hand circled her navel and the slight indentation of her stomach. He shouldn’t watch, he told her he wouldn’t, but he’d also told her he was the lying sort, so when her hand went to the swell of her hips and down the outside of her thighs, he watched every stroke.
“Do you mind if I lean forward to wash my feet?”
He cleared his suddenly parched throat. “No.” It was all he said, the only word he could force past dry lips, and as she bent forward to scrub her toes, he looked his fill at the globes of her of arse. It was truly formed for male hands, not small and tight, but round and full, sending all kinds of erotic images into hishead. Bending her over and spreading her cheeks wide as he stroked her forbidden entrance and buried his cock deep in her sex. Pumping in and out of her, thrusting his thumb into the forbidden rosette as she cried out in pleasure.
“Are you done washing my hair?”
The mocking tone of her question shattered the vision. He brought his gaze up and found her smirking at him over her shoulder. She was a minx, through and through. He liked that about her. Loved the dichotomy of innocence and vixen that belong solely to Máira.
“Lean back,mo ghaol.”
She did so with her little smile in place, and her hands covering her breasts from his view once more. He rinsed her hair, keeping the water from the delicate features of her face. He traced the arch of her brow with a wet thumb, ran his index finger down the length of her elegant nose, to her prominent cheekbones and around the elfin curve of her chin only to focus on her plump bottom lip. She nibbled on his flesh, and he could see his cock disappearing between those luscious lips.
She was so bloody beautiful he felt as if he could hear angels singing sonnets to her. Certainly, there had to be birds chirping, stars falling, men dreaming—all in hopes of being close to her. Bloody hell! He sounded as if he were writing a love ballad.
He finished rinsing her hair and helped her sit up in the bath, averting his eyes from every delectable curve he wanted to devour. “I’ll get your linen.” He walked around to the other side of the screen, his legs feeling like leaden weights as he paused and let his head drop forward. He thought of guns and swords and bloody wounds to make his cock relax. Nothing worked.
He interlaced his fingers behind his neck and looked to the heavens for assistance. The angels weren’t helping either.
“Elias?”
“Yes.” His voice was as strained as his control.
“Were you getting my linen?”
“Yes.” He grabbed the white linen folded on the dresser and returned. Holding it up in front of him, waiting for Máira to step out of the tub and into the towel. In another place and another time, he would dry every curve, stroke every plane, and tease every nub until the only moisture left on her body was from their mutual desire. With that in mind, he switched places with her and pushed her to the other side of the screen. He’d wanted her to see how much he desired her, but now, he needed to escape her curious gaze, because in the depths of her scrutiny, were the embers of lust he wanted to ignite, yet needed to extinguish.
Instantly he stepped into the tub and sank in the water, wetting his head and shutting out the noises of Máira on the other side of the screen. When he came up, he reached for the bar of soap and found her on the chair he had vacated.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to wash your hair.”
He scoffed. “I’m not injured.”
“No, but you spoke of shaving it off because you didn’t think you could get it clean. I am here to make certain that you don’t shave it.”
“Most ladies of thetonfind my hair unfashionably long.”
“Most ladies of thetonare fools.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her desire to be a part of society, Máira held most of them in contempt, as she should. He lathered up the sponge and handed her the soap, but whereas her bath had been slow and sensuous, he made sure his was quick and perfunctory. Scrubbing his body to near pain and not allowing her to luxuriate in his locks or massage his scalp. When it was time to get out of the bath, he waited for her to put on a borrowed night rail before taking the towel and drying himself off on the opposite side of the room divider as her.
“It’s time to get some sleep,” he announced. “We have a long day tomorrow. You can have the bed and I’ll take the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I felt the lump on the back of your head the size of a goose egg. We’ll both sleep in the bed.”
“No,” he argued.
“Fine. Then I’ll sleep on the floor with you,” she fired right back at him.
“I could tie you to the bed.”
She grinned. “I didn’t realize you were into that.”
