Page 62 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
“Only if you want. I won’t do more than that, I promise.”
“I didn’taskfor your promise.”
He blinked at her in incomprehension before his eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean that?”
“Of course. Why would I not mean it?”
He didn’t say anything, just got to his feet, water splashing out of his tub, and stepped out. He shivered a bit, probably due to coming out of the hot water into the cold of early morning even if it was mitigated by the roaring fire.
He picked up the washcloth, lathered it up, and knelt by her tub. She leaned forward, giving him room to reach her back, her knees drawn up almost to her shoulders. She put her head down over her hands which lay atop her knees.
Slowly, carefully, he began to rub circles into her back with the cloth, his other hand on her shoulder, just holding on. She could feel every individual finger and did her best not to shiver and moan.
His hand slipped lower, rubbing against the lowest knob of her spine, round and round, before he rubbed straight across and then down to the curve of her bottom. She made sure to stay very still and not give him any excuse to stop. He squeezed her bottom with the cloth, questing inward along her crack.
She whimpered, squirming a bit in reaction, and he paused, leaning forward and trying to see her face. “Freya?”
She shook her head without lifting it. “I’m fine. Please continue.”
He took that as the permission she had given him and clutched her shoulders, gently urging her backward. She unfolded from her curled-up position, laying back on the back of the tub and straightening her legs, giving him permission to run the cloth along the neck and down her chest. He circled her breasts slowly, slowly, slowly, until he reached the tip, rubbing it hard until it peaked.
She couldn’t have stopped the sounds escaping her mouth if she tried.
She could see that he was smiling and felt gratified to have made him happy. The washcloth moved downward, digging into her belly button in a way that was very ticklish. She squirmed, giggling, and he grinned at her, finally removing his finger from her hole and rubbing at the rest of her belly. She held her breath, waiting for him to go lower, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and went to the foot of the tub. He picked up her leg and began to massage her foot, taking care to pay attention to the spaces between her toes before running his hand down her leg to her knee and back down to her ankle, kneading and squeezing.
Her hips jerked, and she stared at him with wide-eyed surprise, not having ever realized how sensitive her feet were. He continued to fondle her foot before putting it down and picking up the other. He gave it the exact same treatment as if he was afraid that it might be jealous if he didn’t.
Freya was panting, dying for him to finally reach her throbbing wetness. He took his time about it, and her body grew more and more frantic with need the more he played with her. She reached out and squeezed her own breast, just to look for some relief, but it didn’t do much good.
“Please,” she begged, and he looked up at her with eyes dark with desire.
“Please what?" he rasped.
“Make me…” She did not know how to explain the thing that he had done to her that made her insides explode into a dozen fireworks, her vision go white with pleasure, and her body shake with it. “Touch me," she moaned.
Instead, he took his hands away. “It’s your turn to wash my back," he said inexplicably, and then stood up— his arousal on full display—and turned to his tub. He stepped into it and sat down before turning to look expectantly at her. Her body was on fire, and she hardly knew whether she was coming or going. But she knew that Eric was in his tub, and if she wanted to touch him again, she would have to go there.
She stood up, letting the water slew away from her skin, and stepped out of the tub. She was still fairly soapy, but she paid that no mind. She walked towards him and picked up his washcloth, all the while watching him steadily. She lathered it with care before reaching out to run it along his shoulders.
He let out a long-drawn-out groan, and she grinned. “I haven’t done a thing yet.”
He smiled without opening his eyes as he lay back against the tub. “Just your hands on me is enough.”
She giggled, running the cloth in circles against his shoulder and chest. “Well then, this must feel wonderful to you.”
“Indeed, it does.” She could see his hand creeping forward to touch his hardness, and she blushed.
Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, she began rubbing his nipples with the cloth before pinching them with her fingers. He made noises of appreciation, his body jerking once in a while in response to any pressure she might put on it. He was very responsive to her touch, and she could imagine that he was feeling just as desperate as she was.
“What can I do to…” she began, determined to bring about completion for them both.
“Come in here,” he moaned.
She stood up and hesitated for just a moment before stepping into the tub with him. He opened his eyes which were so wide blown that his pupils had disappeared.
“Straddle me,” he said hoarsely, and she lowered herself slowly, uncertainly, down onto him. His hardness was just beneath her thigh, and she worried what would happen if she squeezed it too hard.
He caught onto her hips, moving her just where he wanted her.
