Page 49 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“No,” she pleaded. “This does not feel right, Tipton.” Her hands covered his to prevent him from pulling the fabric down. He was still dressed and the notion of standing in front of him nude was disturbing.
“You are concentrating on the wrong feelings.”
Her hands tightened over his. “You have your clothes on.”
“And rightly so, Wife. This is your bath, love. I am merely your servant.”
“Ha! Papa would have had a fit if I had summoned Gar to perform such duties.” There was nothing in Rayne’s stance or expression that suggested vassalage. Even if he denied himself the title, he was very much a lord. Her lord.
“I could easily kill any man who dared to look upon you thus.” He worked the fabric from her fingers and pulled the fabric down, finally revealing shoulders, breasts, and abdomen. The fabric continued its revealing journey until it pooled on the floor. “Devona, you are so lovely. Not even in my dreams could I create such perfection.” His hands hovered inches from her narrow hips. The control he exerted not to grab her roughly to him made them shake. “Your sponge bath, madam.”
She turned to the washbasin, offering him time to study her backside. Tipton was looking at her strangely, and odder still was her reaction. Her chest felt so tight she could barely take a breath. Every movement she made seemed sluggish, as though she did not have complete control of her body. She dipped a cloth into the tepid water.
“No. Allow me,” he whispered hoarsely behind her. He took the cloth from her boneless hand.
She gasped at the first touch of the wet cloth against the back of her neck. “Just your servant,” he murmured. “Close your eyes and enjoy the feel of the cool cloth against your skin.”
“S-soap.” The cooling wetness and the heat from his stroking hands was a startling, wonderful contrast. She instinctively leaned into him, reveling in his attention.
“Criticizing my skills already, madam,” he teased, rewarding himself with a quick taste of her neck. “I endeavor to prove myself worthy.” He dipped the cloth back into the water. He traced the length of her spine, then drew wet circles across her buttocks. “If I survive this,” he groaned more to himself.
Devona did not look back at Tipton. She was content to listen to his movements behind her. The arrangement placed a certain detachment to their actions. He could become in her mind exactly what he said. He was her servant. The image was shattered when Tipton, growing bolder by her silence, moved the cloth from her back to her front. Water droplets sluiced over and between her breasts, tightening her nipples into firm buds. He moved in closer, his front lightly pressed against her nude back. The cloth followed the meandering trails of the droplets.
“Your shirt will be soaked.” She noticed that his breathing had changed. The rapid, warm exhales tickled her right ear.
“Perhaps I should remove it?” he suggested, kneeling before her. The lightest touch of his hand had her turning to face him. “Would you assist me, madam?”
Her fingers all nerves, she grasped his cravat and pulled at the intricate knot.
“Easy, Devona. I value my neck as much as the next man.”
He placed his hands over hers and showed her how to loosen the knot. Her husband expected her to be inexperienced with men, but her incompetence made her feel no less foolish. “It was not my intention to strangle you, my lord.”
“Rayne.”
The cravat came away, dangling loosely in her hand. “If you like.”
His gaze roamed up the length of her body, up to meet her eyes. “Oh, I do. Very much so.” He undid the three pearl buttons at his throat. “Help me, love.”
Devona grabbed the sides of his linen shirt and together they pulled it over his head. He met her curious stare, awaiting her instructions. Now she understood why he was so fascinated by her body. Seeing him shirtless made her curious to see more of him as well. Forgetting about her own nudity, she stepped forward. A man’s body was a marvelous creation, she thought. Rayne’s shoulders were straight and firm, the muscles ropelike as they strained and pulled. He was almost as perfect as some of the statues she had seen in the museum. However, he was not made of cool, smooth marble. Rayne was heat and motion. “Is touching permitted?”
“Christ, yes, please.”
Her fingers ruffled the hair on his chest; the hesitant gesture probably seemed flirtatious to him. How did one go about pleasing a man?
Rayne resumed washing her; the cloth glided across her stomach. He watched the water drip down into her downy nest of curls. “No rules, Devona,” he murmured, bringing the wet cloth to the curls and pressing. It made her think of the time in the carriage when he had touched her there, sunk his fingers deep within her.
Devona threaded her fingers through the short hair on his chest. He sucked in his breath when her knuckle brushed against his flat nipple. She smiled when it reacted very much as her own had. “The night we met, your hair was unbound. May I?” She did not wait for his permission. A quick tug on the leather cord and his hair fell to his shoulders. Her hand traced the shock of white standing out from the darker hue. “I heard this was the result of your accident.”
If Rayne was disturbed about speaking of his premature burial, he hid it well. He pressed a kiss to her belly. “I noticed it the following morning.” He shrugged. Either it was a subject he never dwelled upon or he was too distracted to elaborate. She assumed it was both.
He placed a few more kisses against her belly, each lower than the last. His tongue swirled around her navel. “That tickles.” She jerked back, but he held her, his strong hands firmly gripping her hips.
“Hold my shoulders, love. I plan to seek out all your ticklish areas.” He buried his face into her nether curls and she bit back a scream from the pleasure of it. There was no hesitation as he licked and suckled the drenched, sensitive flesh until she was quivering with need.
Rayne’s hands rested on her hips, although he did not have to keep her in place. His little wanton had her hands so firmly fisted in his hair he doubted he could free himself even if he had desired it. He had wanted to gently introduce her to lovemaking, to slowly acclimate her to his hands and mouth on her body. She was not going to allow him to do this slowly. All he had to do was touch her and she burned like a flame in his arms.
Her moans and cries of pleasure enhanced his own. He buried his tongue deep into the cleft between her legs, wringing another sigh from her. Rayne cupped her buttocks in his hands, adding strength to her stance that he suspected was weakening as much as his own. Gliding up, his tongue flicked, then swirled around the sweet nubbin of her desire. Her hands tightened against his shoulders, feeling the bite of her nails into his flesh. He welcomed her passion. Required it. When he buried himself deep within her, he wanted her caught up in the carnal journey.
