Page 71 of The Rogue's Bride
Caitrin’s mouth quirked. “Are ye sure there’s room in there for the both of us?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Aye.”
Without shifting her gaze from his, Caitrin started to unlace the front of her kirtle. It had been a long, tiring day. They’d just retired to their bed-chamber. Once supper had ended, Caitrin had tucked Eoghan into bed, and Alasdair had made sure all the villagers whose homes had been flooded had bedded down in the Great Hall. However, as Caitrin undressed, the day’s fatigue lifted from her.
She’d been looking forward to this moment, to finally being alone with Alasdair.
The rest of the evening belonged to them.
Alasdair stepped into the iron tub and lowered himself into the hot, fragrant water. “I’ll smell like a lass after this,” he complained, wrinkling his nose.
Caitrin laughed. “Apologies … Sorcha is used to preparing a bath for me. I’ll tell her to be less generous with her scented oils in future.”
Naked, her slender limbs and gentle curves glowing in the gilded light of the hearth and the candles that burned around them, Caitrin walked toward the bathtub. Alasdair watched her, transfixed, his mind suddenly going blank.
Every time he saw Caitrin naked he felt like a gauche youth, a simpleton who didn’t know what to do with such a sight except gape.
“God’s bones,” he breathed finally. “Ye are so beautiful it hurts to look upon ye.”
Caitrin’s mouth curved. She then stepped into the bath and sank down into the water opposite him.
They stared at each other for a long moment, a veil of steam encircling them. Alasdair shifted so that his legs encircled Caitrin, and she was able to stretch out her legs before her. “See,” he said with a grin. “I told ye we’d both fit.”
Caitrin arched an eyebrow before reaching for a soft cloth and cake of lye, and holding them out to him. “Come on then, let’s bathe before the water cools.”
Alasdair inclined his head, smiling. “I’d like ye to wash me.”
She huffed a laugh. “I’m sure ye don’t need my assistance.”
He gave her a sultry look. “What I need and what I want aren’t the same thing, my love … will ye?”
She appeared almost shy then, dipping her head so that her hair fell in loose pale waves around her face. Of course, despite that she’d been wedded before, Caitrin was new to love play. He sensed her sudden nervousness. Even so, she obliged, moving onto her knees so that she could reach him properly.
Dipping the cloth into the water, she soaped it before beginning to wash his shoulders and chest.
The feel of her touch sliding across his skin made Alasdair let out a long sigh. He leaned back, resting the back of his head against the rim of the tub, and gave himself up to the sensation.
Caitrin seemed to be taking her task seriously. She lifted up his arms, washing under them, before soaping his arms and hands. Then she returned to his chest and began a leisurely path down to his stomach. Then she stopped.
Alasdair’s eyes flickered open to see that she was staring down at his groin. His gaze shifted to where his shaft strained up out of the soapy water.
Caitrin glanced up at him. “Can I?”
“Ye don’t even have to ask,” he replied, his breathing quickening. “I’m all yers.”
Caitrin smiled, her gaze dropping once more to his arousal. Then she wet the cloth, soaped it once more, and began to slide it up and down his shaft.
Alasdair groaned. His head fell back as he gave himself up to the sensation. Then, moments later, the cloth disappeared, and he felt her fingers encircle him. He reopened his eyes to see her attention fixed wholly upon his rod, her lips parted as she pleasured him.
Lust slammed into Alasdair like a charging bull. The blend of innocence and desire in this woman undid him.
With a growl, he pulled her up so that she was above him, her legs spread over his erection. Then, guiding her hips, he lowered Caitrin onto him. He inched into her, watching her face as he did so. He loved how a flush appeared on her cheeks, how her eyes widened, the deeper he penetrated.
When he pulled her down so that he was fully seated within her, she gave a soft cry, her chest now rising and falling sharply.
Alasdair drew in a slow, deep breath, shifting his attention down to her breasts. They were delicious: small and pert but with large pink nipples that were as firm and sweet as ripe strawberries. He angled his hips so she leaned toward him, allowing him to feast on her breasts. He drew a nipple deep into his mouth and sucked till she moaned. Suckling her, he reached down and gripped her hips, gyrating them so that they began to gently move together.
Caitrin gasped, her lithe body trembling in his grip.
