“Nope,” she said. “Suffer if you want to. Or . . . not. You decide.”
Noah let out a shuddering sigh and kneeled behind her. He leaned over the tub, smoothing the wet hair off her shoulders, and sudsed up his hands with scented cleansing gel, slowly massaging it over her shoulders and chest. Drifts of scented foam floated out onto the bathwater. “Lean back,” he said. “Let me wash your hair.”
That was such a delicious sensation, she could almost reconcile herself to the forced waiting. She floated in the hot water with his strong fingers massaging her scalp. Gazing up at his gorgeous face, fiercely intent upon the task of washing her hair.
She made sure her breasts were bobbing right at the surface. Pink-tipped, gleaming-wet islands in the foam. For his viewing pleasure. Sweet torture.
He took the torture stoically, kept his focus, refusing to yield. When it was time to get out, she rose slowly. Dripping. Succulent. Alluring. He remained in full control of himself, though he did seem to have silently decided that playing the part of the mouthwatering sex god bath attendant was a reasonable compromise. He was naked to the waist, which could only have been improved by him being stark naked.
But naked to the waist was already a hyperstimulation to all her senses. He was so big and powerful, with that wild predator glow in his eyes, looming over her protectively with the towel. Squeezing water out of her hair, turning her, swabbing off the drops of water beading her skin with long, slow, caressing strokes and pats. Making sure there was no spot left untouched.
Then he positioned her naked in front of the bathroom mirror and just stood there behind her for a moment, their eyes locked in the foggy reflection. She wasn’t sure if it was him, moving forward, or herself leaning back, but soon they were touching. His hand clasping her, stroking her belly. Creeping up . . . and then stopping.
He grabbed the towel. Wrapped it around her. So damn close. Stubborn hard ass.
“Let me comb your hair,” he said gruffly.
Fine. She watched Noah’s blurry reflection as he slowly and patiently worked a comb through her hair, never once making her flinch.
He took his own sweet time. When he was done, her hair was almost dry, and so was the mirror. It reflected them with crystalline clarity, but all she could look at was his hungry eyes. She craved that bright, luminous amber glow. It meant joy, pleasure, power. It connected her with all the strength she had left.
Noah put down the comb, and ran his hands gently over her shoulders. The towel had come loose, so he tossed it away.
“Should I get dressed?” she asked. “Do you have a robe?”
He sank his fingers into her hair and separated the strands, draping them. “Yeah, but I don’t want you to wear it. You’re more beautiful like this. You’re a goddess.”
On impulse, she trapped his hands, and pressed them against her breasts.
Noah went rigid. As if he was afraid to breathe.
She couldn’t breathe, either. But he hadn’t pulled his hands away. They were so big and warm. Her skin tingled madly at the contact. Heat bloomed in her chest, sweeping up until her face was poppy red. His fingers curled, stroked in tender circles.
His face was a taut mask, but the hot glow of his eyes betrayed him. “Caro,” he murmured. “Don’t push me.”
“I want you,” she said. “I want to look into your eyes, while we make love. It feels incredible.”
He looked wary. “What do my eyes have to do with anything?”
“That thing your eyes do, when your AVP is working,” she said. “The way light gets caught in them, and flashes out. I just love that.”
“Oh.” He opened his fingers slightly and trapped her nipples, tugging.
“It makes me all hot and bothered,” she whispered.
He seemed puzzled. “That’s the first time anyone ever . . . oh, never mind.”
“Tell me,” she urged.
“Just the idea that someone could actually want to look into my eyes . . . it’s strange.”
“Not strange,” she told him. “Beautiful.” She covered her hands with her own, arching her back to heighten the sensual pressure and rubbing her ass against the thick, hot bulge in his pants.
Noah dragged in a harsh breath, his fingers flexing, stroking her. “Just tell me what you want.” His voice was rough.
“You,” she said. “Now.”
“Jesus, Caro,” he muttered. “You know just how to yank my chain.”
Oh, yes. She exulted silently, took one of his hands, kissed it, and moved it down to her belly. Then lower.
His fingers tangled eagerly in the puff of damp ringlets, teasing and petting and parting her. He groaned when he found her already slick and hot. Ready.
“Those eyes,” she murmured. “Told you.”
She arched her back with a soft moan as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, her neck, kissing, licking. His hand slid, stroking and delving into her slick channel.