When she turned around, Damien was pulling two long white robes from the garment bag and hanging them. “One for each of us,” he said, giving her a smile.
But only after the shower, she thought. First she had to do something she’d never done with him before: get naked. She gripped her sweater with shaking hands, prepared to strip, but he stopped her.
“Allow me,” he said. “You won’t be alone long in your nudity.”
She licked her lips, dropped her arms and waited.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. Leaning toward her, he kissed her again, this time deeply and passionately. Her lingering doubts fled before the thrust of his tongue and the feeling of his hands wandering over her back, breasts and belly. She sighed, the breath caught by his mouth, and felt welcome heat flood her, draining her last doubts.
Some part of her felt she had been made for this moment. It seemed so right.
He moved slowly, carrying her step by step up the mountain of passion. His every move seemed strangely languorous as if they had all the time in the world. She remembered what he had said about spending hours to make sure everything was perfect, and apparently he had meant it.
By the time he began to lift her sweater over her head, her entire body was thrumming with need. Nor did he give her a moment to feel shy. As soon as her sweater was gone, her bra vanished and his hands covered her breasts, teasing and squeezing until she threw her head back and began to melt.
“Gently, slowly,” he murmured.
“You’re not making it easy.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Good,” he said. “But there’s absolutely no rush. None at all. In fact, I want to avoid it.”
The butterflies had vanished, leaving nothing in their wake but longing and an impatience she tried to tamp down. Not that Damien was going to let her hurry a single moment.
His hands continued their wandering, fueling the ache deep within her, cherishing her as much as they stirred her. It was as if he were memorizing her every curve.
Then, in an instant so fast she didn’t see it happen, his shirt vanished, and their naked chests met. She had just a moment to enjoy the view of his smoothly muscled torso, then he tugged her close, pressing her breasts to him as his mouth returned to plundering hers in a deep kiss.
Oh, could he kiss!
She lifted her hands and traced the smooth contours of his back, reveling in the strength she felt there, as well as the slight coolness of his skin. He felt solid everywhere she touched him. And for now, he let her touch.
It occurred to her that he must be exercising great restraint right now, considering that he felt it necessary to bind her later to prevent her from waking his predatory nature.
Drowsy with need, she tilted her head back and looked at him from passion-weighted eyelids. “Am I making this harder for you?”
“You are making this an absolute delight.”
Then he knelt, kissing her belly, sending a powerful shudder of longing through her. Never had a touch or kiss there seemed so intimate or exciting.
She felt the snap on her jeans give way, and caught her breath in anticipation as he began to pull the denim down. Its slow scrape against her skin was as sensual as any touch he gave her. She shivered again and resisted the urge to hold his head close, trying to remember why he needed her to be still.
But remaining still was turning into a torture of its own, a very special one.
Lips followed the fabric downward, trailing along her thighs, brushing briefly but so temptingly against the thatch of hair between her legs. The lightest of touches, it ignited her needs to an even higher level. How was she going to stand this for hours? How could she not?
Already she felt as if she had been transformed into a knot of nearly mindless need.
His own clothes disappeared at last, and she managed to open her eyes to take him in. He was a perfect picture of masculinity. His staff was already rigid, assuring her she was not alone at this peak just below heaven, but when she reached out to grasp him, he stayed her hand.
“Soon, Schatz,” he murmured. “Soon.”
Then he swept her up and deposited her in the shower. An instant later he stood there with her and pulled the curtain closed.
“We can do this whichever way you prefer,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She didn’t want to make decisions anymore. Talking had become a huge effort.
“We can either wash ourselves or wash each other.”
For an instant, shyness reared its head, but then she realized just how much she wanted to run her hands over every inch of him, to come to know him intimately before it was too late and he tied her up. Soon she wouldn’t have this option.
“I’ll wash you,” she said thickly.
He smiled and passed her the cloth and bar of soap. She wet the cloth and soaped it and began.
His chest and shoulders first, all the way down to his waist. She luxuriated in the freedom to touch him this way and loved the soapy way the washcloth passed over each of his contours. Then, when she reached his waist, she gave him a little nudge to turn him around.
It tickled her that she might be teasing him as much as he teased her. Again the cloth passed from shoulders down to waist. Then she hesitated.
“Everywhere, Schatz,” he said with unmistakable emphasis.
Taking her courage in her hands, literally, and helped along by the heavy throbbing of hunger in her own loins, she bent to scrub his legs and feet. Then slowly she straightened and began to rub his buttocks, soaping the cloth once more.
“Everywhere,” he prompted again and leaned forward a bit.
Oh, man. She didn’t know...and then she did. She slipped the cloth into the cleft and rubbed her hand along him, all the way to his testicles, then back again. It thrilled her to feel him shudder with pleasure.
Then he turned, presenting his front. Tenderly, her inhibitions finally gone, she captured his genitals and washed them, drawing her hand and the soapy cloth along his erection. His body jumped in response, and she felt a surge of power at being able to make him respond this way.
Then it was her turn, and she was certain he didn’t miss an inch of her either. When he had her bend so he could attend her bottom the way she had washed his, she felt so exquisitely exposed and so perfectly cherished that she thought her knees would give way from the pleasure.
Then at last he scrubbed her womanhood with a surprising roughness, but the roughness turned out to be welcome, pouring more heat through her veins.
No one had ever learned her this intimately. Ever.
Then he washed her hair and his own, and they took turns standing under the spray until all the soap was gone.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, taking her again in his arms.
“I’m wonderful.”
He smiled. “You certainly are.”
He moved quickly then, turning off the water and stepping with her onto the mat. Then came a new form of delightful torture as he scrubbed her dry with clean towels and squeezed the last of the water from her hair. He wasted a lot less time drying himself.
At this point she’d have walked into the bedroom naked to be bound without a single bit of hesitation. She hadn’t guessed she could sustain such a fever pitch of desire for so long, but somehow he kept her there on a high plateau, every inch of her begging for more.
He draped one of the white robes over her. Only when she was wearing it did she realize that it was two pieces of cloth joined at the shoulders and the waist by ties.
So easy to remove. And his appeared to be just the same.
He took her hand. “Are you ready, Caro?”
She wondered how she could be any readier. She would have gladly fallen on the damp bathroom floor to be taken by him right now. The ache between her legs had grown hard and insistent, throbbing in a way that demanded an answer. How could she want this any more?