Twice Tempted by a Rogue (24 page)

She gasped and stiffened. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders.

Evidently she’d liked that.

With measured caution, he pressed the pitcher’s curved lip to the top of her mound, just above the triangle of dark curls that concealed her sex. Little by little, he tilted the pitcher forward, until a trickle of water came forth, coursing straight over her intimate flesh.

This time, she cried out.

He tilted the pitcher a bit more, increasing the flow of water. Her hips tilted and she spread her legs, until the tiny stream ran between the folds of her sex. Her throaty sounds of delight echoed off the tiles.

“Does it feel good?” he asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. Over and over, not just once.

“It feels so …”—she gasped as he tilted the pitcher farther still—“I can’t even describe it.”

His chest swelled with a primitive, male sort of pride. “I’m out of water,” he said, crouching to set the pitcher aside.

“Oh.” Her whimper of disappointment was brief. “Perhaps that’s best. I’m getting cold. I think there are towels in the—”

“Not yet.”

He knelt before her, pressing his mouth to her core.

Chapter Sixteen

Meredith shrieked.

And very nearly fell on her arse. It was a fortunate thing she already had her fingernails hooked into his shoulders like talons. Still, he had to clutch her waist with both hands to keep her from losing her balance completely.

Once he had her steadied, he reapplied himself to his task, caressing her most intimate flesh with his tongue. Gently … so gently, his attentions felt just like the water had. Warm, subtle, unrelenting in their tenderness.

His hands left her waist, sliding down to her sex. Using his thumbs, he carefully parted and spread her feminine folds.

“Rhys.” Her voice tweaked. “I’ve never …”

“Hush. Neither have I.” The words sent huffs of delicious warmth rushing over her skin. “So neither of us will know if I’m doing it wrong.”

He swirled his tongue over the swollen bud of nerves at the crest of her sex, and Meredith nearly lost her footing again.

“Oh,” she said between gasps, “I’m quite certain you’re doing it right.”

No more joking now. He went silent with concentration, exploring her thoroughly with his lips and tongue. Meredith moaned and sighed. She’d never felt pleasure this acute, so intense her bones threatened to melt with it. And it was so, so right that he would be the one to give her this feeling. He’d always been the one man to spark fiery sensations in her, even when she’d been barely more than a girl.

Patiently, with tender care, he worked her closer and closer to release. The muscles in her thighs began to tremble, and the copper tub seemed to undulate beneath her feet.

She cleared her throat. “I …” His tongue flickered over her, and for a moment she lost the power of speech. “Rhys, I don’t know how much longer I can stand.”

He didn’t answer, simply hooked one arm under her thigh, until her leg rested on his shoulder. Then he framed her waist tightly between his arms, supporting her weight.

In this pose, with one leg planted in the inch of remaining bathwater and the other leg thrown over her lover’s shoulder … Meredith felt a bit like a stork. She also felt very much on display. This posture revealed her most intimate places, spreading them wide to his examination and view. He pulled back for a moment, and she could feel him looking at her. Anticipation swirled in her blood, centering between her legs in a rapid, needy pulse.

After what must have been merely a moment but felt like an eternity, his open mouth covered her sex, and he circled his tongue, and everything exploded into pure, bright pleasure.

He held her tight as she came, never letting her weaken or fall, and all the while he kept up the slow, gentle swipes of his tongue, bringing her wave after wave of bliss.

Later, she scarcely remembered how they made it to the bed. He must have carried her, seeing as how her limbs had ceased to function. She recalled snuggling into a plush towel as she hit the mattress, and the way the heat of his body cocooned her shortly thereafter. They must have slept that way for a while. It was sheer joy just to lie next to him at last, nestled into his broad chest and pinned by the weight of one brawny forearm.

So much pleasure, and still they’d hardly begun.

It wasn’t clear whether he woke her, or she woke him, but Meredith came to consciousness through a thick, cottony fog. Her limbs were so entwined with Rhys’s, she had a tricky time of it, sorting out which strands of the knot belonged to her and which to him. She supposed it didn’t really matter.

As her eyes fluttered open, his lips covered hers. Oh, how lovely, to be kissed awake. She closed her eyes again, wanting to prolong the drowsy haze. He began slowly, brushing light kisses over her mouth, cheeks, temple, and brow. The softness of his kiss was in delicious contrast to the hardness of his male organ, which pressed insistently against her thigh.

Wriggling in his embrace, Meredith reclaimed the use of her arms. She kissed him back—first lightly, then deep—and as they kissed, she ran her fingers over every inch of him she could reach. Through his short hair, over the nape of his neck, down the sculpted planes of his shoulders and back. A low moan rumbled through his chest when she flicked a thumbnail over his nipple. Encouraged, she did it again.

How could a man live to the age of one-and-thirty without knowing he was ticklish? To think that no nursemaid, no friend, no lover—for God’s sake, no
parent
—had ever touched him in a playful manner. To know that he’d lived with constant physical violence and not the slightest scrap of physical affection … Her heart broke for him all over again, just as it had when she was a girl.

But she was a woman now, and determined to make up for lost time. Before they left this bed, she would touch him
everywhere
. Tenderly, desirously. With not only fingers, but lips and tongue, too. He was uncharted ground—practically virgin territory, she thought dryly to herself. But not after tonight. She meant to explore every inch of his body, noting every spot that elicited a laugh, a sigh, or a moan.

And somehow, by the grace of God, she would make him understand that he
deserved
this. He deserved to be kissed, stroked, pleasured, held.

He deserved to be loved.

Fully awake now, they lay side by side, facing one another. Meredith propped her head on one elbow and reached her other hand between them. It didn’t take long to find what she was seeking. It was a big enough target, after all. Not exactly the proverbial needle in a haystack. She’d been delighted to learn that her memories of his body hadn’t been some combination of time’s distortion and her youthful inexperience. Over the years, she’d compared every man in her life to her memories of Rhys. Here was just one more way those other men had come up lacking.

She stroked him slowly, watching his eyes flutter with pleasure beneath closed lids.

“God, that feels good,” he said.

“You sound so surprised,” she teased. Gentling her tone, she asked, “Was it really so bad before?”

“The first time? Hell, yes.” He opened his eyes. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “Worse for her than for me. Poor girl screamed like she was being murdered. We didn’t even finish. Everything about it was just … wrong.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t enjoying herself?” Meredith smiled. “Maybe she was just the screaming sort. Some women are.”

His brow creased. “Are
you
the screaming sort?”

“No,” she said quickly, inwardly resolving not to make so much as a peep. “No.”

“Then how would you know some women are?”

“I own an inn, Rhys. The walls aren’t very thick.”

She slid her hand further down, reaching to cradle his heavy sac in her hand and delighting in his low groan of pleasure. He clasped her hip and pulled her against him, grinding his thick shaft against her belly. She threw a leg over his narrow hips, opening herself to him. A clear invitation.

Still he hesitated.

“I’m ready,” she assured him. “And I’m not a virgin or a screamer. Everything will be fine.”

“It has to be better than fine.” His hand ranged over her hip, and he reached down to stroke her cleft, probing with his fingers to test her readiness and groaning with satisfaction when he found her quite ready indeed. He slid his thumb to her pearl and gently massaged. “This has to be so damn unbelievably good that you want to do it again, and again, every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Every day?” she teased. “Such stamina.”

“We’ll be making up for a lot of lost time.” Pausing, he gave the appearance of serious consideration. “Every day for the next decade, at least. After that, it will depend on the state of my joints.”

She threw back her head and laughed.

When he began to kiss the hollow of her neck, Meredith decided this was the time. She grasped his erection firmly and guided it to the damp, needy ache between her legs.

She stretched; he nudged.

And then he was inside her, just an inch. They drew a shaky breath together.

Now an inch more.

She bit her lip to keep from moaning. Truth be told, he
was
big, and she was very out of practice, had never given birth. She was probably as tight as a widow could be. It hurt, but deliciously so.

They stared into one another’s eyes as he fed her another inch of his length, then two.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, breathless. “Give me just a moment? Just like this.”

“I’ll try.” He gritted his teeth through a few beats of her pulse. “God, I can’t wait, I … I need more.”

“I—”

A gasp took the rest of her willing reply, as he clutched her hip and thrust.

Meredith buried her face in his shoulder.
I will not scream. I will not scream
.

“Are you well?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes,” she squeaked through clenched teeth.

After a moment’s rest, she dragged in a deep breath, then released it slowly. He rocked against her, in the gentlest of thrusts. Their natural moisture spread, easing the way. When he thrust again, she could tell he slid deeper than he’d intended. A groan rumbled from his chest, loosening her tense muscles.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t painful anymore. It was very, very good.

She worked against him, struggling to take him deeper, desperate for more. More heat, more friction. The firm slide of him against her taut, sensitive flesh.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes so she could watch his expression as they established a rhythm. Slow. Steady. Devastating. With each thrust, he sank a bit deeper, stretched her body a bit wider, prodded her one step closer to the brink of ecstasy.

His face was a mask of concentration—eyes intent, brow furrowed, lower lip folded under his teeth. He seemed to be gauging her reactions just as carefully as she was watching for his.

“Is it good?” she asked, breathless.

“Hell, yes. You feel so …” He grit his teeth as her intimate muscles squeezed in response. “… so much better than my hand.”

“Your hands feel good to me.”

Laying a hand over his, she dragged his touch from her hip to her breast. He cupped the small globe easily in his palm, kneading gently. Pleasure spread through her body as he chafed his thumb over her hardened nipple. A lusty sigh eased from her throat.

“You like that.” He thumbed her nipple again.

“Oh, yes.” She tightened her leg over his hips and flexed her thigh, drawing him deeper into her.

Relaxing her neck, she rested her head on her arm and simply stared into his beautiful eyes as together they worked their hips back and forth. In and out. “This is wonderful, Rhys. I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

“So am I. Believe me. Another week of holding back, and I think I would have imploded.” One eyebrow arched. “Is it strange that we’re talking so much?”

“Strange? Perhaps it’s not usual, but it doesn’t feel strange in the least, not to me. It feels …”

“Right.” His breath hitched as he rocked his hips and sank deeper than ever. “It just feels right.” Another thrust. “Doesn’t it?”