WinterofThorns (12 page)

He snapped his head down to stare at her
toes for he could not allow himself another glance of the shadowy triangle at
the apex of her beautiful legs. The one brief sight of it had all but dropped
him to his knees.

She came to stand beside him—so close he
could feel her body heat.

“Why don’t you get in first?” she asked.

He swept his gaze to hers. “Aye,” he said
but didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

“I will bathe you if you get into the water,
husband,” she said. “Otherwise, I can’t.”

That spurred him. Though he kept his hands
clamped to his privates, he lifted his leg and stepped into the tub, nearly
falling in as his other foot caught on the rim. It was a graceless recovery
that deepened the heat bathing his cheeks. As quickly as he could, he sank down
beneath the undulating waves of steam—keeping his eyes from straying to that
sweet triangular patch as she joined him in the water. Water splashed over the
edge when he drew his knees up to help hide the fierce erection that was pressing
against his palms.

It was all he could do to hold on to his
cock and keep it at bay. The treacherous thing was as stiff as petrified wood
and struggling mightily to escape the cage of his hands. Pain throbbed in his
balls as the water lapped at her breasts and he had a tantalizing view of pert
little nipples with each wave that washed over those creamy mounds.

“Shall I wash your hair first?” she asked.

“Umm,” was the best he could do. His tongue
felt as though it were nailed to the roof of his mouth amid an arid wasteland
that had drained away all moisture. That lump in his throat made it hard for
him to draw a decent breath.

The tub was large—a copper paradise he had
always loved—but when she scooted toward him, came to wedge herself between his
feet, it felt no bigger than a demitasse cup.

“Wh-what are you…?” he mumbled.

She put her hands on his knees to push his
legs apart.

“I need access to your hair, milord,” she
said, her eyes twinkling. “Else how can I wet it?”

“Wet it?” he echoed.

“Aye, Zonny,” she said, using his mother’s
nickname for him. “I need to wet it. Bend forward so I can.”

Obediently, he bent his body in
half—wincing as his cock protested the pressure—and she began scooping handfuls
of water on his head.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

When she had his thick hair sufficiently
wet, she took the tube of shampoo sitting on the shelf beside the tub, opened
it and poured a generous amount into her hand. She rubbed it between her palms
then put her hands atop his head.

“Ah,” he groaned as she began working the shampoo
into his hair. Her fingernails grazing his scalp was the most enjoyable thing
he’d ever felt.

She lathered his hair until she was
satisfied then told him again to make sure his eyes were closed before she
scooped water over him to wash away the suds. Once that was done, she reached
for the washcloth upon which sat an oval of pale-blue soap perched on the shelf
beside her.

“You can lift your head now,” she said, and
when he did, it was all she could do to keep her smile in place. His eyes
haunted her. The look deep inside those beautiful blue orbs tore at her soul.
She vowed if it was the last thing she ever did, she would chase away the
shadows that lurked behind the thick lashes that swept down to hide the pain
from her.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said as she
wet the cloth then ran the soap over it.

“I want to,” she said then stilled her
hands. “Would you rather I not bathe you?”

“I want your hands on me, Jana,” he said
gravely. “I
need
your hands on me. Do whatever you like to me.”

“Challenging thing to say,” she said with a
saucy toss of her head that threatened to topple the braid atop her head.

“How so, milady?” He was mesmerized by the
wicked gleam in her eye as she finished soaping the cloth then reached out to
take his arm. He scrambled to keep the other arm down to hide the erection that
wanted to bob upward.

“Well the options are myriad, don’t you
think?” she queried as she began dragging the soft cloth up and down his arm.

“I suppose they are,” he acknowledged. He
wished he could return her smile but his lips felt frozen.

“And are limited only to one’s
imagination.”

“Then let your imagination run wild,” he
told her.

“I shall,” she said.

Finished with his left arm, she moved to
his right. He quickly replaced that hand with the other to hide himself from
her. He saw her lips purse but she made no comment. As she worked, her breasts
were caressed by the water and he dared not stare at them as he so longed to
do.

She scooted closer to him and he sucked in
a breath. Her movement made it necessary for him to widen his thighs even more.

“You need to put your arms on the sides of
the tub, Zonny,” she ordered.

“Wh-what?” he asked.

“So I can bathe your chest and shoulders.
And stop trying to hide your manhood from me. I am your wife and…” She leveled
her gaze on his eyes. “It belongs to me.”

He couldn’t have stopped his eyebrows from
jacking up his forehead. Her words made his cock throb brutally and he couldn’t
have spoken had his life depended upon it.

“Put. Your. Arms. On. The. Rim. Of. The.
Tub,” she commanded, still holding his shocked stare. “Now, Zonny.”

He stared at her for a long moment then
slowly moved his hand from his cock to slide his arms along the cool rim of the
tub.

“That’s better,” she said in a
matter-of-fact tone. “But I’m really not comfortable kneeling like this. My
knees hurt.” She sat down with her knees drawn up then stretched them out over
his thighs—her feet bookending his hips.

He simply could not find his voice or shut
his open mouth. Stunned by what she was doing, feeling the heat baking his
face, he gaped at her.

“You have very powerful arms, milord,” she
said conversationally. “There is great strength in them and the breadth of your
shoulders tell me you are no stranger to the gym.” She looked from his shoulders
to his face. “Lean your head back on the tub and close your eyes. Let me wash
away the day’s problems.”

He blinked. She was gazing back at him with
the most beautiful expression and when she raised her eyebrows at his slowness
in obeying her, he laid his head on the tub’s rim and reluctantly closed his
eyes as she put the cloth to his shoulder where it met his neck.

“And a nice thick neck,” she said, working
the rag along his shoulder. “No thin pencil neck on my man.”

He had to smile at that.

She moved to his other shoulder and he
sighed as the warm cloth smoothed over his skin.

“I am very enamored of your chest,” she
said as she ran the cloth along his pecs.

“Are you now?” he asked. He cocked one eye
open. “Not too hairy?”

“Just hairy enough,” she said. “Very
masculine. I like that.”

“I’m glad.”

“Eyes closed please,” she remonstrated and
he obeyed.

He groaned again as she worked her way
under his arms and down his sides.

“Like that?” she asked.

“Immensely,” he replied, feeling his heart
begin to race for she had moved the cloth to his upper belly and was dragging
it in broad circles over his navel. The thought of her touching his straining
cock made him bite his tongue. As it dipped toward that part of him jumping up
and down, wanting her touch, he slammed a hand into the water to grab her
wrist. He opened his eyes.

“Best leave that area for the last,” he
said in a strangled voice.

“As you wish,” she said without missing a
beat and moved the cloth to his left thigh—taking his hand with her. “Arm on
the tub, husband.”

He released his hold and put his arm where
he was directed, curling his fingers over the rim but kept his eyes open and
his head raised for fear she’d
mistakenly
touch his cock.

“Your thighs are so hard,” she said and he
wanted to tell her that wasn’t all of him that was. “They are larger than I
would have thought.”

“I’m not particularly fond of them but
that’s what happens when you do a lot of squats.”

She told him to raise his knee so she could
bathe the lower part of his leg.

She frowned.

“Something concerns you, milady?” he asked
as he took in her narrowed eyes and clashing brows. When she looked up at him,
there was an emotion playing across her face that he didn’t understand.

“Where did you come by this scar?” she
asked, tracing a long white line that ran from the crease of his thigh to his
knee.

He shrugged. “It’s been there so long I
don’t even notice,” he answered.

“Where did you come by it?” she pressed.

“My opponent got a bit angry when I
accidentally caught his leg with my pike when we were training. He retaliated.”

“Out of spite,” she said.

He shrugged again. “Aye, but in fairness I
drew first blood.”

“Did you mean to hurt him?”

“No, but—”

“But he meant to hurt you,” she stated, her
lips thinning.

“It happens, sweeting. No harm; no foul,”
he said. “I forgave him.”

“Did he forgive you?” When he didn’t
answer, she asked again. “Did he forgive you, Seyzon?”

“He didn’t say he did but I think he
regretted reacting as he did.”

“Why did you not have the scar erased by a
TAOS unit?” she questioned, searching his eyes.

“He didn’t have his erased so neither did
I.”

“Did you want it erased?”

“Aye, but…” He shrugged. He glanced down at
the scar. “It’s not that bad.”

Her beautiful face crinkled and she lowered
her eyes. He reached out to tip up her chin. He was surprised to see tears in
her eyes.

“It was nothing, milady. Truly. I barely felt
it.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Trust me when I say I hurt him far
more than he did me.”

She pulled her face from his light grip.

“No you didn’t,” she whispered. She
switched her attention to his right leg.

It dawned on him that she must have seen
the scar on Vindan’s leg. Must have asked him about it. He wondered what Vindan
had said, how he’d explained what had happened but by the way she was industriously
washing his leg, he didn’t dare ask her.

“You have nice feet too,” she said as she
lifted his leg. “It pleases me that your toes are straight and that you have no
hair on the tops of your feet.” She tilted her head to one side as she washed
his foot. “Although I prefer the hair on your legs.”

And Vindan’s legs are nearly hairless,
he thought, but the bastard had a pelt atop each instep. He also
had hammertoes on both feet and funky toenails.

Plus his feet stank. That thought made him
chuckle and she looked up.

“Did I say something humorous?”

He shook his head. “No,” he lied. “You just
tickled me.”

She took a deep breath. “Nearly all of you
is clean.”

“Aye, I guess so.” He could feel the blood
hammering in his ears.

She extended the washcloth to him. “Best
you finish then.”

He arched his brows as he took the cloth.
“Me?” he queried.

She lithely rose to her feet, the water
sluicing off her lovingly. He raised his head from the glistening water
droplets clinging to the sweet patch between her thighs to the tender look she
was giving him.

“Best you hurry while the water is still
warm, milord,” she said, preparing to get out.

“What of you, milady?” He reached out to
curl his hand around her knee. “What of your bath? You would deny me the
opportunity to return the favor?”

Her smile turned saucy. “Well, I am a bit
dusty from the carriage ride,” she acknowledged.

“I believe we should rid your hair of said
dust,” he told her.

She sank down into the water again. “I
believe you are right, milord.” She reached up to unpin her hair then pulled
the heavy braid over her shoulder and began undoing it. Looking pointedly at
his groin, she lifted a brow.

“Aye,” he said and soaped the cloth before
plunging it beneath the water. Though he felt lightheaded as she watched his
every stroke, he cleaned himself then scrubbed the cloth between his knuckles
as though cleaning it too.

“It will take a long time for my hair to
dry,” she said. “What shall we do while we wait?”

His slow grin brought color to her cheeks.
“Oh, I can think of a few things,” he replied in a low voice. “Turn around.”

Her brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

“Turn around and lie down in the water.
Your hair is too long for me to wet it otherwise.”

“Oh,” she said and did as he asked. She
scooted away from him then hooked her hands on the rim of the tub before lying
back.

Grateful the tub was as large as he was, he
looked down at her beautiful face with her hair floating in a dark cloud around
her. Her head was over his crotch and realizing that made his cock ache even
more. To get his mind off wishing she was facedown in his lap, he draped the
cloth over the edge of the tub and reached for the shampoo.

She was looking up at him with a soft
expression that made his heart—and another part of him—swell. Working the
lather into the sleek curls, he wanted so badly to kiss her lush lips.

“I like your mother,” she said then closed
her eyes as he dug his fingernails lightly into her scalp.

“I’m rather fond of her, myself.”

“She’s a force to be reckoned with, isn’t
she?”

He chuckled. “She can be.”

“Was she hard on you growing up?”

“Not as hard as she was on Vindan,” he
said. When she opened her eyes and looked quizzically at him, he cocked a
shoulder. “He is her godson and since his own mother couldn’t be bothered with
him, my mother was his surrogate mother. He was always getting into mischief
when we were boys and my mother would be the one to discipline him.”