Only the sound of the water trickling from her body back into the tub interrupted the silence that followed as he ran the warm washcloth over her shoulders and neck. Thomas was completely focused on his task: the gentle drag of the wet cloth across her smooth skin, the pulse that throbbed with increasing rapidity at her throat, the rise and fall of the round, pale globes of her breasts.
When he lifted the washcloth, a fat drop of water fell onto an erect nipple. His gaze remained fixed on the compelling sight as he draped the washcloth on the side of the tub and fumbled in the soap dish.
He dipped into the warm water, wetting the soap, before he lathered it between both hands.
She gave a furtive cry when he held both of her breasts in his shaping palms and lathered the nipples with gentle rubbing fingertips.
“Your breasts are almost indecently beautiful,” he murmured distractedly as he coaxed the nipples into peaking higher for him.
Her hips shifted restlessly in the tub.
“Indecently?” she asked with a small smile.
He nodded.
“Are you flattering me, Thomas?”
He glanced up at her face, noting her wide eyes. “That would surprise you, wouldn’t it?” he asked regretfully.
“No, it wouldn’t,” she corrected, her low voice tickling the back of his neck. A quiet, sensual spell seemed to have settled. He filled his hands with her firm, warm flesh, gliding his hands over the lather and soft skin, but his stare was locked with Sophie’s. “I think it surprises you more that I have good expectations of you, doesn’t it? That I could possibly be thinking that you’re anything besides a confused, angry, grief-stricken man?”
“A grief-stricken animal, you mean?” he asked as he lowered his soapy hands over her rib cage and worshipped her unique shape and texture.
“No. I meant man,” she whispered.
He didn’t believe she could see much more than all the toxic emotional trash he’d been spilling all over her, but he didn’t want to argue at the moment. Not when he’d fallen under the sensual spell Sophie always cast over him.
Neither of them spoke as he lathered his hands again and washed her stomach. Her belly and curving hips struck him as powerfully erotic for some reason, a soft harbor, a miracle of feminine curves and planes and tender patches of skin that made her catch her breath when he rubbed them with his fingers. He found those sweet spots everywhere on her body; the patch of skin a half inch above her pubic hair, for instance, or the spot on the inside of her right knee.
He pulled the plug on the tub after he’d finished washing her feet, letting the steamy water drain when he saw Sophie’s cheeks had grown bright pink from the heat.
He moved back to the center of her body and once again dipped his hands beneath the surface of the water. A glance up at her face told him that her gaze was fixed on him as he lathered the soap and set it aside.
He’d saved her genitals for last. As he stared at the juncture of her thighs, he wondered why. Would he regret washing his semen off her body?
She moaned shakily when he opened his hand, fingers downward, and cradled her outer sex with a warm, soapy hand. After several delicious, taut moments, Thomas had his answer.
He’d wanted to see his come on her . . . wanted to smell it twining with Sophie’s clean, floral scent.
He washed her anyway, subtly moving his hand, using the pads of his fingertips to discover and cleanse the delicate petals of her feminine flower. He heard her soft cries and moans as if from a distance. The feel of her sensitive flesh thrilling beneath his fingers left him spellbound.
His hand dropped lower between her thighs, his fingers gently seeking. She opened her legs wider, granting him permission and access. She whimpered when he ran the tip of his forefinger over her slit. It aroused him beyond measure, the feeling of the ample lubrication seeping from her pussy, the thick fluid feeling different than both the soap lather and the water.
He glanced up at her face, realizing for the first time that her pink cheeks and flushed breasts were the result of desire, not steamy water.
He held her gaze and inserted his middle finger into her snug slit, drawing a tiny circle in the narrow, silky confines, before he withdrew and repeated the process. She bent her knees and planted her feet, lifting her hips slightly, granting him free reign. His gaze fixed on her white front teeth biting at her lower lip as he gently attempted to rinse his ejaculate from her vagina.
Not that it would work, he thought with a grim sense of satisfaction. He’d exploded so deep in her, his semen would be in her for days to come.
When he realized the bestial direction of his thoughts, he glanced away from her face.
“Sore?” he asked gruffly as he watched himself fingering
her.
“No. It feels so good,” she said huskily as her hips made small gyrations against his finger.
“I’m trying to clean you,” he said as he penetrated her vagina again, but it was a lie, and he suspected she knew that, especially when he pressed the heel of his palm next to her tender cunt and began to stimulate her clit, as well.