Embrace the Mystery (The Blood Rose #3)(20)
Author: Caris Roane

“She’s been in my care a long time. Centuries.”

“Do you think you could ever have a wife?”

“I doubt it and not to malign the married state, but I’ve never wanted that kind of relationship.”

“And what am I?” She wanted things out in the open.

One side of his mouth curved. “The best seduction ever. You intrigue me and I like you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “That’s a compliment coming from you. That much I do get. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He searched her eyes. “And I want to apologize for how hard I hit your battle frequency.”

“It hurt.”

“I know. It was a virgin breach and for that I’m sorry. A warrior usually breaks in his or her frequency over a period of weeks with serious training and care.”

“I don’t regret it, though. We wouldn’t have made it here, otherwise, would we?”

He shook his head, giving her hand a squeeze. “I couldn’t have gotten away from the wind Margetta had created without your help. She’s incredibly powerful. She could have killed me outright.”

“But that might have injured Lorelei and she wouldn’t have risked it.”

“No, she wouldn’t have, but she’s very determined.”

He winced slightly and her heart kicked in a couple more heavy thuds. “You need to feed, don’t you? Have you eaten?”

“I had some soup.” His gaze had grown hungry, though, and now slid over her throat.

A soft vision of what the next hour would hold for her rolled through her. “I’d like a bath, Quinlan. Do you have one here?”

“I do.”

“And will you bathe me?”

* * * * * * * * *

Occasionally, Quinlan could use his brain, which he did right now. “Yes, I’ll bathe you.”

He rose from beside the bed, his stomach cramping but the rest of him flexing in anticipation. He was almost dizzy as he slipped into the adjoining bathroom, another large space with an enormous, made-to-order, black ceramic, claw-footed tub smack in the middle. The tub faced another stretch of rocky hillside, patches of snow, the feathering of fur needles and a dark starry sky above.

He ran the water and lit several candle pillars.

“Anytime you’re ready,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m ready.”

Her voice, closer than he’d expected, startled him as he turned in her direction. She stood in the doorway completely naked, her long, thick, wavy hair hanging almost to her waist.

He rose, his gaze falling to her large br**sts and peaked pink ni**les. Dizziness returned because he could smell her sex and she was ready.

This wouldn’t be simple, not this joining, but he didn’t care, not right now. He would bathe her, caress her, savor her.

She had a large clip in her hand and slowly drew her hair up, twisting it around and around. Of course his gaze stayed close to the swaying of her br**sts that these movements caused. His mouth watered.

With her hair clipped up on top, she finally moved forward to stand in front of him. He froze, not because he was intimidated by her, or by having her so close, but because he didn’t know what to do first. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, pull her against him, play with her ni**les and suck on her neck all at the same time.

But Batya had a different idea entirely. She took his hand, spread her legs, and planted his palm against what was very wet.

She closed her eyes, her lips parted and she groaned. “I have been wanting you to touch me so badly all these weeks. Your vibration was one thing, but your flesh, any part of your body, how I’ve longed for you, needed you.”

He groaned heavily, surrounding her with his free arm. Pulling her close, he slid a finger inside her. At the same time, he crashed his mouth down on hers and kissed her, driving his tongue deep, then plunging in and out.

Quinlan, sweet Goddess. Quinlan.

He could have brought her right then, a few quick strokes and a jolt of his vibration, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to draw this moment out. He’d worked her up for weeks, now he wanted to savor every moment.

He released her, rinsing his hand in the water. “Bath first.”

She nodded, her lips still open, waiting.

He held her hand to support her as she stepped into the tub. She stretched out, facing the window. He let the water run until her br**sts were two floating islands. The water could have risen higher, but again he used his intelligence and shut the tap off.

Her pale skin looked exquisite against the black of the tub. He rarely chose a bath over a shower, except when he’d been battling for days and needed to work some of the stiffness out of overused muscles.

Again, no woman had ever reclined in the oversized vessel, a small boat really.

Big enough for two.

“If I’m going to bathe you, I’ll need better access.”

“Good idea. I might get lost in this ship.”

He smiled. “We wouldn’t want that.”

He stood up and stripped off his shirt, his gaze fixed on her, watching her. Her eyes dilated, taking in his arms, his pecs, his abs and lower, as he shrugged out of the absurdly short pants, held up by the ridiculous tie.

“Perfect,” she whispered, her gaze on his fully erect cock. “Now come join me.”

She moved back, away from the side, as he climbed in. What foresight he’d shown to have the dimension of this tub made so big.

From a nearby basket, seated on an ancient, dark polished stool, he took a washcloth and a large bar of soap, imported from the U.S., made in France. There were many excellent perks to the opening up of the Nine Realms to their access points.

He dipped the cloth in the water then soaped up. “Why don’t you turn around, let me scrub your back.”

Batya shifted in the water and, spreading his legs, he pulled her toward him, working the cloth over her shoulders and back, her neck, her arms.

“That feels so good.”

“Thought it might.” He scrubbed in circles, working into the muscles and little by little, he felt the tension drain from her.

He soaped up again, and made his way up and down her arms slowly encircling her and leaning forward to wash her upper chest and gradually descended to glide the cloth over the swell of her br**sts.

She leaned into him now, nestling in the curve of his neck so that he had the best view.

He let the cloth fall into the water, soaping up his hands this time as he massaged her br**sts. He had big hands but she was built, more than he’d realized. He caressed down her tips and massaged them both, tugging in rhythmic strokes. The sight and feel of her br**sts hardened him all over again.