Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(63)
Author: Christine Feehan

He pushed his h*ps forward, savoring the exquisite feeling her tight fist produced, feeling on the edge of paradise. She smiled and moved the sea sponge under his balls and down the column of his thigh. He let out his breath.

“Am I going to get a turn?”

“If you wish it,” she replied without looking up. “Otherwise you can soak in the tub while I wash myself.”

No way was he going to deny himself the pleasure of knowing her as intimately as she knew him. She had paid particular attention to his every reaction to her touch. She knew his body very well and he intended to have that same knowledge of her.

“I wish it very much,” he replied and caught the back of her neck, waiting until she looked up at him again. “Kiss me right now, Azami.” The command came out more of a growl than actual words. He had never been so aroused and yet so content at the same time. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel both sensations.

She didn’t hesitate, lifting her face so his mouth could come down on hers. He kissed her with the same thoroughness she’d shown washing him. He wanted to kiss her forever, to gather her close, but her small hand pressed delicately against his chest.

“I am almost finished, Sam,” she whispered.

He straightened, waiting to see what she would do. She sank gracefully to her knees in front of him on the tiled floor and his heart nearly stopped and then began to pound. His c**k was a fierce ache, hot blood pounding so hard he could count the beats along the prominent vein. She ignored the urgent demand and soaped and washed his legs with that same unhurried movement. The silk of her hair brushed the sensitive head of his cock, sending ripples of pleasure surging through him.

When she tapped his calf, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady himself and lifted his foot up so she could wash the sole. She looked so beautiful, there at his feet, steam rising around them, so engrossed in her self-appointed task.

“A man could get used to this very fast, Azami,” he said.

He was not a man who’d known care—not even as a child. Neither had she. Maybe that was why it was so important to her. And he could see that it was. She moved around behind him. Any other woman might have appeared subservient in the same position, but not Azami. She just looked beautiful and exotic and a miracle to him.

“I hope you enjoy this ritual, Sammy,” she said, again with that slight shy note in her voice. “This is one I wish to perform nightly.”

Nightly? She planned to wash him every night? “Like this?” He might have died in that battle and somehow made his way to heaven. He looked over his shoulder at her. She was working diligently down the column of his thighs.

Her head lifted to look up at him, those lashes covering her expression for just one moment, and then he was looking into her eyes. “Exactly like this. In your home, you must be cared for, Sam. It is important to me.”

“Baby, you know that I’ll need to take just as good care of you,” he said gently, warning her that their relationship wasn’t going to be one-sided. He planned to lavish attention on her and she needed to be willing to accept what he had to give. “That’s important to me.”

She smiled at him, that soft, mysterious smile that had his body as hard as a rock. Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the soap and sponge. She placed both carefully in his hand and turned her back to stand in front of him. Sam closed his eyes again, just to savor the moment. She was so small and delicate, a deceptive package of soft skin, silky hair, and absolute steel. He didn’t urge her to sit on the stool. She was quite a bit shorter than he was; instead, he stood behind and checked the temperature of the water before he allowed it to cascade down her back and over her shoulders.

He washed her with that same slow, unhurried attention she’d given him, realizing why she had enjoyed the ritual so much. The connection he felt toward her deepened with every stroke of the sponge over her skin. He grew to know the contours of her back, the sweeping curve of her bu**ocks, and the details of her phoenix rising from the ashes. He scrubbed at the delicate feathers that made up the long curving tail. He took care with her slender neck, massaging the muscle of her shoulders as he washed her, just as she had done for him.

She sighed softly and when he reached his arms around in front of her, she obediently leaned against his chest. He made certain the water didn’t spray her in the face as he let the water spray over her br**sts. He took his time soaping her br**sts, lifting each one carefully to thoroughly soap underneath before rinsing her off. Her ni**les fit perfectly into the center of his palms. He couldn’t resist leaning down and biting her neck gently, while he cupped her br**sts and teased those taut ni**les into hard peaks. He felt her breath leave her body, her br**sts rise and fall with the same heated need coursing through her veins.

He understood the slow, sensual dance now, the worshiping of each other’s body, that slow tender care that showed the other that not only were they desired, but they were loved, appreciated, and thoroughly cared for. He wanted to serve her in just the way she’d served him. He’d always known he’d never be happy with anything less than a full partnership from a woman. He was intelligent and he was a warrior. Who would have thought he would find the perfect woman? How had he come to be so lucky?

His hands followed the gossamer lines of her spiderweb. He could feel the ridges of the scars beneath his fingertips. He turned his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “I’m going to take my time eating you like candy.”

Her breath hitched again as his fingers danced over the spider and rolled her ni**les, tugging and teasing as he briefly indulged himself in the body she’d so generously offered him. Reluctantly he left her enticing br**sts to slip his hands over her flat belly. She had a washboard stomach beneath her soft woman’s skin. He soaped the tiny little curls guarding her treasures before he urged her thighs apart.

His hands were big and her thighs small. A surge of male pride shook him. She had given herself to him, put herself into his hands and willingly cast her fate with his. She was an extraordinary woman and yet she had chosen to trust her heart, mind, and body to him. His hand cupped the vee between her legs, a deliberate sensual touch, a brand of ownership in his own way. He didn’t dare linger too long. Small pearly drops beaded the head of his cock, and with every breath he drew, he wanted her more.

She was definitely as aroused as he was, her br**sts rising and falling and her inner thighs slick with her welcoming cream. He soaped her slender legs carefully, memorizing the shape and feel of her. He wasn’t surprised that under all that soft, glorious skin were muscles of steel. Yeah, that was his woman, beautiful, sensual, and as lethal as hell.