“Bath or food first?” he asked Jemima. The need to warm his chilled flesh warred with the need to fill his empty stomach.
Jemima’s stomach rumbled loudly at the same time as a huge shiver racked her. “Bath first, then food, then bed.”
She watched, astonished, as Peter quickly divested himself of his breeches, clearly intending to climb in. Quickly turning her back, she stared blankly at the wall for a moment, wondering how she was going to get out of the room while he had a bath.
“You can’t get a bath in your dress,” Peter whispered, directly in her ear, making her jump. She turned and was about to ask him what he meant when he began to draw her dress down off her shoulders. He paused only briefly, his eyes met and held hers.
“I am not going to try to make love to you, no matter how much you want me to. We could wait for each other to have a bath, at which point the food would be cold. But, given that I have already seen your body before, then I think it would be quicker if we had a bath together, and then went to bed with the food, so we don’t have to get up again.”
Jemima felt a tiny thrill of feminine pleasure at his suggestion, which was quickly followed by uncertainty. She had never been completely naked before anyone before, and she wasn’t certain she liked the idea of being revealing everything to Peter so blatantly.
She was so busy contemplating the wisdom of his suggestion when the cooler air of the room swept over her bare chest. Her brows shot skyward and she quickly looked down as her dress pooled at her feet. Any protest she was going to voice was locked in her throat as Peter drew her over to the small tub.
He stepped in and encouraged her to stand in the tub in front of him, where they sat down together. It all happened so quickly, so naturally, that Jemima still wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea, even while she was sitting with Peter’s legs on either side of her while her back was being tickled by his chest hair.
Soon the warmth of the water began to chase away the chill and ease her aching limbs. She stifled a yawn as Peter began to wash her hair, cupping water in his palms and soaking her hair with warm bath water before soaping it. She had never had anyone other than Eliza help wash her hair before. It felt strange to have a man carry out such a personal task: strange, but right.
“Arch your back,” Peter ordered softly, almost groaning aloud when Jemima did just that. The sight of the lush mounds of her breasts protruding from the silken water was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. The teasing glide of her hair in the water as it floated over his rigid length built the flames of desire building within him. He knew he must look a sight, still half covered in mud and boot polish, his face and body covered in darkening bruises, but Jemima hadn’t shown any revulsion toward him. He rinsed her hair repeatedly until all the suds had been removed.
Placing his large hands beneath her arms, he slid her back against him, making no attempt to hide the growing length resting against her back. He knew she could feel it, and could see for himself the evidence of her own desire.
Gently cupping her breasts which were jutting out of the water, Peter tenderly caressed the silky flesh, moaning as it slipped and slithered beneath his fingers. His fingers caught and held the tight nubbins of dark flesh practically begging for attention. Jemima’s soft moan caught his ears, as she tipped her head back against his shoulder, lost to everything but the sensual torment his clever fingers were creating within her.
Jemima wondered how he was going to manage it, and lay heavily against him as his hands moulded her breasts over and over, before slowly dipping beneath the water. She gasped, and clung to his knees when his hands eased her legs apart, drawing them higher and higher until the hot water touched the inner flesh of her femininity as her legs were draped over the side of the tub, rendering her helpless to the relentless searching of his fingers.
“Peter,” she moaned, turning her head toward him only for her lips to be caught by his, the hot spear of his tongue delving deep into her mouth at the same time as one long finger sought and found her heat. He swallowed her cry of surprise and continued to probe, demanding her total surrender.
Reassured that he wasn’t going to allow her to slip beneath the water, Jemima released her hold on his thigh and lifted her arm upwards to slide a hand behind his head. It was the only hold she could get on him, and Peter immediately took advantage by palming the upturned breast, tweaking the aching peak. It was more than her battered senses could stand, and all too soon Jemima felt her body tighten at the delicious sensations he created inside.
She wrenched her mouth from his and cried out when the pleasure continued to build. Her hips arched beneath his questing fingers, demanding his possession, drawing him to give her the release she so desperately craved. The room receded to a white-hot haze of passion, as her stomach coiled tighter and tighter as her hips bucked and writhed beneath his hand.
Peter grasped a fistful of her hair and eased her head around so he could capture her lips with his. He slid her tight against his aching erection, moaning as the soft flesh of her buttocks captured his length. One finger, then two laid claim to the place his rigid shaft ached to be, making her scream beneath his lips as she shattered. Her spasms had no sooner started to fade than his fingers began to probe again. Jemima gasped as the sensations began to build once more. She was stunned; amazed that he could draw so much out of her with so little effort, while taking so little for himself.
“Enough,” Peter growled in her ear, abruptly withdrawing his fingers.
Jemima gasped and was about to protest when he dragged her legs off the sides of the bath and slid an arm under her knees. She hung on to the side of the tub while he slid her around until she faced him. She didn’t object as he lowered her legs over the side of the bath again and drew her hips toward him. Her eyes popped wide as she felt him probe her. She gasped as she was swiftly impaled. Peter’s legs, bent at the knee, behind her gave her the support she needed to prevent her sliding about.
“Sweet Jesus,” Peter gasped, holding her hips as he rocked her against him. He opened one eye and caught sight of her bared breasts, the dark tips peeking out from beneath a foamy mound of bubbles. With a moan he thrust hard into her, driving her toward her own release. Her keening cry, together with the rhythmic tightening around him, was all it took, and within seconds he followed her over the edge, his own hoarse shout echoing through the silence of the room as he spent himself inside her.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” Jemima gasped, refusing to consider the inelegant way she was now lying. Completely open to him, there wasn’t a part of her he couldn’t see. She wasn’t sure if the colour in her cheeks was the result of the warm water, sensual completion or embarrassment at her brazenness. She knew she should feel embarrassed, and took some comfort in knowing that Peter was as naked as she was.
Peter grinned at her, and waited for his heartbeat to slow and his legs to gain some strength before lifting her off him and easing her further down the tub. Quickly rising to his feet, he was aware of her curious glance at his manhood and fought a smile, as he helped her to her feet and escorted her to bed. The sight of her milky-white skin bathed in the soft glow of candlelight stirred him again, and he clenched his teeth.
“I’m starving,” Jemima murmured, watching as he collected the trays and deposited them on tables he drew closer to the bed. She began to eat as he settled down beside her and helped himself to the vast array of foods the innkeeper had sent them.
Jemima was just finishing the last of her bread when Peter dropped some pie. It landed squarely on her stomach. She jumped and instinctively went to wipe it off, only for her hand to be captured by Peter’s larger one. His warning look was all he gave her before his head dipped and he relieved her of all traces of the pie. He shot her an amused wink, and ‘accidentally’ dropped another piece of pie, this time on her breast. Her eyes widened and she watched his head dip toward her again.
“Oh my,” she gasped several moments later.
With that, she lay back and allowed him to feast.
CHAPTER NINE
They were on the outskirts of Padstow far too soon - as far as Jemima was concerned. She closed the door to the small room they had taken in the tavern nestled beside the stream in the small hamlet of Little Petherick, and watched Hugo and Peter rearrange two chairs beside the bed.
Peter had become increasingly tense as they approached their destination. His face was almost forbidding as he scoured the area around them for a threat. He had kept the horse at a steady trot for the last few miles, not wanting to leave them a sitting target if any of Scraggan’s men saw them.