oapy fingers, stroking lightly where their child rested.
“I’ll never get used to the feeling of having you so close to me, growing heavy with our child. It’s like magic.”
He lifted her leg to rest on the edge of the tub, and proceeded to wash her knee and down to her toes, slipping between each one with his fingertips, tugging lightly as he moved from one to the next. Claire giggled when he brushed across the bottom of her foot. He bent his head and took her big toe in his mouth, nibbling the sensitive tip of it lightly. “Finn!” she cried.
“Oh, that is only the first thing I plan to taste, my lady,” he said with a chuckle.
His manhood pressed hard against the front of his trousers. Claire reached one hand out to touch him, but he took her hand and placed it back on the edge of the tub with a soft, “No.”
“Why not?”
“It has been a week, Claire. I can’t last if you start touching me now.”
She lay back in the tub, making sure her breasts were out of the water. The water brushed the hard peaks of her nipples, and she squirmed her bottom against the bottom of the tub.
“Something wrong?” he asked. But his tone was teasing and light and as hot as a summer fire at the same time.
“Not a thing,” she said as she reached into the tub and touched the aching peak of her left breast, just to see what he would do.
“Oh my God,” Finn breathed. But his hands didn’t stop his slow sensual assault. He walked around the tub and lifted her other leg to the edge, and soaped it, cleaning from her knee to her toes and back. Then he rinsed both legs, but he didn’t lower them. She lay there with her legs spread indecently, and she’d never felt more beautiful.
***
She’d never looked more beautiful. Finn was about to spend his seed inside his trousers, he wanted to come that bad. He leaned forward and ran the tip of the sponge over her nipple, and she responded by arching her back and pushing her breast harder against the sponge. He forced himself not to linger, however, and soaped around the curve of her breast and beneath it, careful not to touch her nipple again. He did the other the same way, and Claire was fidgeting with her hands by the time he was done.
She laid her head back against the tub and regarded him from beneath heavy-lidded blond lashes. His debauched pixie. God, he loved her.
Finn threw the sponge into the water and soaped his hands, then he cupped her breasts in his palms, testing the weight of them, testing their buoyancy… testing her. Claire drew her lower lip between her teeth to nibble it. Finn lingered about her breasts until her cheeks were rosy and damp.
“Finn,” she warned playfully. “We should probably get out of the tub before I turn into a prune.”
“We’re not done yet,” he whispered. He soaped his hands again and slid one down her breastbone, across her belly, and down into her curls, where he sifted lightly and tugged gently. She squirmed her bottom, pushing her mound against his hand.
“Is that where you want me?” he asked.
She nodded, still worrying that lower lip.
“Did the doctor say I could put my fingers inside you?” he asked, leaning close to her ear, and then he leaned in to kiss her as he parted her hot folds, sliding through the warmth that was her desire, rather than the warmth of the water.
“He said we could have intercourse,” she said. Her cheeks pinkened even more. “I didn’t ask him about fingers.”
“But you did ask him about intercourse?”
“Of course, I did. I miss you.”
“I’m right here,” he said.
“But you haven’t been here all week.”
“Sorry,” he breathed as he slid one finger across the pulse of her, finding it swollen and throbbing for his touch. Claire nearly left the tub, she jumped so high. But she didn’t pull her legs down from where they were draped over the edges of the tub. And he could clearly see her curls and her most private places through the sudsy water in the tub. He stroked across her pulse again and then dipped a finger quickly inside of her to bring her own slickness forward, to mix it with the slide of the soap.
Claire arched her hips to meet him as he dragged a finger back and forth across her pleasure center, alternating between that place that he knew ached for him and her channel, which quivered every time he slid inside it. She grabbed on to his free hand with hers and squeezed it tightly, mimicking the motion of his fingertips and their speed.
He leaned his forehead against her temple and felt her wicked little breaths as they left her mouth, battering his evening stubble. She could unman him with a well-placed breath. Or a poorly placed breath; it mattered not the kind of breath. Just that she was there and she was his. And she was going to come on his fingers.
Finn slid two fingers inside her and rocked his thumb against the center of her as she arched to meet him. She was tight inside and gripped his fingers so well that he wanted to grab her from the tub and bend her over it, just so he could feel her quiver around him. But this moment was hard won. He had her at his mercy, and she had him at hers. With one breath, he could shatter along with her.
Her little pants were wicked markers of her pleasure, and they grew faster and faster. He sped his thumb, hooking his fingertips inside her so he could rub that squishy place inside her that might make her squirm.