Wildstar

"I wanted to do this two months ago," Devlin said in her ear, in a voice that was velvet-smooth and husky. "Ev­ery time I took a bath at your house, I'd think of you in the water with me and get hard."

"Really, you did? You'd think of me?"

"Every time. And get hard." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her bottom closer, very deliberately letting her feel precisely what he meant. "See what you do to me, sweet?"

Jess could hardly breathe, let alone give him a reply. He was moving his hips against her softly, stroking the velvet-sheathed hardness of his arousal against her buttocks. "But . . . you didn't want . . . to make love to me that first time when we were trapped in the Wildstar," she managed to get out.

"You're wrong, angel. I wanted you so much I hurt with it." His hand moved up to cup the swelling weight of her breast, making Jess tense.

"Then why . . . did you make me beg you?"

"Because, love, I was trying to be a gentleman. Where I come from, a man doesn't seduce a young lady he doesn't plan to marry." As if to apologize, his other hand glided downward over her body, his lean fingers spreading to stroke her taut, flat belly.

"You didn't want . . . to marry me___ "

"Not at first. I didn't want to marry anyone." His fin­gers reached lower, to tangle in the wet curls between her thighs; every muscle in her body tightened. "But I changed my mind when I realized how much I loved you. Just relax, sweetheart. I'm going to show you how to re­ally enjoy a bath."

Relax? That was physically impossible, Jess thought, and so was further speech. Any ability she might have had for a coherent conversation fled as Devlin pressed against the moist cleft, withdrew slightly, and pressed again.

Her hips arched at his sensual caress, and her damp quivering thighs opened to him. Immediately, his fingers thrust inside her, stroking, sliding, moving in a slow, be­witching rhythm, leisurely plying the swollen, aching folds of her flesh.

He ignored the soft, keening moans she gave, the fin­gers of one hand massaging the slick hot satin flesh be­ween her thighs to his ruthless satisfaction; the other hand stroking her jutting breasts, pulling and caressing her nip­ples, the hard thumb pressing and releasing; his tongue swirling around the shell of her ear, thrusting within, mim­icking what his magical fingers were doing elsewhere.

Jess writhed in abandoned surrender; she couldn't stop. She whimpered Devlin's name on a strangled moan, but that only made him quicken his rhythm as he stroked her to climax.

He smiled in satisfaction as the trembling, sexually aroused woman he held came apart in his arms. Her lush body jerked in liquid, mindless shudders, splashing bathwater all over the elegant carpet, but Devlin simply tightened his hold, not letting her go, delighting in the pas­sion that flushed her skin and made her breathing harsh.

The tremors of her body faded away slowly. Limp, pli­ant, satiated, Jess lay there languorously, unmoving. The racking pleasure had exhausted her.

"Jess?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are you going to sleep on me?" "No . . . just taking a rest."

His lips curved in a molasses-slow, contented smile. "Think you could find the energy to give your husband a bath?"

Husband, she thought with a blissful glow of happiness that warmed her all over. Her eyelashes fluttered open.

Unhurriedly, he turned her over to face him, spreading her knees on either side of his hips to straddle his thighs. Not surprisingly, the hot, hungry look in his smoky gray eyes made Jess's tiredness vanish, her body come alive again.

The silky hair on his chest abraded her sensitive breasts as she sat up. She could feel the stiffness of his powerful shaft against her stomach, hard and long and ready.

"Garrett? Do you want me to . . ." She blushed at the question she couldn't bring herself to ask.

"Not yet. I want this to last. Wash my hair first," he commanded softly.

Her senses humming with anticipation, Jess obeyed. She made it into a ritual: slowly soaping his hair . . . sensually massaging his scalp with her fingers . . . meticulously rins­ing away the suds . . . attending Devlin with the same de­votion he had shown her. All the while she sat astride him brazenly, in nearly the most intimate way possible, with his heavy shaft brushing tantalizingly against her feminin­ity every time she made the slightest movement. The scent of lemon surrounded her, blending with intense sexual aware-ness to caress and arouse her senses to a fever pitch.

His muscles coiled and rippled under her hands as she carried her ministrations further, to include his shoulders and arms and chest. It was a joy, being able to touch Dev­lin freely this way, to run her hands over his sleek skin, the hard contours of his body. And yet all she began to think about was whether he would put an end to the hot restless longing that was swelling again inside her, when he would ease the throbbing ache between her thighs.

Unable to bear it any longer, she let her hands move lower to skim tentatively over his

taut abdomen . . . to en­circle the thick, rigid fullness that was taunting her with the promise of fulfillment.

Devlin's entire body clenched, and he gave a low groan that vibrated with pleasure—but still he did nothing to hasten the moment.

"Garrett . . . please . . . I want you. . . ."