'At least you admit that much,' he grated triumphantly. His kiss was tinged with a driving desperation, and he sucked at her mouth as if he'd drain her. Hannah's hands opened and closed spasmodically as her fingers twisted the fabric of his shirt-front.
She could hardly breathe. His expression was hidden by the mist that filled the small cubicle. 'Your clothes will be ruined,' she reminded him as his hands ran slowly over her from shoulder to flank, turning her body into a quivering mass of burning anticipation.
To hell with my clothes.'
Considering his lack of concern, it was with a clear conscience that she tugged urgently at the front of his shirt.
'Oh, yes,' he approved throatily as she touched her tongue experimentally to the pebble-hard centre of his male nipple. His fingers pushed roughly into the saturated strands of her hair. Encouraged by his response, she suckled softly. Under his open shirt her arms moved around his waist, drawing her breasts closer to his lean body. She leant into him, revelling in the strength of his muscular thighs which were braced to support her body.
'You like it?' she gloated. Delight and a heady sense of feminine power coursed through her veins as she shook the wet hair from her eyes and gazed up into his face. He liked it—it wasn't hard to interpret that strange mixture of pain and pleasure in his short, irregular gasps and the ripples of muscular contractions that ran beneath the smooth surface of his golden skin.
Drops of water trembled on the tips of her eyelashes and she licked at the moisture that ran into her mouth. Deliciously confident, she reached up to ease the clinging material off his shoulders.
This was a Hannah she hadn't known existed: a sexy, irresistible Hannah. Men were putty in her hands—Ethan was putty in her hands. Maybe not putty—Ethan felt altogether too firm to be classified as malleable, and certain parts of his anatomy were anything but soft. The shirt fell in a sodden heap on the tiled floor and she spread her splayed fingers up over his taut belly and across his chest and shoulders.
'You are so beautiful!' she breathed almost reverently.
'Do it again!' he commanded hoarsely. 'I want to feel your mouth on me.' A harsh cry was wrenched from his throat as she eagerly complied.
Abruptly his hands slipped under her bottom and he lifted her to waist-level. Hannah's legs automatically wrapped themselves around his waist as he walked forward with her until her back was pressed against the tiled wall.
Hannah didn't respond passively to his initiative. She matched the hungry ferocity of his mouth, and the fine, rhythmic rotation of her pelvis drove her closer to him, and drove him beyond reason. Ethan was gasping and groaning as he continued to feed on her lips frantically. He backed out of the shower cubicle and, without lifting his head from the sensual feast, carried them as far as the bed. The metal frame hit the back of his legs and he collapsed backwards with her onto the sheets which still bore the earlier imprint of her body.
Hannah let out a startled cry as she found herself lying on top of him. She sat upright and wiped away some of the wetness from her face.
"The other night was the first time for me in more than three years.'
Hannah stared at him. It wasn't a joke; he meant it! Her instinctive response of smug elation was swiftly followed by the sobering realisation of the reason for his abstinence. The memory of Catherine had been more important to him than the needs of his body. That memory still hung between them, a constant reminder of the contrast between their placfcs in this household and in his heart.
'Would you have been happier if I'd kept a mistress? You don't look very pleased.'
'I'm wondering what's changed. Sex wasn't in the forefront of your mind when you married me.'
Ethan's eyes, dark with passion, moved slowly over the slender, pale curves of her body. 'It is now,' he groaned, reaching for her.
Hannah might not have been satisfied with the absence of an adequate explanation, but in every other way she was totally satisfied!
It began with a cushion lobbed at her from the trio involved in an enthusiastic game on the floor, which involved Drew on all fours, with Tom on his back, being chased around the room by Emma. Hannah's retaliation escalated things to the point where they were all on the floor, panting and laughing as cushions were flung back and forth.
'This will all end in tears,' Hannah predicted as she held her arms across her face to hold off a vicious onslaught from her stepson.
'Being struck repeatedly over the skull by a soft object is the very latest cure for a hangover,' Drew teased softly. 'Surrender?' he suggested in a louder voice.
'Never!' she cried, flinging herself sideways to catch a stray missile. Her retaliatory strike went wildly astray and hit— The room went suddenly silent as they all saw whom it hit.