Her head shot round, and what he saw in her eyes—stunned desire, naked need—echoed in his gut and turned the erection to throbbing iron. The emotion that gripped his chest felt like more than desire, more than passion, more than the basic urge to mate—he struggled to beat it back, to control it.
This was just hunger, nothing more, nothing less; it only felt like more because he desired her so much—and the fact of her pregnancy had resurrected emotions, vulnerabilities, that were best left buried.
‘Maxim?’ she said, folding her arms over her beautiful breasts to cover her nakedness. ‘You’re... You’re here.’
He could hear the wariness in her voice, see the shyness in her flushed face. Damn, why did her innocence make her even more exquisite? It made no sense. He had always preferred the women he slept with to be bold and assertive, ready to tell him what they enjoyed, but, with Cara, her pleasure was like a rare gift waiting to be unwrapped. And, weirdly, her innocence made him feel untouched too, discovering the limits of his own pleasure for the first time.
The thought was so damn intoxicating he had to swallow another groan.
‘Do you wish me to leave?’ he asked, even though it was the hardest question he had ever asked. If she said yes, he would have to go, even though the thought of stepping away from the feast before his eyes might well tip him over the edge into insanity.
He saw her slender throat tighten as she swallowed, but then she shook her head.
He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be watching over him in that moment. And sent up a silent vow too, that he would do his very best to treat her with the respect her inexperience—and her condition—deserved, even if the hunger clawing at his gut was already more than he could bear.
An idea sprung into his mind, erotic but also playful, and his erection stiffened even more.
‘Would you like me to wash your back?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice light, the opposite of what he felt.
‘Um...’ She chewed her lip, considering, and every one of his pulse points throbbed in agony, waiting for her decision. ‘That would be nice, if you’re sure you want to.’
He masked the inevitable groan with a husky half laugh. She was going to kill him before the night was out. ‘J’en suis certain, Cara.’
He sat down on the gilded chair in the corner of the room to unlace his shoes and had managed to strip off his shirt and tuxedo trousers before her shocked voice asked, ‘Maxim, what are you doing?’
‘Joining you in the bath,’ he said as he lowered his boxer shorts and watched her gaze drop to the painful erection. Stunned need—and panic—flared in the blue depths and he laughed again, the sound considerably more tortured this time. ‘It’s the only way to do a thorough job.’
She didn’t take her eyes off the mammoth erection as he crossed the room. He climbed in behind her, the water rising to lap over the lip of the tub as he sunk down, his erection now snug against her bottom. She trembled, and moved, instinctively rubbing against the stiff length.
Oui, she was definitely going to kill him, but at least he would die in a state of bliss.
He reached past her to pluck the soap from the side of the tub. He lathered his hands, then placed them on her shoulders. Beginning at her nape, he worked down her spine as far as he could reach, kneading the tight muscles, glad when the sinews began to loosen under his thumbs. She still had her arms clasped across her chest, but he could feel the tension gradually releasing. At last her arms softened enough for him to draw them down.
He covered her breasts with his hands, and leant over her shoulder to watch the nipples—rosy from the water—elongate under his focused car
esses.
‘Maxim, I... That’s not my back...’ Her voice broke on the husky comment, the raw need in her tone a potent aphrodisiac.
‘Yes, but I feel they need my attention,’ he teased, desperately trying to keep the mood playful. ‘It’s my job as your husband to make sure you are properly washed.’
‘It... It is?’ she said, her body relaxing enough to lean into him.
Unable to bear the tension any longer, he leaned over her shoulder and, holding the heavy weight of her breasts in his palms, whispered in her ear, ‘Turn your head for me, ma femme.’
She did as he asked, and he claimed her lips. The angle was too awkward to go deep, but even so her tongue tangled with his, meeting his shallow thrusts. He lifted his head first, her soft sigh of disappointment like a siren call to his senses. Standing, he lifted her from the water and stepped out of the tub with her in his arms.
‘Maxim, be careful, you might slip,’ she said, gripping his shoulders.
He placed a kiss on her nose, pink and delicious, and laughed at her practicality.
Dieu, could she be any more exquisite?
He brushed his feet on the damp bath mat and strode into the adjoining bedroom with her held high in his arms. ‘Take a towel,’ he said as they walked past the pile on the bathroom dresser.
Placing her on her feet beside the four-poster bed, he took the fluffy bath sheet from her and proceeded to dry her wild tumble of curls, then her body, taking the opportunity to run the soft towelling over her flushed fragrant flesh, marvelling at the changes—surprised by how much they aroused him.
He would not have believed he could want her more than he had that first night. But he did. Her breasts were fuller and firmer, her curves more lush where her body had ripened in pregnancy.