Gabriel unfastened her gown as Evan bent to remove her shoes and stockings. His grip was firm, his hands deft, and his touches exciting.
The air touched her bare arms and back as her garment fell away and Royce extended his hand as she stepped out and away from most of her clothing. “Come, my Lady. Let’s get wet…”
His words were an erotically sensual invitation her body accepted with willing alacrity.
With Royce now shirtless on one side and Jeremy on the other, she could sense the warmth emanating from their bare skin. Gabriel and Evan had also shed their shirts and hurried up behind her as they all walked to the tiny bridge that extended out into the pond.
“It’s not too deep, is it?”
Jeremy jumped in with a splash, the water coming barely up to his waist. “Not at all. See? Just ideal.” He dropped down, letting the water sluice over his bare shoulders. “Oh, this is truly wonderful.” He stood once more, the water drips glittering in the first rays of moonlight. “Come, Gwyneth-love. Take my hand…”
Gwyneth-love. Had anyone ever called her that? She didn’t think so. Which was a pity, because she rather enjoyed it. Of course she’d never been called anything by anyone who was half naked while she wore only a thin chemise and stood in the moonlight next to a pond.
The circumstances were indeed unique. And she was enjoying them enormously.
Taking a breath, she jumped, splashing into the pond next to Jeremy, and followed by almost simultaneous splashes as the other three joined them.
It was chaos, laughter, soft warm silky water and moonlight.
She could swim, something she’d learned as a child. Living not far from a river, most of the local children were taught at an early age, just in case. And now, surrounded by her gentlemen, Gwyneth’s past returned. The feel of the water against her body, the floating kiss of her thin cotton chemise…sensual pleasures that drove everything else from her mind.
She struck out, a natural movement of limbs propelling her across the pond, followed by similar strokes as her gentlemen escorted her on her steady progress.
“Don’t tire yourself.”
Evan was beside her, his naked skin gleaming, his smile flashing white against the growing twilight. She couldn’t help reaching for him, aching to feel the heat of his body.
“Not too far, Gwyneth,” Royce closed the distance between them. “You’re not at full strength yet.”
She tossed her head, letting the droplets from her hair spray around her. “This is magnificent,” she laughed aloud. “Wonderful, wonderful…”
Rolling in the water, she leaned back and floated, a trick she’d mastered at the ripe old age of five. “The stars. Look at the stars coming out…” She gazed upward into the deep blue sky, where tiny dots of light twinkled at her. The final flames of the sun were turning the horizon to vivid purple, making way for the pure blue white of the moon which would rise soon.
She felt them move close, four bodies, ripples touching her—and then hands, beneath her, holding her as she drifted on the surface.
An arm went under her shoulders, another touched her back and slid to her bottom, a heated caress. Hands found her thighs and calves; she floated still, but now held by the loving touches of her gentlemen. Could there be anything more magnificent than this?
It turned out that yes, there was indeed something even better.
When four warm bodies touched hers, when lips found skin, fingertips stroked cool flesh…Gwyneth closed her eyes and surrendered.
They held her but now they also played with her, tugging at the wet cotton, pulling it away from her body, finding her sensitive places beneath.
Two hands cupped her breasts, one from each side, her nipples responding to tiny tugs and abrasions. Who was it? Whose thumbs were making her squirm? She didn’t know, nor did she want to. The sensation was more than enough. Another hand found her bottom, squeezing, tickling, running fingertips along the crease and tugging on her cheeks, making her gasp a little at the strange feelings it evoked.
As her gown floated to her waist, a hand slid down, down between her legs, finding moisture that had nothing to do with the pond and everything to do with Gwyneth’s aroused desires.
This was what she’d wanted.
She allowed the confession to seep into her thoughts as she parted her legs, inviting whoever was touching her to explore whatever he wanted.
She moaned, the waters around her splashing little waves over her skin, reminding her that she was all but nude in their arms.
“So sweet,” someone whispered.
“So warm,” another answered.
“Gwyneth,” breathed Gabriel. She could recognise his voice—the wonder in his words.
