I slide my arms around those broad, sculpted shoulders of his. ‘Bing, eh? You must be planning one heck of a seduction.’
‘You have no idea. I’m using every trick in the book.’ He’s already tugging off the Christmas jumper I put on when we got home from The Savoy.
‘I don’t want to ruin your fun,’—I pull off my t-shirt—‘but I’m a sure thing tonight.’
‘Best. News. Ever.’ His mouth is on mine, and he groans out the words. His fingers move to the back of my bra, and he unhooks it. His whole face creases into a grin when he sees my boobs.
I laugh. ‘Is thisBig? Are you actually a thirteen-year-old boy, pretending to be a grown man? Because I could swear you’ve never seen boobs before.’
‘There are boobs, and there arethese. These are masterpieces. I can’t wait to soap them up.’
‘Come on, then.’ I pull down my leggings and pants in one go as he loses his boxers.
Wow.
He’s alreadyverymuch in the mood.
The water is fragrant and bubbly, and so hot it seeps through my cold skin and warms my bones within minutes. Lying against Miles, his arms tightly around me, is as good as going back to the womb.
I should bottle him.
This would solve everyone’s problems.
And this bath is epic. Matte white marble, lightly veined with grey, and perfectly oval. It’s a far cry from the tiny bath in our Park Royal flat, which is encrusted with limescale. The hard water is definitely one of the worst things about London. No hard waterhere—they must have softeners.
Nope. The only hard thing here is Miles sticking into my lower back. I squirm.
‘Sorry.’ He kisses my temple.
‘Don’t be sorry. It’s a compliment. And it’s hot.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yep.’ I arch my back and reach into the space I’ve created behind me to take hold of him. God, he feels amazing. So hard, and long, and smooth in the water. He sucks the air in sharply through his teeth as I slide my hand up and down his shaft.
‘Give me a minute,’ he tells me. ‘I don’t want this over too soon. Just relax for a sec.’
I let go and settle back against him, his torso cradling my back. What a heavenly place to be. It’s even more heavenly when he begins to kiss my neck gently. He takes a flannel from a pile on the shelf inset next to the bath and wets it. With gentle strokes, he glides it over my collarbones. Around myshoulder. Down my arm. Then back up, and down the other side. Softly. Slowly.
‘Mmm.’ I nestle my head more heavily into his shoulder, and he rewards me with another kiss to my temple. He really is the sweetest man.
The flannel goes on a little jaunt around my boobs, circling one, then the other, avoiding my nipples. Okay. They’re starting to ache now, to beg for some attention. He brushes a line with the cloth down my stomach. Circles my belly button and comes back up. Down further, brushing my bikini line. I let out a gasp and open my legs a little, but the flannel moves back up.
‘Does this feel good?’ His voice is quiet, his breath hot in my ear, and I can tell by the dent his hard-on is making against my coccyx that he’s struggling too.
‘Yes. It’s amazing. Don’t torture me too much, Miles.’
He laughs softly and rewards me with a swipe against one nipple. Then the other. He spreads the wet flannel out over both of my boobs and massages them through it. The cotton pile is coarse, and it feelsgreat. Really great. This is definitely a trick to hold on to when he’s buggered off to the Caribbean and I’m alone in my grotty bathroom in Acton. Except that it will never, ever feel as amazing as when he does it.
Oh. And I would never have the self-control to make it last as long as he’s doing.
I’m breathing heavily now, and I try to spread my legs wider, to plant my feet on the outside of Miles’ legs, but I start to slip downwards. He clamps an arm around my middle and pulls me up.
‘I’ve got you.’
He rubs the cloth over my boobs again, and I writhe.
‘I can’t bear this. It’s torture.’
