“Wash me,” he commanded, his voice a shade more stern. She pushed up her sleeves but he shook his head. “Take off that gown or it will get soaking wet.”
It was a reasonable request, but it made her heart skitter around in her chest like a rabbit on the run from a hawk. She stood up and peeled off the dress, praying he would not also ask her to remove the chemise. Lowering back to her knees, she dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed his knee with it.
Sir Barrett’s beefy arm snaked around her waist, the heat from his flesh seeming to scald her. “Higher,” he murmured.
It took her a moment to understand what he meant, and when she did, she was sure she blushed. She pushed the washcloth a little higher up his thigh, following the contour of hard muscle.
Sir Barrett’s hand stroked up the back of her thigh.
She scooted her knees closer to the tub, as if she might escape his touch.
Of course his hand remained attached, traveling ever higher until he gripped the very top of her thigh, his fingers just brushing the outer lips of her sex.
She froze, the washcloth unmoving on his upper thigh.
Barrett’s other hand came down on top of hers in the water, guiding it toward the place she had purposely refused to look.
She resisted, but he did not allow her to withdraw her hand. “I know it must seem grotesque to you,” he said, at the same time his finger began toslide lightly over her folds.
“Yes,” she agreed. She did find a man’s anatomy offensive.
“Go ahead and take him,” he coaxed, pressing her fingers around the base of his shaft.
“Please,” she said, this time trying to back her knees away from the tub. “I don’t—” She stopped when her efforts to retreat caused Sir Barrett’s fingers to press into her sex. She bit back the little cry on her lips as he began to circle one finger on a particularly sensitive place. She tightened her fist reflexively, only to feel his cock grow in response. “Oh,” she exclaimed, trying to release his manhood, but held fast by his other hand.
“Go on, Daisy,” Barrett said, his voice sounding rough.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her thighs quivering, a mysterious moisture dripping down her leg.
“You’re doing so well, little girl.” As his fingers continued to delve in and out of her folds, he guided her fist up and down his length.
She squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh,” she moaned, her embarrassment and unease equally matched by the powerful and growing need to have his fingers push deeper or faster.
* * *
“Do you feel the moisture in your quim, Daisy?”
She made a small sound of assent.
“That is how your body readies for me. It makes sex pleasurable. Without it, you might experience pain.” The flash of knowing on her face made him sorry he mentioned it. He wanted to avenge her rape, to tear that man or men apart with his bare hands. He kept his tone easy, though, for her sake. “When I said I’d never make it difficult for you, that is what I meant. You see, right now, your little quim wants me.”
The feel of Daisy’s slick sex under his fingers felt even sweeter than her hand around his manhood. He wanted to bring her over the edge again, to show her pleasure in every way he knew how. And yet he had resolved not to allow her to climax until she asked him to take her properly.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t reach completion, though. He tightened his hand over hers, closing his eyes. His feet began to press against the wall of the tub, his legs tightening and straining. His cock had been aching for release since the moment he first saw his Daisy. He pushed her fingers right up to the sensitive rim and back down again, as he began to thrust one finger inside her tight channel.
The sound of her labored breath and little squeaks excited him further. As his seed surged down his shaft he slid a second finger inside her, pumping them rapidly.
“Oh, please,” she squealed plaintively.
“No, Daisy,” he managed to say, removing his fingers at the same moment he found his desperate release. He lifted his hips and came into the cloth, to keep the water clean.
She gasped, staring, then scrambled back and stood up. After a moment, she asked in an unsteady voice, “Why did you say no?”
He finished washing quickly and stood up. “I meant you were not allowed to finish. Your turn in the tub; it’s still warm.”
She looked at the bath dubiously, her brow furrowed. “Finish?” she asked.
He smiled at her sweet innocence. “Climax. You may not climax unless I give you permission, or until you have begged me to consummate our marriage.”
