Make him believe.
And then he began to massage the bubbles away.
I flexed my calves, heels finding purchase on the edge of the submerged bench, knees breaking the surface as his fingers threaded through my hair. Untangling the knots and letting it float free in a cloud around us. My hair was returned to its natural, damning silver-blonde, absent the last of the dye that had protected me for so many years. Carried away by soap and strong fingers.
Belly flexing, he straightened before I could process the loss, keeping me in his lap. “That’s better,” he whispered, lips tracing my ear.
A shiver clawed at my lower back, making me tremble in his arms. “N-No—”
He plucked the bar of soap from the water and pressed it to my chest. Rubbing in tiny circles.
Black stars dotted my vision, my head fell back once more. “Goddess, what—what…” I shook my head, lips parted.
“Breathe, Miss Tannovic.” Beard-scruff rasping against my cheek, he dislodged my grip on his forearm and swept my hair over my shoulder. Leaving a slash of chill between my breasts in his absence. An absence he filled with tiny circles and a bar of soap. Inner wrist teasing the swell of my right breast. “Breathe.”
I gasped, aching inside and out.
“Good girl,” he hummed against my neck, free hand dipping below the surface once more. Finding my hip and pulling me back. Against that hard ridge. He groaned, flexing, straining against my bottom.
“I—”
He slipped the soap beneath the bandeau, cupping my breast as he lathered the soap over a nipple pebbled in defiance of the temperature.
Some small, pathetic sound burst from my lips as he pinched the bud between the meat of his thumb and the bar, igniting my very blood with a belly-clenching surge of electricity.
“Fuck,”he grunted, picking up a tentative, rocking rhythm controlled by his hand on my hip. Grinding himself against me. Each tiny thrust edging his thickness closer to my core. Every pulse sending a wave of molten heat where it didn’t belong.
Abandoning my nipple, he pushed the soap lower, guiding it over my belly. Fingers seeking the waistband of borrowed panties. Brushing the sparse hair at the top of my mound…
My eyes flew open on a gasp, unseeing. Flicking from one blurry, shadowed object to the next. “W-Wait,” I whispered, “I don’t—I—” The air was choking me, compressing my chest and filling my lungs with a thick, soupy mess. Drowning me in all thingsAsher.
“Hey—” the bond surged, wrapping the High Priestess’ ragged cocoon with a wave of insulating calm.
A lie!
But without missing a beat, he retreated, tugging my hand off his thigh and filling it with the bar of soap. Wrapping his hand around mine, he guided me instead, directing the soap to my hemline, beneath the waistband.
“That’s it,” he whispered, taking my earlobe between his teeth. “Gentle.”
“A-Asher—” The soap was little more than a tiny sliver, a thin pretense for what thisreallywas. As he pressed my touch where he wanted to go, using my fingers to draw his stupid tiny circles against the knot of tension aching with painful pleasure. My back arched, bottom grinding against his erection, the blunt tips of his fingers overreaching mine. Diving deeper. Seeking the very spot where I ached most.
“Fucksakes, Mila.” He groaned, spreading my folds as the heel of his palm forced my fingers to continue their infernal circles. “I can feel how badly you need this,” he rasped, and growled, pressing his finger inside. Squeezing me. “Please let me do this. I want to feel you come on my—”
All at once, the air pressure in the room shifted, and I jumped, clenching on his fingertip as I stared at the door. Vision hazy, even through the steam.
“Well, well. Isn’t this a surprise.”
Chapter 5
“Sonofa—” the captain cursed, straightening. And although he did not release me, he pulled his fingers from my panties. Cupping my mound with his palm. Covering it.
Disoriented, I blinked. “Wh—”
“Startled you, did I?”
The captain cleared his throat. “Yes, I was—” his forearm tightened around my chest. “I was… distracted.”
“Mhm. I noticed.”
