“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh, yes. When you touch me there, when you grind yourself against it while we make love…some men even…”
She trailed off and a hot blush filled her cheeks. God’s teeth, it was difficult expressing these things. A lady wasn’t meant to do so—she’d been taught that all her life.
“What?” he signed, his movements jerky.
“Put their mouth against it,” she gasped as she gripped the edge of the tub with both hands.
His eyes went wide at that suggestion, and he slowly licked his lips. “I want to do that,” he signed.
She nodded, though she might have agreed to anything he suggested at present, her pleasure was so close to the edge. “Later,” she groaned. “Right now I want to—”
She didn’t get to finish. His slow, steady ministrations reached their peak in that moment. She jolted in pleasure, grinding against his fingers as wave after wave of her orgasm rocked her. She dipped her head back, crying out in the quiet of the room, not caring that water was sloshing from the tub as she ground against his fingers.
She was just coming down from the ultimate high of pleasure when he rose up and climbed over the tub edge. She opened her legs wider, creating a narrow space that he filled as he speared her trembling sheath in one heavy thrust. She lifted against him, waves crashing over them as his mouth found hers.
During her marriage, she had sometimes found herself fantasizing during sex. Picturingthisman, of course, doing these things to her. It had helped her find her pleasure in the space of her marital bed.
But now Ewan was here. It was his big body rolling over her, his mouth dragging to her damp throat, his cock filling her, his hips swiveling against her to grind against her clitoris and set her on fire all over again. There was no need for fantasy anymore.
She wrapped her arms around him and surrendered to sensation instead. His weight against her, his lips tracing her shoulder, the tiny nip of his teeth against her flesh, his hands cradling her back. Every finger clenched against her skin, lifting her closer, as if they could merge as one entity. The water was still hot against her skin and he was hot against her skin. The boundaries between them blurred and then faded, and all they were was moving energy, seeking to make something beautiful.
The second orgasm hit her harder than the first and she rocked against him, her fingers digging into his wet flesh as she flew and flew into the oblivion of release. She only came down when he withdrew with a heavy sigh and his face strained with his own release.
She pulled him in, lifting to kiss him once more. She was shocked by the intensity of their connection, driven to never let it or him go. And knowing that in the end he might not allow her to keep him.
Ewan wrapped his arms around Charlotte, drawing her to lie back against his chest. After everything, somehow they’d managed to actually get clean in the tub, and now her wet hair curled around his chest and arms. He liked it that way.
“Thank you for your help. It was cold, hard work,” he signed.
She turned over so that her breasts flattened against his stomach and she rested her head on his chest as she smiled up at him. “I told you already, I was happy to do so. You have wonderful people on your estate, Ewan.”
He nodded as he lifted his hands away from her to sign, “The best.”
“And they have a great deal of respect for you,” she said slowly—carefully, he thought. Like she wasn’t certain of his response.
Not that he could blame her. Respect was a tender topic for him, thanks to the complications of both his past and the way others saw him due to his mutism.
“I feel their respect,” he signed each word in his response just as carefully. Not because he didn’t trust Charlotte’s response, but because he wanted to measure his own. “Here I am…home. It isn’t like in London when I’m with…others.”
She lifted her fingers up to trace his jaw gently. “Like me?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I’ve always been comfortable with you. You would allow for nothing less.”
Her eyes crinkled with a hint of laughter, but he saw something deeper in her stare. Something he had always feared and shied away from when it came to her. Charlotte wanted to say more. She wanted to push. It was her nature.
“Charlotte,” he signed, interrupting whatever was on the tip of her tongue. “I want you. That is obvious. I’ve always wanted you, for as long as I can recall having that notion of a man and woman together.”
She nodded. “But?” she pressed.
“But you…you don’t understand the kind of future you would have with a man like me,” he finished.
She sat up fully, an awkward motion in the tight tub. Her eyes were snapping as she said, “You think I don’t? A life with a man like you—you mean a man I adore beyond reason? A man I count as my friend, a man who is the best lover I’ve ever had?Thatlife? I know exactly what that life would be.”
He pursed his lips. Charlotte always wanted to pretend the damaged parts of him didn’t exist. That if she joined her life to his, it would somehow be a life free of the parts of him that were broken, missing.
He pushed to his feet and climbed out of the tub. As he wrapped a fluffy towel around his waist, with one hand, he signed, “No, you don’t! Damn it, Charlotte, you don’t know what my life is like.”
“Then tell me,” she insisted as she, too, rose from the water.
