Page 148 of The Language of Love

He’d seen her naked many times, of course, but never with so many candles burning. Still, her body ached for his touch, so she resisted the urge to cross her arms and cover herself. Instead, she did as he bade and closed her eyes as he raised the fine muslin over her head.

There was utter silence for a moment, and then, “You’re perfect.”

She opened her eyes at the raw need in his voice and saw the same emotion reflected in his darkened eyes. He traced a finger down from her collarbone, over her breastbone, not stopping until it rested just above her pubic bone.

“I don’t think your bath will be ready yet,” he murmured, parting her curls and giving her already swelling bud a negligent flick. “We will have to find some way to entertain ourselves for a few minutes.”

***

Henry was so bloody hard that he hurt with his desire for her—but that was nothing unusual.

What was unusual was that he was still fully dressed while she was as naked as the day she was born. He decided he enjoyed that very much.

He also loved the dazed way she was looking at him.

“I think we should make a brief stop at your bed,” he declared, and caught her up in his arms.

“You are still dressed.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Does it make you feel like a hussy to be naked while I am not?”

She gave one of her adorable gurgles of laughter. “Did you know the word hussy is a contraction of the word housewife?”

“No? Is it?” Henry tossed her onto the bed, earning a startled squeak. “Lie on your back, hold your knees with your hands.”

Her jaw sagged and he could see that she was visualizing how such a pose would make her look like. “But—”

“Shh.” He laid a finger across her lips. “Do as you’re told and keep your eyes on me.”

The effect of his words was instantaneous: a wild flush mottled her face and chest and the pulse point at the base of her neck beat like a tiny war drum under her skin.

She laid back, her eyes never leaving his as she assumed the position, until she was an erotic butterfly, spread wide for their mutual pleasure.

He’d meant to tease her—to make her beg—but that thought fled the moment he saw her. Instead, he took her in his mouth. The angle was awkward and his clothing and shoes made it more awkward still, but he didn’t give a damn.

He was relentless, working her with fingers, lips, and tongue, and pushing her over the edge into bliss over and over, until she sobbed and released her knees, shaking her head from side to side.

“I can’t—it’s too much.” Her body spasmed with the aftershocks of her last orgasm—her third, by his reckoning.

Henry scooped her up in his arms and strode toward his bedchamber, pausing a moment to listen at the door. But all was quiet beyond, so he fumbled for the door handle. Inside his chambers, the fire was blazing. The room was, for the first time, uncomfortably hot, but it would feel good when Annis got out of the bath.

Steam rose from the big brass tub and he lowered her enough that she could dip a toe into the water. “Too hot?” he asked.

“It’s perfect.”

Henry carefully deposited her in the tub, his cock throbbing when she gave a low, sensual groan of pleasure.

He stripped off his coat and cravat and then rolled up his sleeves before tossing a cushion onto the floor by the side of the tub. He paused to admire her body. The water buoyed her small breasts, the triangle of her sex was shadowy, and her skin was flushed pink and glistening.

“Have you fallen asleep?” he asked, reaching for the washcloth and cake of soap.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He smiled and soaped up the cloth before beginning with her hands; he was going to wash every inch of her body.

She sniffed and then smiled. “Oh, goodness—it smells like you, Henry.”

“You may have some of my soap, you know,” he said, switching to her other arm, his gaze on her breasts, which were making his mouth water, as if he were a beast afflicted with hydrophobia.