His Gift 2(15)

“Lacey,” he said. “You promised to obey me when you decided to stay here. Do you remember?”

My heart thudded against my chest. Steam rose up and fogged the air in the bathroom, giving everything a hazy, dreamlike quality.

“Yes,” I whispered. The word soaked into the air and was lost. I could feel the tips of his fingers pressing lightly against my inner thigh underneath the water. The sensation was delicate, but the effects of his touch were not. Heat swirled through my core, aching to be released.

“Good,” he said. “Now relax and let me wash you.”

***

“Lean your head back,” he ordered.

There was a curved spot in the obsidian rock of the tub. I rested my head there. His fingers—oh God, his fingers were there, right there between my legs. I could feel his hand grazing my skin, sending lightning bolts of desire through every nerve ending.

“Close your eyes.”

I obeyed, but I shifted uncomfortably in the water.

“Why do you want my eyes closed?” I asked.

“It stretches your other senses,” Jake said. His hand moved back down to my knee, then up the other leg, only lightly touching my thigh. I shivered in the warm water, feeling myself clench involuntarily down there. He continued speaking, and now that my eyes were closed I could hear every nuance, every low rumble in his voice.

“As an artist, you spend all of your hours looking at things, seeing the lines and spaces of the world. Sometimes you have to slow down and take in the other senses.”

“How do you know? Are you an artist?”

“Of sorts.”

His hand moved up, up, then grazed my aching slit. I moaned in the sweet darkness as his fingertips slid over my wet and swollen sex, teasing me. My back arched, needing his fingers in me. Needing more.

He pulled away, and I whimpered.

“Now, then,” he said. “I told you to relax and I mean it.”

Relax? How could he expect me to relax when his every touch had me jumping out of my skin. But I did my best. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The washcloth came back and pressed against my stomach, rubbing gently. He didn’t miss a single square inch as he worked his way up my chest. He paused at my breasts, cupping one in his bare hands. I gasped as the washcloth rubbed over my nipple, making it harden and ache.

His mouth on my nipple, sucking. His tongue—

Oh, God, I didn’t know if I could keep my eyes closed. My imagination was too strong, and the images going through my head right now couldn’t be chased away by mere willpower. With every touch he sent ripples of pleasure through my body.

He massaged my arms, my hands. His fingers intertwined with mine, the soapy grip making me mad with lustful thoughts. I imagined his hands all over me. His fingers, the way he’d thrust them into me last night, the way he’d sent me into a shivering liquid orgasm…

As though reading my thoughts, he chuckled and rubbed my hands once more, leaving them to float helplessly in the water. He came around the back of the tub, rubbing my shoulders. I groaned as he worked my muscles, kneading them until I was a tub of goo. I couldn’t have opened my eyes if I tried, that’s how relaxed I felt.

His hands moved up to my head, and I felt his fingers begin to work their way through my hair, rubbing circles against my scalp. I breathed in and smelled the scent of the shampoo he was using.

“Mmm, lavender,” I said. The shampoo had such a delicate scent of lavender, with faint touches of honey. It was almost like being back on the farm, in the late afternoon, when the smells of the flowers rose from the fields.

His hands were strong, cupping the back of my head. I let myself rest in his palms as he rinsed out the shampoo and worked conditioner in through my hair. God, his fingertips were phenomenal. I wanted to suck on them.

Where did I get these thoughts? I hadn’t ever had sex, hadn’t gone farther than kissing a guy, but when Jake touched me it was as though every dirty daydream I had leapt to life inside of me. I ached between my thighs. Would he come back down and satisfy me, the way he had before?

I waited and waited, my arousal heightened with every touch of his hands. He rinsed my hair, then rinsed my body.

“You can open your eyes,” he said.

I did. The room seemed unnaturally bright, white with steam. He wasn’t touching me, though. He was patting his hands dry on a towel.

I whimpered. He had gotten me all aroused and didn’t let me come.

“Will you…” I trailed the end of the sentence off. He looked at me, naked in the tub, and I could see the glint of amusement in his eyes as he shook his head. I reached to touch myself. I needed relief.

“Then let me—”

“Don’t.”