"Yes, my tattoos are smaller, and only the initials, because I found the whole process so painful."
"I see." It was yet another piece of useful information from his past that had slipped out when he was relaxed and not trying too hard to remember.
But Sarah was not so worried about his past at the moment as she was about the present, and the future. She was determined to try to take it into her own hands, literally as well as metaphorically.
She worked her way down his back, and then down each of his arms. Next Sarah worked her way back up, and began to massage his neck, and the base of his head. She washed his hair, massaging his scalp until it tingled.
"Good?" she whispered.
"A dashed sight better than Caleb, that's for sure," he said with a wry smile. "He practically takes my skin off with that sponge."
She giggled. "He means well."
"I know. But you feel wonderful. Maybe too good."
She laughed out loud in delight. "Is there such a thing?"
"I don't know. I'm feeling a bit odd."
"Your head, your back?"
"Um, no, lower."
She dipped her hands lower, bringing them around to soap his chest, and soon slipping them down his abdomen.
He tried to grasp her hands, but her nimble fingers were working the most incredible magic on his long-untouched flesh. The barrier of the towel was the only thing which stopped her from moving even lower, but she sensed he was still not quite ready to trust her. She nuzzled his cheek with hers and planted a kiss near the corner of his mouth. It all felt so wonderful, so right.
The nagging voice of her conscience had been quelled, at least for the moment. It was fine, only a bath. He couldn't hurt her. She was safe. She had wanted to touch him like that since the first night they had met, when she had looked at his tattoos. Why continue to lie to herself?
While he relaxed in the tub, she grew more excited. Her eyes were continually drawn back to the secrets hidden under his towel. To the elegant curve of his buttocks as he leaned forward to be scrubbed. She found herself wanting to kiss the two dimples which indented his back. To suckle the nape of his neck, where his own unique woodsy smell seemed to radiate from, filling her to the brim with longing.
He groaned. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Sarah, but-"
"Just trust me. Calm yourself, and trust me."
He lay back and released his grip on her wrists. She sat on the edge of the tub and lathered him with both hands. She moved down past the towel which concealed his most intimate parts to soap his legs and feet.
It really was the most marvelous sensation, he thought, as he reached up to open the fastenings of her dressing gown to cup her full breast lightly.
A little pant flew out of her. Then she exclaimed, "Oh, how sweet."
"Sweet?" he echoed dryly, bristling once more.
"Your foot."
"Oh, that." He laughed in relief. "I forgot all about it."
"I hadn't noticed before. It's cute. Hidden in between."
"Anne Boleyn had six fingers on one hand and they planned to chop off her head for being a witch."
"Well, that was if they couldn't get rid of her any other way. But the charge of treason worked. Don't worry, I won't accuse you of trying to practice witchcraft upon me."
"I think it's you who are practicing it upon me, Sarah, my love."
"Does this feel nice, then?"
"It feels like magic," he admitted with a sigh, wiggling all eleven of his toes.
He stroked both of her breasts gently in turn as she worked her way back up his legs. When Sarah got above his knees, she slid her thumbs between his legs, spreading them slightly so that she could get past the small towel he had draped over his loins. He tried to grab her wrist, but she was too fast for him. She flicked the towel aside with one hand, and stared.
He was magnificent, there was no denying it. That part of him was a gorgeous as the rest of his body, all fine lines and silk over steel. He wasn't fully erect, but nor was he completely at rest.
Reaching for his hand, she placed it and her own upon him lightly. He jumped and shivered.
She marveled at her own boldness, but her heart surged with pride as she saw the effect of the gesture.
"Oh, Lord," he groaned, feel as though the pain and pleasure was more than he could bear. His longing was so intense, he convulsed again and gripped the side of the tub with his other hand.
"Does it hurt?" she asked in consternation, easing up on her fingertips. She saw his face turn red and white by turns.
"God, no, it's-"
"You don't look like a wedder to me, Alexander," she said softly, putting her other hand into the water to trace the apex of his thighs with one tentative finger.