swear that I feel like I’d gladly choke the life out of any man who touched ye.”
“Barbarian.” She sniffed at him. “Take your bath alone.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear to ye, Jemma, I never had another woman in this tub.”
“On your honor?”
His voice had turned somber. “Aye, lass. Now take yer dressing robe off. I want to see if me memory is playing tricks on me or if ye are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met.”
His gaze was fashioned on her, unwavering and completely devoted. Excitement flowed through her, waking from where she had thrust it down when fate had taken him from her. Reaching down, she pulled the single tie that held the dressing robe closed. Rolling her shoulders sent the heavy garment slipping down her arms, past the curve of her hips, and down her legs.
Gordon watched her intently, his keen eyes following the fabric as it bared each new part of her.
“Ye are stunning, Jemma, and ye are mine.” His raised his attention back to her face. “And I enjoy that fact, lass, more than I can tell ye.”
He swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest, and carried her to the tub. He lowered her gently to make sure the water wasn’t too hot. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he chuckled.
“Aye, it’s a fine thing, isn’t it?”
He knelt down to move one of the coal baskets out from beneath the tub.
“Where did you find such a thing?”
He lifted one leg over the edge and then the other, sinking down into the water next to her. The water level rose as he displaced a large portion of it. The tub wasn’t just wide, it was deeper than any other she had ever seen, but she realized why when Gordon leaned against the back of it. The side of the tub rose high enough to support his back. He sighed and offered her a satisfied look.
“’Twas made here by one of my own blacksmiths. I read about one in a book brought back from the holy land.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It told a tale of a sultan who had one of these for traveling. It seems the man liked his concubines to attend him at all moments.”
“Right in his bath?” Her voice had turned husky and low, but she couldn’t help but be captivated by the forbidden topic. Gordon reached down and grasped his cock.
“Aye, lass. Those Moors teach their concubines that men can nae experience pleasure unless the female rides him to it.”
“You are toying with me . . .” But the idea was exciting her. Her passage was alive with need and her clitoris begging for the chance to try what he was suggesting.
“Ye’re sitting in the tub, are ye not, lass?” He reached out and captured one of her feet. “That book had many suggestions, Frenching a woman among them.”
He began to rub her foot, working over her arch with small kneading motions.
“And it also mentioned pressure points that build passion in a woman.”
“On her foot?”
“Aye.” His fingers worked some more. “Here I believe.”
He pressed and rubbed and sensation shot up her legs. It tingled and awakened feelings that twisted through her.
“Such a book must be forbidden by the Church.”
“Ye can be sure of that.” He reached for her other foot and treated it to the same massage. Her body was growing warmer, the water suddenly becoming too hot for her taste.
“But ye want to know what else was in it, don’t ye?”
“Yes,” Jemma answered quickly, drawing a cocky smile from him.
“Ah well, the book mentioned a few things about nipples.”
He pulled her forward and right up onto his lap. She squealed because the hard length of his cock pressed against her slit, the folds of her flesh opening to lie on either side of his thick member.
“Now put yer hands behind ye so that yer sweet breasts are thrust forward to please me like a good concubine.”
“That would be brazen.”
“Aye, and ye sound breathless with the idea, wife.”
She was. Hunger was flooding her, and her own thoughts were helping to drive it. He grasped her arms and gently folded them behind her back. Her breasts did thrust out toward him.
“Ah, the perfect picture of submission. Ye know those Moors insist on their concubines being slaves to their every desire. Will ye stay there, waiting for my touch with yer little pearl pressed against my cock?”
His hands cupped her breasts, the water making it a delightful sensation. His fingers smoothed over her skin, and he lifted his fingers to drip water on the top of her breasts where the skin was still dry. She made a low sound of approval, and he offered her a male one in return.
“Sweet, sweet wife. I am looking forward to the winter.”
She laughed. A single sound but her cheeks brightened once more. She felt pretty. It wasn’t due to flowery words or thoughtful gifts, but the feeling stemmed from the look in his eyes and the way his attention was focused on her breasts. He was still happily toying with her breasts, thumbing her hard nipples and spreading his fingers out around the tender mounds. Soft arousal continued to build inside her, making her more and more aware of the hard
