Page 106 of A Figure of Love

He crouched beside the tub, grimacing at the assorted aches and pains. “Serena, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she regarded him with huge, unseeing pupils, her expression confused as she left sleep behind.

“Gareth?” Her hand rose from the tub, dripping water.

“Yes, it’s Gareth.” He let his eyes drop to her slick, bobbing breasts and the shadowy triangle beneath the water. “I think you must be clean now.”

A slow, joyous smile spread across her tired but beautiful face and she held a hand up and examined it. “I am becoming a prune.”

He stood and took one of the big Turkish towels from the pile, opening it and holding it out. “Come, I will dry you.”

She rose from the water like a goddess from the sea and his body rejoiced at the sight of her water-slicked curves and rosy peaks and dark chestnut curls.

He helped her from the tub and then began to rub her dry.

“What time is it?”

“It is not yet six.” He knelt on one knee and started with one foot while she held herself steady on the edge of the tub.

“Mr. McElroy—”

“He returned an hour ago.” Gareth dried between each perfect toe, spending an inordinate amount of time on her elegant arch and ankle before moving up her calf.

“Mmm,” she purred. “That feels good. Is Mr. McElroy unharmed?”

He forced himself to stop mid-thigh, afraid she might never get dry if he gave in to the distraction that lay at the top of her legs. “He is.”

She laughed. “Really, Gareth. Must I pull each syllable from you?”

He found himself again at the top of a well-dried leg, his eyes at the perfect level. Perhaps only a little taste. A little lick. Just one suck . . .

“Gareth!”

He looked up from where he knelt between her thighs. The view of her breasts from this angle was lovely. So was her flushed face, which was looking down at him with an expression he believed to be equal parts amusement, asperity, and desire. He latched on to the desire.

“Hmm?” He caressed the skin that bordered her sex with his thumbs, gently opening her to his hungry eyes, his mouth watering.

“I’m cold.” She shivered to illustrate and Gareth handed up the towel without breaking contact with her body. She slung it over her shoulders and gave a low laugh, which Gareth took to be encouragement.

He parted her folds and took her into his mouth, curling his tongue around her small organ. He massaged her rhythmically, until she became swollen and wet, her thighs spreading wider without any encouragement from him.

“Oh, Gareth.”

He responded to her soft plea by sliding a finger into her slick, tight heat, pumping her while he continued to suck and tease. Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled hard enough to hurt. He reveled in the pain and worked her without mercy toward completion, only halting when he felt her knees sag, as if they might buckle. He gave her one last thrust and released her, lurching clumsily to his feet.

“Come,” he said. He was too whipped to risk carrying her so he took her limp hand and tugged her toward her bed.

She followed unsteadily and he released her only long enough to pull back her bedding, slip off his robe, and pull his nightshirt over his head, almost howling with pain as he worked his sore muscles.

Gareth slid into bed beside her and took her into his arms, warming her still cool body with his hands. He kissed her damp hair and pulled her closer with one leg, until they were twined together like vines. “Declan sent a message to Mr. Steele when he made the withdrawal from the bank.”

“Hmm? Declan? Oh. But what about—” she broke off, as if too embarrassed to articulate her wants. Gareth felt a grin tug at his lips.

“Oh, you wish to know what about the men who were supposed to be watching him?” he teased, knowing that was not what she wanted at all. “Well, his message told Steele of the situation and instructed him to lag behind a quarter of an hour.”

Her cool, calloused hand slid between them and wrapped around his painfully hard shaft.

He gave a low, satisfied grunt of pleasure but continued his story, his voice only a little strained.