In the Marshal's Arms (6 page)

He could manage sleeping in the barn—he’d slept in worse. But the idea of leaving Maddy’s bed just yet made him ache. One more night.

Rhys was quiet during dinner. Not that he was usually talkative, but Maddy once again felt uncomfortable with his silence. He’d tended the animals and unloaded the wagon of the supplies, then had come in to warm up, but had shown no particular affection to her. She didn’t know why that should bother her. Edward had never shown her much. But in the beginning, he hadn’t been able to get enough of her.

Rhys barely looked at her as he ate, but ate everything.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.

“Not a thing. Just enjoying the good dinner.”

But he hadn’t said much since he came back in as she was waking from her nap. “You have a very nice voice.”

He looked up at her then, eyebrows lifted in question.

She felt her cheeks heat. “I fell asleep when you were reading because it was so soothing.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve been told I read too slow. Glad to know the reason you fell asleep wasn’t because you got tired of waiting for me to get to the next word.”

“No!” But she realized he was teasing her and relaxed a little. She stood to clear the table. “I believe I would like a bath tonight.”

His expression sunk into a frown. “Isn’t it a bit cold for a bath? You could catch a chill.”

“It’s warm enough in here, and I have a big kettle to warm the water.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t seem wise to me.”

“I smell like smoke.”

“You will again after you take the bath,” he pointed out.  “With a wood stove and a fireplace.”

He was right, she knew, but felt sticky from their lovemaking. She could take a whore’s bath, she supposed, and had done on days when she couldn’t get to her shower, but tonight she didn’t feel it would be enough.

“I can empty the tub myself,” she said. “I just carry a bucket at a time to the sink.”

“I’ll get the tub,” he said with a sigh, heaving to his feet.

“It’s on the front porch,” she said as he moved toward the door.

“I know. I’ve seen it.” He didn’t put on his coat and was back in a matter of minutes, setting the copper tub in front of the fireplace.

She gave him a grateful smile and turned to begin heating up the water.

When finally the tub was filled and steaming with hot water, Maddy stood before it, suddenly shy. He had seen her naked, had been inside her body, but this was different. She’d never bathed in front of a man before.

“Would you like me to go into the barn?” he asked. “Or move the screen?”

That would be silly, as intimate as they’d been. She shook her head and reached for the buttons on her bodice. “Would you help me wash my hair? You’ll need a pitcher.”

He swallowed, then nodded, turning away as she undressed. The room was colder than she expected, without her layers of clothes, and she stepped into the tub.

The water was hot, and she squealed a bit and grabbed Rhys’s arm when he moved close. She gasped at the friction of his homespun shirt against her nipples, and her eyes flashed to his. His breathing shifted at the contact, and his gaze drifted to her breasts, but then he steadied her and stepped back.

“Too cold?” he asked.

“Too hot!”

He walked to the pump, filled a bucket with water and carried it over to pour into the tub. It swirled into the hot water, leaving ribbons of iciness in its path, then it all melded into a perfect temperature. She sank into the water gratefully. Bliss—the warmth seeped into her skin, sluiced over her. Already she felt cleaner.

“I’ve never washed a woman’s hair before,” he said, pulling his chair beside the tub. “How do we go about this?”

“You pour the water over my hair, I’ll soap it. The hard part is getting the soap out.” She drew her braid around to unplait it. “Do you think you can help me braid it when we’re done?”

He choked a little. “I would not have any idea how to do that.”

“That’s fine. We’ll get this done first.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “You may wet my hair.”

He hesitated a moment, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her breasts. On impulse, she caught one of his hands and curved it over her wet skin, pushing the flesh into his palm. He stroked for a moment, his rough hand circling, before he cleared his throat and removed his touch. Maddy shifted her legs under the water against the sudden ache of arousal his caress awoke.

He poured the water then, carefully, his fingers working through the strands of her hair to make sure it was wet.

“Want me to soap it?”

The roughness of his voice told her he was affected, too. Lord, how she wished this tub was big enough for two. She’d seen such a thing in the city, in hotels, but thought of all the work it would take to fill it and empty it. At the moment, she wouldn’t mind that work a bit, if it meant Rhys’s naked body sliding against hers.

She nodded in answer to the question she’d almost forgotten he’d asked, and handed him the soap. Attuned to every movement now, she heard him lather it in his hands, and then his fingers were in her hair again, gently stroking, massaging, threading their way through her tresses. She moaned her pleasure at the sensation, and he gave a choked breath.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” she prodded.

“Never.”

His fingers worked the soap in so well across her scalp, she feared they’d never get it out. But she had no intention of complaining.

When he finally removed his touch, she opened her eyes to look at him. Again, his gaze was on her pebbled nipples. She wished more than anything he would kiss them, even arched her back in invitation, but he reached for the pitcher instead.

“I need to refill this,” he said, and stumbled out of the chair toward the stove, where another pot of water was warming.

When he returned, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the rinsing water. Instead, she felt a sudden heat across her body, and then his lips were on hers. Before she could do more than tilt her chin up to accept the kiss, he broke it, then shifted to smooth her hair back before pouring the water through her hair.

She could feel the change in his breathing, but he didn’t say anything, only worked his fingers through her hair rinsing the soap so bubbles frothed around her. She luxuriated in the feeling of his hands in her hair, then he stopped.

“I think I got it all,” he murmured.

“Can you hand me that drying sheet? I can blot the water from it with that.” She pointed to the end of the bed. So strange, his reaction. He touched her, kissed her, then acted so distant.

He passed her the drying sheet and she folded it around her hair, letting it absorb as much water as it could before she hung it over the side of the tub and began to plait it—not an easy task.

Rhys knelt beside the tub and took the three strands. “Tell me what to do.”

“Cross the right hand section over the middle section. Make sure it’s tight.”

“Maddy, you’re going to get cold with this hair.”

“I’ll be fine. Did you do it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now take the left hand section and cross it over the middle section, then pull it tight.”

He did, and she only had to give directions twice more before his sure fingers finished the job faster than she could have done. He let the end of the braid hang over the edge of the tub and rose.

“Is the water still warm?”

“It feels lovely.”

She picked up the soap and lathered her arms, then her breasts. A muffled groan from Rhys told her he was watching, and suddenly her bath became something else, a seduction. She lingered with her hands on her breasts, then slid her left hand beneath the water, over her belly, to bathe the folds between her legs. She rubbed back and forth, then raised one leg out of the water to stroke the bar of soap along its length, bending forward to lather her toes before dunking them, then lifting her right leg out of the water, straight up, to bathe it. When Rhys coughed, she smiled over her shoulder at him. He sat on the bed, riveted by her ministrations, his hand high on his thigh. Had he been touching himself?

“Would you mind scrubbing my back?”

He hesitated, then knelt behind her. She handed the soap and washcloth over her shoulder. He took the soap and draped the washcloth over the edge. Once again she heard him lather the soap between his hands, the scent of lavender filling the air.

Then his fingers were on her skin, on her shoulders, rubbing, then sliding down to the waterline and below before trailing up along her spine. Everything female in her responded to the slow, leisurely caresses. Her breasts ached for his touch, her thighs quivered, wanting to spread for his touch, for his cock. She dipped her shoulders below the water to rinse the soap from her skin before she rose on her knees, hooked her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him.

He closed his hands around her waist and stood, hauling her to her feet and out of the tub in the same movement. He wrapped another drying sheet around her, then lowered her to the rug by the fire, following her down. She opened her legs for him, wanting to feel the roughness of his trousers against her inner thighs, wanting to feel his arousal pulse against her sex.

He held his weight off of her the best he could, so she wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him over her. Her nipples rasped against the drying sheet, but she wanted to feel the roughness of his shirt, followed by the heat of his mouth. Her swollen folds rubbed against the cotton, but she wanted to feel the tickle of his body hair. She released her grip on the back of his neck and moved her hand between them to unbutton his shirt. She wriggled so the drying sheet came loose and she could press her breasts against the hair of his chest.

“Maddy,” he said against her mouth, almost a protest, but her hand slipped deeper to close around his cock through the thick wool of his trousers.

“Fill me up, Rhys. I need you to fill me up.”

He sat up, breaking the kiss and her grip on his manhood. Just when she thought he might turn away, he parted the sheet and thrust his fingers between her legs. She moaned, tilting her head back and pumping against his invasion. He wasn’t filling her the way she wanted, but the sensation was exquisite nonetheless, his big fingers sliding in and out of her, spreading her cream over her folds, his thumb circling her swollen flesh, the part of her womanhood that she often caressed to bring herself to pleasure.

And then…then he lowered his mouth to it. With the gentlest of kisses, he nibbled at the sensitive nub before stroking his tongue over it, his caresses in time with the thrusts of his fingers. Higher and higher he pushed her, tongue and fingers, the roughness of his beard against the inside of her thighs, a gentle caress of his free hand up and down her leg, until she was nothing but sensation, nothing but pleasure and anticipation and desire in one glorious ball of light.

His tongue stroked just so and she flew apart, the orgasm shooting through her blood, her hips lifting against his mouth to prolong the feeling, her hands falling to her sides helplessly as she rode it out.

And then he was over her, his lips seeking hers. She turned her face toward him, accepting the kiss that felt so wicked, his lips wet with her cream. Shyly she touched her lips to his, then slipped her tongue out to taste herself on his skin. Salty, not unpleasant, and her willingness seemed to please him, so she licked more, as he pressed the head of his cock against her entrance and slid slowly into her still-clutching channel. He reached behind her and pressing his hand into the small of her back, lifting her into him, thrusting gently, urging her response. She dug her heels into the rug beneath her for purchase and matched him stroke for stroke, loving the feel of his body grinding against hers when they met, loving the stretch of him deep inside her, taking a breath in anticipation every time he withdrew, almost completely.

She gasped when his thrusts grew a little rougher, his body slamming against her tender folds with greater force.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked against her ear.

“More,” she demanded, parting her legs wider, allowing him greater movement, allowing herself the ability to lift into him. She grew wetter with each collision of their bodies, that little nub that had so much recent attention swelling again with each thrust.

He gripped her hips in his hands and pounded into her. Her body wept, easing his strokes. His skin slickened with sweat as he powered over her, into her, and she tried to match him, to find the release he offered but that was just out of reach. Still, the way his cock filled her, over and over, stroking along every nerve inside her, making her wetter and wetter, making her swell for him, squeeze him—

She couldn’t help herself. She slid her hand between them and stroked over the needy bundle of flesh, circling, flicking, finding.

Heat raced along her skin as her cunt closed around him, gripping, holding, until she could feel everything, every vein in his cock, every ripple of her own sex, falling in on herself instead of flying apart. The spasms were long and hard, and she rocked against him in time to them as he stilled with a shout and poured into her in hot spasms.

He held himself over her for a long time before he tumbled onto his side, keeping her closer to the fire, his fingers trailing over her breasts and stomach and hip. When she looked up at him, his eyes were closed, and a smile canted his lips.

“Now I need a bath,” he teased.

They washed up in the lukewarm water and he bundled her into bed, where he should have taken her in the first place. He was worried she’d get a chill, and what had he done? Plowed her in front of the fireplace. Not very well done of him. He hadn’t thought twice about his vow to keep his distance from her. But now he had her in a woolen nightgown, her hair wound at the back of her head, the bricks at the foot of the bed, and his arms around her. One last night. Tomorrow he’d go back to the barn, back to the place he’d made for himself, and shut down all the feelings he had toward her that he couldn’t afford to indulge.