Samurai Game
Page 35

Sam closed his eyes as her soapy hands slid over his bare abdomen, careful of his glued, healing wound. He sent a silent thanks to Lily for her second-generation Zenith that allowed his body to heal with such speed. Azami traced his defined muscles with soapy fingers and gave him that same thorough attentiveness she’d displayed when washing his back and chest. She never rushed, although he knew she was as aroused as he was. She luxuriated in the pleasure of caring for him, allowing the passion between them to build slowly into a roaring fire, yet she continued at that same unhurried pace to give him a priceless gift.
Her hands slipped lower to cup his balls. His c**k jerked hard, so swollen he felt he might burst. He waited, his breath caught in his lungs until her hands slipped up and over him, her fist tight as she washed him thoroughly. When he could find his breath, he looked down at the top of her bent head. The candlelight swirled through all that black silky hair and before he could stop himself, he leaned down to press a kiss in the exact middle of her upswept do. The action had his c**k shifting in her hands. Instinctively she tightened her hold, her lashes lifting so that he found himself looking into her eyes again.
He pushed his h*ps forward, savoring the exquisite feeling her tight fist produced, feeling on the edge of paradise. She smiled and moved the sea sponge under his balls and down the column of his thigh. He let out his breath.
“Am I going to get a turn?”
“If you wish it,” she replied without looking up. “Otherwise you can soak in the tub while I wash myself.”
No way was he going to deny himself the pleasure of knowing her as intimately as she knew him. She had paid particular attention to his every reaction to her touch. She knew his body very well and he intended to have that same knowledge of her.
“I wish it very much,” he replied and caught the back of her neck, waiting until she looked up at him again. “Kiss me right now, Azami.” The command came out more of a growl than actual words. He had never been so aroused and yet so content at the same time. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel both sensations.
She didn’t hesitate, lifting her face so his mouth could come down on hers. He kissed her with the same thoroughness she’d shown washing him. He wanted to kiss her forever, to gather her close, but her small hand pressed delicately against his chest.
“I am almost finished, Sam,” she whispered.
He straightened, waiting to see what she would do. She sank gracefully to her knees in front of him on the tiled floor and his heart nearly stopped and then began to pound. His c**k was a fierce ache, hot blood pounding so hard he could count the beats along the prominent vein. She ignored the urgent demand and soaped and washed his legs with that same unhurried movement. The silk of her hair brushed the sensitive head of his cock, sending ripples of pleasure surging through him.
When she tapped his calf, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady himself and lifted his foot up so she could wash the sole. She looked so beautiful, there at his feet, steam rising around them, so engrossed in her self-appointed task.
“A man could get used to this very fast, Azami,” he said.
He was not a man who’d known care—not even as a child. Neither had she. Maybe that was why it was so important to her. And he could see that it was. She moved around behind him. Any other woman might have appeared subservient in the same position, but not Azami. She just looked beautiful and exotic and a miracle to him.
“I hope you enjoy this ritual, Sammy,” she said, again with that slight shy note in her voice. “This is one I wish to perform nightly.”
Nightly? She planned to wash him every night? “Like this?” He might have died in that battle and somehow made his way to heaven. He looked over his shoulder at her. She was working diligently down the column of his thighs.
Her head lifted to look up at him, those lashes covering her expression for just one moment, and then he was looking into her eyes. “Exactly like this. In your home, you must be cared for, Sam. It is important to me.”
“Baby, you know that I’ll need to take just as good care of you,” he said gently, warning her that their relationship wasn’t going to be one-sided. He planned to lavish attention on her and she needed to be willing to accept what he had to give. “That’s important to me.”
She smiled at him, that soft, mysterious smile that had his body as hard as a rock. Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the soap and sponge. She placed both carefully in his hand and turned her back to stand in front of him. Sam closed his eyes again, just to savor the moment. She was so small and delicate, a deceptive package of soft skin, silky hair, and absolute steel. He didn’t urge her to sit on the stool. She was quite a bit shorter than he was; instead, he stood behind and checked the temperature of the water before he allowed it to cascade down her back and over her shoulders.
He washed her with that same slow, unhurried attention she’d given him, realizing why she had enjoyed the ritual so much. The connection he felt toward her deepened with every stroke of the sponge over her skin. He grew to know the contours of her back, the sweeping curve of her bu**ocks, and the details of her phoenix rising from the ashes. He scrubbed at the delicate feathers that made up the long curving tail. He took care with her slender neck, massaging the muscle of her shoulders as he washed her, just as she had done for him.
She sighed softly and when he reached his arms around in front of her, she obediently leaned against his chest. He made certain the water didn’t spray her in the face as he let the water spray over her br**sts. He took his time soaping her br**sts, lifting each one carefully to thoroughly soap underneath before rinsing her off. Her ni**les fit perfectly into the center of his palms. He couldn’t resist leaning down and biting her neck gently, while he cupped her br**sts and teased those taut ni**les into hard peaks. He felt her breath leave her body, her br**sts rise and fall with the same heated need coursing through her veins.
He understood the slow, sensual dance now, the worshiping of each other’s body, that slow tender care that showed the other that not only were they desired, but they were loved, appreciated, and thoroughly cared for. He wanted to serve her in just the way she’d served him. He’d always known he’d never be happy with anything less than a full partnership from a woman. He was intelligent and he was a warrior. Who would have thought he would find the perfect woman? How had he come to be so lucky?
His hands followed the gossamer lines of her spiderweb. He could feel the ridges of the scars beneath his fingertips. He turned his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “I’m going to take my time eating you like candy.”
Her breath hitched again as his fingers danced over the spider and rolled her ni**les, tugging and teasing as he briefly indulged himself in the body she’d so generously offered him. Reluctantly he left her enticing br**sts to slip his hands over her flat belly. She had a washboard stomach beneath her soft woman’s skin. He soaped the tiny little curls guarding her treasures before he urged her thighs apart.
His hands were big and her thighs small. A surge of male pride shook him. She had given herself to him, put herself into his hands and willingly cast her fate with his. She was an extraordinary woman and yet she had chosen to trust her heart, mind, and body to him. His hand cupped the vee between her legs, a deliberate sensual touch, a brand of ownership in his own way. He didn’t dare linger too long. Small pearly drops beaded the head of his cock, and with every breath he drew, he wanted her more.
She was definitely as aroused as he was, her br**sts rising and falling and her inner thighs slick with her welcoming cream. He soaped her slender legs carefully, memorizing the shape and feel of her. He wasn’t surprised that under all that soft, glorious skin were muscles of steel. Yeah, that was his woman, beautiful, sensual, and as lethal as hell.
He took his time just as she had done, careful with her small feet, noting every single scar on her body and inwardly cursing Dr. Whitney for treating her like a lab rat. She’d been less than human to him, and yet, to Sam, she was everything. He turned off the shower and carefully set aside the sponge and wand.
“Now we must cleanse our spirits, Sammy,” she said softly, again almost shyly. She took his hand and tugged him toward the steaming water in the deep, two-person tub.
He had bought the large bathtub to accommodate his size, but now he was very grateful it would hold both of them. She climbed in, giving him an excellent view of the perfection of her butt. He didn’t try to stop himself from cupping her bu**ocks, his thumb sliding possessively over one smooth cheek. She didn’t protest, but instead, smiled at him over her shoulder as she stepped into the very hot water and scooted to the far side to give him room. She drew up her knees and waited, her dark gaze on his body.
Sam settled into the hot water with a soft sigh. His body instantly surrendered to the heat, steam, and soothing aroma. He stretched out his legs and rested his head against the high end of the back, allowing peace and tranquillity to settle over him. He lay quietly, her legs over his, small feet resting on his thighs. He watched her through narrowed eyes. She allowed her head to loll back as well, her eyes closed, peace surrounding her.
“Open your mind to mine,” he ordered softly.
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes, merely complied, pouring into him to fill him up with sweet serenity. They drifted together in a slow tangle of heat, sensuality, and tranquillity. The sensation sent him to a place he’d never been, melded together with her, entwined in spirit rather than in body. The water lapped softly at his skin and he felt every knot unravel until he was boneless. Neither spoke; they didn’t need to, not with their minds so tightly welded together in peaceful oblivion.
Her mind moved in his and he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with slumberous, sexy eyes.
He smiled at her. “Is there more to this ritual of yours? I think this will be my favorite part of the day.” There was more, he could see it in her eyes. He didn’t think, he knew. She had given him the best evening of his life and he hadn’t even made love to her yet.
She nodded her head in the unhurried way she had and drew up her knees to allow him out of the tub. She’d left two large bath towels lying folded neatly on the shelves beside the tub. He climbed out first, caught up a towel and then swung back to her, his gaze hot as he rubbed the towel over his wet skin.
“If I forget to tell you later, thank you for this night. You’ve made me feel as if I truly have a home.” He wrapped the towel low on his hips.
She looked around the spacious bathroom and then back to him. “I feel as if this is my home,” she admitted. “The moment I entered, I felt safe and secure. I felt as if I belonged. I’m glad you enjoy the things that are important to me. I wish to make my rituals yours and yours mine.”
How could pleasing her not be important to him? He crooked his finger at her and she rose gracefully from the water, a beautiful mythical phoenix rising from the ashes of her past to embrace the future. She walked to him unafraid, unashamed of the small, fractured body tattooed to cover the scars. When she moved, the tattoos moved with her, rippling as if alive. Those fine gossamer threads shimmered in the soft candlelight, playing across her skin and accenting her small waist and small br**sts. That little spider moved, as if challenging him to catch it.
When she stood in front of him, he wrapped a thick towel around her body and dried her body gently. “Show me the next step, Azami,” he encouraged, nuzzling her slender neck.
She took his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. His heart tripped a little. He loved her confidence, the way her body moved sensuously beneath the towel, and he couldn’t wait to take those pins from her hair and let it fall around her face. She looked all woman, yet she walked without a whisper of movement, placing her feet automatically and lightly on the floor. He could tell it was a reflex with her to test her footing and memorize floor plans. He would bet his life that she could describe in detail everything in his house and exactly where it was placed. How many men had a woman like that?