As Damien said, we are completely alone, and the knowledge that he can take me here with the ocean breeze kissing my skin and the wide open sky witnessing our pleasure makes me so weak with longing that I am even more grateful that Damien is holding me, as I doubt I could stand otherwise.
He crosses the stone bridge, then puts me down gently near the edge. I start to move, but he shakes his head, then slowly reaches behind me to untie the two knots that hold my bikini top in place. It falls into the water, and though I raise a brow in surprise, Damien simply continues.
His fingers skim lightly over my breast, making me draw in air, then shiver as his caress continues down my side and over my waist, making my skin prickle with need and anticipation.
He unties the sarong and lets it fall, as well. It floats on the surface of the water, and I watch as it flows outside, the sunlight catching it and making the fibers sparkle.
“The rest,” Damien says, and I lick my lips as I comply, easing the bottoms down over my hips to pool around my ankles. I step out of the tangled fabric, then stand naked in front of my husband.
He smiles, soft and easy and full of promise, then pulls me to him. With practiced ease, he lifts me up and then gently places me into the tub. The temperature is perfect, and I sigh in ecstasy, letting the slightly oiled water sluice over my skin. I scoot back to lean against the smooth side of the tub and make room for Damien to join me.
Except, of course, he doesn’t.
“Damien,” I protest.
“Hush. Let me take care of you.” He takes the champagne and opens it, very deliberately letting the cork fly out of the room, and sending foaming bubbles splashing down upon me.
I laugh. “Isn’t that the uncouth way to open champagne?”
“Perhaps,” he says. “But it’s much more fun.” He fills the two flutes, then hands one to me before picking up the second. His eyes skim over me, but the humor I’d seen only moments before is gone, replaced by something both soft and deep.
“Damien?”
His eyes meet mine, then, and I see the heat—and the love. He raises a glass in a toast. “You are my heart,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “You are my blood. You are the air that I breathe and the strength inside me. You are not just my wife, Nikki, you are my soul. You are my world. You are my life.”
I draw a shaky breath, nodding foolishly as if that will keep the tears at bay. “And you are mine,” I say, then extend my flute to clink with his. “I love you,” I add, wishing that I had his eloquence, but knowing that he understands what is in my heart even if I can’t quite find the words.
“I know,” he says as he moves to kiss the top of my head.
“Will you join me now?” I ask. I want his touch. I want him wrapped around me, lost with me in this warm and wet embrace.
Instead of answering, he sets down his champagne flute and picks up a glass container and pours some scented oil onto his hands. Then he moves behind me as I make a low noise of protest. But not as adamantly as I could have—while I do want him in the tub with me, I certainly can’t deny the appeal of being bathed by Damien.
“Lean back,” he says. “Close your eyes.”
I comply, then sigh in utter delight as he gently rubs my shoulders. His fingers are strong and hot, and I lose myself in the pleasure of his touch and the rich scent of vanilla. He is tending me, seducing me, and right then I am more than willing to be seduced.
“Are you familiar with how honeymoons got started?” he asks, lifting my arm out of the tub and focusing on my hand.
I shake my head, too aroused by both the gentle pressure he is now exerting along each finger and by the not-so-gentle direction of my thoughts to form words.
“Years ago—back in tribal times—a man would take the woman he claimed for his wife to a secluded spot, where he would very thoroughly seduce her.”
As he speaks, he draws his oil-slick hands up my arms, then eases them down over my collarbone until his palms cup my breasts. I draw in a stuttering breath as my nipples tighten, wanting more.
Thankfully, Damien doesn’t disappoint. He moves his hands in small circular motions so that his palms brush lightly over my erect nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I shimmy a bit in the tub, trying to quell the need that started out as a soft hum between my legs but is now a throbbing demand.
“She probably wanted to run,” Damien says, and I can’t help the small sound of demur. Certainly I have no desire to run.
My eyes are closed, but I can still hear the chuckle in Damien’s voice as he continues. “But he wants her, and in his determination, he keeps her for a month. One full cycle of the moon.”
“Honeymoon,” I murmur.
“It’s a long time to be a captive,” he says. “Most likely she wanted to hate him.” He slides one slick hand from my breast down into the water. He continues south, teasing my abdomen until his fingers brush the line of trimmed hair at my pubic bone. “But he was determined to ensure that she would stay. And so he set out to satisfy her.”
His hand slips between my thighs to stroke me lightly. “She was probably scared,” he comments as I gasp, arching up toward his touch as the first electrical sensations of an orgasm dance through me in a glorious hint of more pleasure to come. “But he did his best to soothe her.”
“Yes,” I say, feeling deliciously soothed. My head is tilted back, my eyes still closed. My breathing is shallow now, my body primed.
The pad of Damien’s finger traces small circles on my sex, teasing my clit in a way that makes me whimper, but which doesn’t bring the satisfaction I now crave.
Frustrated, I shift my hips, seeking gratification as I silently beg for more. I am wild with need, shameless with desire.
“All of his focus was on erasing her fears. On making her warm and weak and wanting.”
I want. Oh, dear god, I want.
He eases a finger inside me, and I release a moan of both demand and pleasure as I arch up, then fall back into the tub. Water sloshes over the sides, undoubtedly soaking Damien, but I don’t care. All I want is this moment. All I want is for him to take me there.
“His every thought was on her,” he says, thrusting another finger inside me even as his thumb teases my clit in the most subtle of motions. “His only goal was this woman.”
“Yes,” I whisper. I slide one hand down between my legs and press my palm over his hand, silently urging him to go deeper. Harder.