His eyes darkened as they roamed over the soft swell of her breasts, the peaks still flushed and pebbled from their earlier exertions.
The sponge in his hand seemed to pause, a moment of reverence before he continued his sacred task.
He brought it to her chest, the soft, textured surface circling the fullness of one breast with an excruciatingly slow, deliberate motion.
The water, fragrant with jasmine and sandalwood, streamed over her skin, a warm, gentle caress.
He paid special attention to her nipples, which were still sensitive and achingly hard.
He bypassed the sponge, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away the remnants of their passion.
The touch was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure that shot through her, making her gasp softly.
He repeated the motion with her other breast, his gaze never leaving her face, watching her reactions with a dark, possessive satisfaction.
