An Officer but No Gentleman by Bronwyn Scott

essentials and what did you grab?” He repeated the languorous washing pattern, sluicing warm water over her body. “You grabbed lavender soap, lavender oil and a white, satin dressing robe.”
    “All of which I’ve used less than twenty-four hours later,” Elowyn argued. “I think that’s the ultimate test of what is practical. Those items are small and hardly take up any room. You make it sound as if that’s all I brought. I brought other things, too—; undergarments, a spare dress, a hairbrush, toiletries, a nightgown.”
    He interrupted her with a laugh. “Let me guess, you brought that French-silk thing.”
    “I most certainly did and you’ll be glad to thank me for it later. In fact, you should be thanking me now. Without my lavender soap and oils you wouldn’t be having this bath.” She tipped her head up to catch his eye.
    “Well, you may have a point.” Grahame looked down at her and smiled. Her stomach flipped. She really ought not to like him so much. He was arrogant and usurping. He’d upset her plans on two occasions now by barging into her house, into her room and demanding unscheduled departures. And he’d been right to do so . If they’d not left when they had, they’d have been cooling their heels in Dover for an indefinite period of time. It was hard to find fault with such a man.
    “Would you like me to wash your hair?” Grahame murmured. His hands were busy kneading her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples into erect peaks. The warmth of pleasure was starting to build at her core ever so gradually.
    She managed a drowsy response. “It will take too long to dry.”
    Grahame nipped her ear and pulled on the lobe with his teeth. She loved that, just the right hint of fierceness. “I’m not talking about the hair on your head.” His hand dropped into the water between her legs, the bar of soap running up and down her inner thighs. Then came the cloth, washing, rinsing, massaging, pressing intimately around her furrow, her pearl, until her core was pulsing with want.
    “How do you know what to do? You know my need before I do.” Elowyn was barely cogent, drowsiness and need demanding her reserves for themselves. He knew just how to touch a woman to make her scream, to make her beg, to make her boneless in the bathtub. She had no idea how she would rise up out of the water without help.
    His voice was a low litany at her ear, guiding her toward completion and she did as she was told. Her body had decided for her; it was her only choice. “Lean against me, Elowyn. Slide down a bit, yes, like that. I can take you where you want to go.” He rubbed his thumb across the source of her bliss, once, twice more and she was there at the promised destination. She pushed back hard, sloshing water out of the tub as the intensity of release hit her.
    Slowly, she came back to earth. The water was cooling and it was time for his pleasure. “If you stay in here much longer, you’ll wrinkle.” Elowyn said coyly.
    “Where shall I go?” Grahame played along.
    She rose first, amazed she’d found the strength. “To bed, Grahame. You’ve had a long—” she paused and cast a glance downward “—night.”
    Grahame laughed and put a hand to his chest in mock disappointment. “You wound me! A long night, indeed. Perhaps I will wait and hope for better compliments.”
    She gave his phallus a contemplative look. “I wouldn’t wait much longer if I were you. Wrinkles are starting to settle in.” Elowyn handed him a towel that had been set to warming by the fire. “This should help.” She watched him stand in the tub and wrap it kilt-style about his hips.
    “I might never let you wear anything else,” she said appreciatively. “Now, lie down. It’s time you let me pleasure you .”
    * * *
    He shouldn’t allow himself to enjoy this, shouldn’t allow himself to let the intimacy she wove like a spell seep into his bones any further than it already had. But he was helpless to halt it. He