Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
He frowns at my defensiveness.
“It’s just blood, my darling. I am intimately familiar with it—I do not fear it.” His gaze softens. “I only wish to ease your pain.”
Something in my chest tightens at that. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who looks at me the way Lucian does—like I’m precious and beautiful and worthy of being cherished.
Before I can protest further, he takes my hand and leads me into the bathing chamber. Steam curls in the air as he fills the tub with warm water and fragrant bubbles. Candlelight reflects off dark stone and polished metal, turning the room into something out of a dream.
He helps me undress and then takes off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular forearms—the same deliberate gesture he made the first night. The sight alone sends a deep, tingling warmth through me. I have to admit, he’s extremely easy on the eyes.
But it seems that he thinks the same about me.
“You are exquisite,” he murmurs as he guides me into the water, his hands large and sure on my waist. “Just relax, my darling.”
The heat is immediately soothing—a balm that makes me sigh as I sink down.
“Mmm, this feels amazing,” I nearly moan. Then I look and see Lucian staring at me. “What is it?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all—I was just thinking how beautiful you are. I love how wide your hips are. How generous your body is.”
His voice is a low, intimate rumble that vibrates through the steam-filled air. His hands skim my shoulders, my arms, the dip of my spine, leaving trails of fire on my wet skin.
“Every curve is gorgeous…every soft inch of you was made for my hands.”
“Oh, well…thank you.” I can feel my cheeks getting hot and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
I settled back against the tub with a shaky breath, the steaming water seeping deep into my clenched muscles, loosening something tight and painful inside my belly. The floral scent of the bubbling oils Lucian poured into the bath rises around us, but it’s his presence—his focused attention—that truly envelops me.
“This is…actually helping,” I admit, the words barely a whisper.
“Good,” he says softly, but there’s a dark, possessive pleasure in the word I’ve never heard in a man’s voice before. He isn’t just pleased I’m comfortable—he’s pleased he is the one providing the comfort. “Because now it’s time to wash you,” he adds.
I think about protesting, but after the way he touched me last night, there doesn’t seem to be much point.
“All right,” I say softly, looking up at him. “Go ahead…I trust you.”
“Thank you, little one—that means a lot to me,” he rumbles.
He doesn’t use a cloth. He uses his bare, soapy hands. The bar of soap, something rich and lilac-scented, glides over my skin, but it’s his touch that makes me weak.
He starts at my neck, massaging the tension from my shoulders with strong, kneading thumbs. He works down my arms, lifting each one to trace the sensitive inner skin from wrist to elbow, making me shiver. When his soap-slick hands slide around to my chest, my breath catches in my throat.
He cups my breasts, his palms encompassing their full, heavy weight, weighing them, almost worshipping them.
“So perfect,” he growls, his thumbs sweeping over my nipples, which harden instantly into tight, aching peaks against the slick friction. He circles them, teasing them…pinching them gently between thumb and forefinger and sending sparks of pleasure straight to the place between my legs which is momentarily eclipsing the dull throb of my cramps.
“Oh, Lucian…” I arch my back and moan breathlessly.
“Look at you—so responsive for me,” he growls softly in my ear. “Even when you ache, your gorgeous, curvy body knows what it needs. You need pleasure, sweetheart—it’s the only way to ease your pain.”
I bite my lip, my cheeks getting hot. I’ve never known a man who loved curvy women like this—not with tolerance, but with a voracious, detailed obsession. He speaks about my flesh like it’s a masterpiece, and under his hands, I almost start to believe it.
His hands drift lower, over the swell of my stomach. He doesn’t shy away from it; he spreads his fingers wide, as if claiming every inch.
“This softness,” he murmurs, leaning close, his lips brushing my ear. “It’s where your power lives, my lovely one. It’s life…it’s warmth…it’s utterly intoxicating.”
Then his hands glide lower still, over the flare of my hips, tracing the indent of my waist before sliding to the tops of my thighs. The water sloshes gently.
“Part for me, Julia,” he murmurs.
A wave of embarrassment hotter than the bathwater washes over me.
“Lucian, I can wash there myself,” I protest.
“I know you can,” he murmurs, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s firm, yet infinitely gentle. “But you won’t. I need to care for all of you—especially now. The warmth helps, but true ease comes from pleasure. Let me give it to you, my darling. Now, open.”