slid into one of the smaller pools, across from Maxime. The stone bench beneath the water was slippery, and she had to brace herself with her toes. A moment later, she realized she’d braced herself against Maxime’s leg.
“I am sorry!” she said, splashing as she hitched herself higher on the bench.
Maxime laughed. He reached out and snagged her arm, drawing her to sit next to him. “If you sit here, you can see the new sculptures.”
Imena eyed him and tried not to grin. “Your Grace, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Only a little,” he said, and slung his arm over her shoulders. “Have pity,” he said. “I’ve had a difficult day, too.” He leered in a patently false way, and she laughed. Perhaps it would be all right. She could indulge, just a little, and harm nothing.
“Just this once, I will sit with you,” she said, and settled back against him. A velvety thrill chased over her skin as their bodies met. She shifted so their shoulders overlapped. His muscular bulk was as solid and comforting as it looked; the hair on his chest was softer than she’d expected. She wanted to rub herself against him, all over, just for the sensual pleasure of it, a reaction she didn’t even have to Sanji.
Such a pity Maxime was a duke, a pity for her and for him. She, at least, could flee the men her parents had chosen for her. She didn’t think Maxime would elude his king’s choices for very long. His arm tightened around her shoulders. It was more difficult to fight her body’s desire when she was this close to him. She slid lower in the water and rested her cheek on his firm pectoral, her nose tantalizingly close to his nipple. He smelled of cedar-scented soap. She could lick him with no effort at all, if she wanted.
Maxime said, “You’re not dozing off, are you? You haven’t admired the sculptures. Over there, in the grotto.”
Imena looked. The grotto had been hollowed out of the bathing chamber’s far corner to reveal stalactites; they’d been embedded with crystals that glowed softly in the lamplight. The new sculptures were small glass octopuses in every color of the rainbow, attached in different positions as if they swam among a forest of stone.
“They’re lovely,” she said.
“I’m glad you like them,” he said. He rubbed his hand over her upper arm. “Captain Leung, what if you married me?”
Imena laughed. “That’s the worst possible solution to both our problems. I would be a terrible liability to you.”
“Not necessarily,” Maxime said. He leaned a fraction to the side and kissed her ear, then the bare sensitive skin above it; the touch resonated down to her toes. Imena shivered and thought about edging away, but her body didn’t want to move. His nearness sang along her nerves. He said, “You have many valuable qualities. I also have many admirable traits that I would like you to consider.”
“Such as?” He was nuzzling behind her ear now, and at the back of her neck, and she really ought to stop him, but just those small touches felt amazingly sweet. She reached out to steady herself and found she’d grabbed his thigh.
“I would make your mother angry,” he suggested. His fingers trailed along her forearm, more gently than she would have expected. “You didn’t say you wanted that, exactly, but—”
“You’re entirely too good at this,” Imena said. Still she didn’t move away from him. She should do it. She should. But his touch felt so good, and she felt … close to him. Close from their talking, not from his body against hers. She wanted more closeness, however she could get it. Just a little. A little while longer.
She could be casual with him. She could keep her emotions under control. She was in no danger from him, nor he from her. She always worried too much. Perhaps she should give that up, and just once take what she wanted when she wanted it.
He said, “I’m too good at enticing you, or at guessing what you want?”
“Either. Both. I don’t know.” His breath was warm on her skin. It was making her flush more than the heat of the water. What if he kissed her? What could it hurt if she kissed him? She’d hardly be the first and would certainly not be the last.
“If you married me, you’d be a citizen of this duchy, and your children would even have diplomatic protection if they wanted to visit their grandparents.”
She said, “I never said I wanted children.” Maxime kissed the nape of her neck and, retaliating, Imena squeezed his thigh.
“You wouldn’t have to give up your ship.”
“Stop it,” she said. She twisted around, grabbed his hair and said, “If you’re trying to seduce me, I’d rather you didn’t talk about impossibilities.” She kissed him, firmly, and had to take a sharp breath at the taste of him. “Your seduction has worked. You don’t have to discuss this anymore.”
“But what if I want to—”
Imena kissed him again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I have had a very trying few weeks. Do you want to fuck, or not?”
“An interesting question.” Maxime slid off the bench and stood in the pool before her. “I’ve tried that, in these pools, and it really wasn’t as exciting as you’d think. Inconveniently placed lumps of stone, for example, and of course there’s the mineral residue. But if you would just lean back and relax—” He smoothed his hands over her arms, then cupped her breasts. He could cover each one entirely with a hand; she felt her nipples tighten and press into his palms. “Stop scowling.”
His touch felt wonderful, but wasn’t distracting her from her problems. “I’m not scowling.”
“You think this is a bad idea.”
“Not entirely,” she admitted. “I do want you.”
“I suppose my being a cure for a terrible mood is better than some of the alternatives. I won’t be offended if you refuse me. Do you want me to stop?” When she shook her head, Maxime smiled and touched her face. His thumb brushed her cheek like a kiss. “Then perhaps if you come screaming a few times, it will help.”
Startled at his bluntness, Imena laughed. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue searching. She grasped his shoulders, then tangled her fingers in his hair. Wet, it dragged between her fingers. She burrowed down to his scalp and scratched. He moaned into her mouth and pulled back.
“No, no, you’re the one who’s supposed to be moaning,” he said. He rubbed his palms over her bare scalp, sending tingles down her torso. He didn’t stop, and she shuddered, arching up toward his body. “I wonder if I could make you come like this? You just shaved it, didn’t you? Your skin is so smooth. It feels like honey looks.” He leaned forward and licked. “You taste better than honey,” he said, his voice lowering.
He bent and suckled her nipples, one after the other, just enough to tantalize, not enough to satisfy. “Round and firm as grapes,” he murmured, and pressed them with the flat of his tongue, as a tongue might press her clitoris. She spread her knees, using her thighs to grab his hips; he made a needy sound and nestled between her legs. His cock thumped against her belly, enormous and hard and hot as the water, and she squeezed his length with her hand while he rubbed against her. His cock filled her palm, heavy and growing heavier. She wanted to put her mouth on it.
“That feels exquisite,” he murmured in her ear. “Stop, stop. You’ve got to stop that, or I won’t be able to—here.”
He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her out of the water, planting her firmly on the pool’s edge. “Strong,” she gasped. She caressed his shoulders, his skin satiny from its recent scrubbing, his muscles like carved jade beneath.
Maxime rubbed her thighs, then pressed her legs apart and teased her cunt with his forefinger, sliding down the seam of her outer lips, leaving heat in his wake. She stopped breathing. He said, “You’re all gorgeous muscle with this glorious softness in the center. Have you ever sucked the sweetness from an orange?