Free Two Passionate Proposals by Serenity Woods Page A

and the water swirled
silkily around him, taunting him. He could imagine that’s how it would feel if
she used her mouth to arouse him, her long, blonde hair caressing his thighs,
soft on his skin. Her tongue would be warm, her mouth hot as she took him deep
inside, sucking gently until he erupted into her.
    He closed his eyes. He’d rather bury
himself inside her, but as that wasn’t going to happen, his dreams would have
to do.
    *
    Eleanor pressed her fingers to her lips as
Henry grasped his thick shaft and began to pleasure himself. What on earth was
she doing standing there watching something so intimate, so private? She felt
ashamed and excruciatingly embarrassed…and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away
from him.
    He was so beautiful, that was the problem.
Never would she have thought to call a man that before, and he wouldn’t thank
her for it, but he was beautiful, breathtakingly so. His muscular arms,
glistening from the water, seemed to glow in the light of the late afternoon
sun, and moisture shimmered in the hollow of his throat as he tipped his head
back on the tub in a movement so erotic she felt herself grow damp.
    His thighs, spread wide, were tanned and
muscular, and she could see where the hair on his chest trailed down below the
water line to the curls in his groin. Feeling wicked, as if she’d peeked behind
the rood screen when the priest’s back was turned, she let her gaze drift
lower, her fingers still pressed to her lips. Holy Jesus, he was magnificent.
    His fingers were sure, practised. She knew
men did this, of course, and sometimes Geoffrey had helped himself along, but
that had been vastly different to what she was observing now. Watching Geoffrey
do it had been repulsive, like seeing him on the chamberpot, and she’d looked
everywhere but at him when he’d tried to get himself aroused enough to take
her.
    Now, however… She could imagine this was
how it must have felt to watch Roman gladiators fighting in the arenas,
observing such a display of raw masculinity. She felt incredibly honoured at
being able to witness Henry partaking in such a secret, personal act, as if she’d
been given a gift, a hidden gem she could take away and study when times were
dark. In the future, when married to her next husband, and she needed to escape
in her mind, she would picture this moment, would treasure it forever.
    His breathing came more quickly, and she
realised he was close to climaxing. She couldn’t watch him do something so
private. She was the most immoral creature in existence. She deserved to burn
in the special hell reserved for murderers and adulterers and people who
whispered in church. And yet, despite knowing all this, she still couldn’t look
away.
    Henry’s face was determined, frowning,
intense. She saw the orgasm build in him slowly, like a flower opening its
petals to the sunlight, until it spread inside him, radiating through his
muscles, making him tense, making him gasp. And when he did, he breathed a
single word. “Ella . . . .”
    Holy Jesus and all his saints . He’d been thinking of her. Imagining her while he pleasured himself.
    Her chest heaving, Ella backed away from
the room and ran down the stairs on light footsteps.
    *
    Henry blinked. For a second, he thought he’d
seen a flash of colour behind the door. He cleared his vision. He had seen
a flash of colour. Someone had been watching him.
    He sat up abruptly, water sloshing around
him, but as he heard footsteps in the distance, he knew whoever had been
watching had already vanished down the stairs.
    Ella?
    He sat there for a moment, then leaned
back, his arms resting on the sides of the tub. It had been her. He knew it
instinctively.
    He ran a hand through his hair, raising an
eyebrow. That, he hadn’t expected. What on earth had she thought? Had she heard
him say her name? He rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, embarrassed.
How was he going to meet her gaze now?
    Then he remembered the look in her eyes