GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

her long lashes so those dark eyes regarded him soberly. “I
wish
to do this for you. You did not ask it of me. The ritual gives me great joy. I hope that you come to love it, Sammy, because caring for you gives me great happiness.”
    How could any man not love being treated with such tenderness? He watched her face as she soaped his chest and scrubbed with the sponge, taking great care to remove all traces of antiseptic. Her face held that same serenity he was used to, but now emotion shone through—tenderness, rapt attention and concern. There was no denying she enjoyed taking care of him. She appeared nearly spellbound as she urged him to stand. With one foot she moved the stool and proceeded to soap his hips.
    Still, he knew this ritual, for Azami, was much more. She was giving herself to him, declaring herself, in her own way, to be his. That
he
was her choice. However she treated him in public, without expression, no hand holding, no kissing, there would be
this
behind closed doors. To the rest of the world, she was samurai, to Sam, she was love.
    Sam closed his eyes as her soapy hands slid over his bareabdomen, careful of his glued, healing wound. He sent a silent thanks to Lily for her second-generation Zenith that allowed his body to heal with such speed. Azami traced his defined muscles with soapy fingers and gave him that same thorough attentiveness she’d displayed when washing his back and chest. She never rushed, although he knew she was as aroused as he was. She luxuriated in the pleasure of caring for him, allowing the passion between them to build slowly into a roaring fire, yet she continued at that same unhurried pace to give him a priceless gift.
    Her hands slipped lower to cup his balls. His cock jerked hard, so swollen he felt he might burst. He waited, his breath caught in his lungs until her hands slipped up and over him, her fist tight as she washed him thoroughly. When he could find his breath, he looked down at the top of her bent head. The candlelight swirled through all that black silky hair and before he could stop himself, he leaned down to press a kiss in the exact middle of her upswept do. The action had his cock shifting in her hands. Instinctively she tightened her hold, her lashes lifting so that he found himself looking into her eyes again.
    He pushed his hips forward, savoring the exquisite feeling her tight fist produced, feeling on the edge of paradise. She smiled and moved the sea sponge under his balls and down the column of his thigh. He let out his breath.
    “Am I going to get a turn?”
    “If you wish it,” she replied without looking up. “Otherwise you can soak in the tub while I wash myself.”
    No way was he going to deny himself the pleasure of knowing her as intimately as she knew him. She had paid particular attention to his every reaction to her touch. She knew his body very well and he intended to have that same knowledge of her.
    “I wish it very much,” he replied and caught the back of her neck, waiting until she looked up at him again. “Kiss me right now, Azami.” The command came out more of a growl than actual words. He had never been so aroused andyet so content at the same time. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel both sensations.
    She didn’t hesitate, lifting her face so his mouth could come down on hers. He kissed her with the same thoroughness she’d shown washing him. He wanted to kiss her forever, to gather her close, but her small hand pressed delicately against his chest.
    “I am almost finished, Sam,” she whispered.
    He straightened, waiting to see what she would do. She sank gracefully to her knees in front of him on the tiled floor and his heart nearly stopped and then began to pound. His cock was a fierce ache, hot blood pounding so hard he could count the beats along the prominent vein. She ignored the urgent demand and soaped and washed his legs with that same unhurried movement. The silk of her hair brushed the sensitive head of his cock, sending ripples of pleasure surging through him.
    When she tapped his calf, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady himself and lifted his foot up so she could wash the sole. She looked so beautiful, there at his feet, steam rising around them, so engrossed in her self-appointed task.
    “A man could get used to this very fast, Azami,” he said.
    He was not a man who’d known care—not even as a child. Neither had she. Maybe that was why it was so important to her. And