"Your clothes are wet," he said, continuing to speak Greek.
She rubbed herself against him. "I am wet to the skin. I need to take these clothes off."
"Yes. Why not do that?"
Without hesitation she stepped out of the circle of his arms and undid the brooch that held her printed shawl around her shoulders. She would not be shy, he realized. There had not been time, in the life she had led, for hesitation with men. Only, he hoped that she would not, like some of the experienced women he had known, show little feeling herself while she let him use her in any way that pleased him.
She is not that sort. I know it.
Foolish of him to even think it. But some part of him needed to doubt. This moment was too good to be true.
And too frightening. Because what they were about to do was not just satisfy their bodies' hungers; it would seal the bond of love between them. And then he would not be able to send Sophia like a falcon to strike at his enemies. He would not be the same man when he went back to Blossoming Reed. What they were about to do would change both their lives.
Standing in the crumpled heap of orange and green silk that was her shawl, she turned her back to him.
"Help me with the laces," she said. He saw that her gown laced down the back.
"One small moment," he said, running his hand caressingly over her back. He walked to the door. There was still pain in his right thigh when he moved quickly, but now it was overwhelmed by his body's yearning to have this woman. He felt the swelling and pressure of arousal in his loins.