10 Ways to Handle the Best Man by Heidi Rice Page B

earlobe, making the shiver of sensation arrow down to her core. His warm palm snuck under the robe again, to stroke the sensitive skin of her belly. ‘I want to fuck you again, Sabrina.’
    The coarse word sent colour flushing into her cheeks, but the press of his erection through the layers of towelling made the statement seem earthy and enticing rather than crude.
    ‘I want to suck that sweet pussy until you pass out, torture those tender nipples with my teeth.’ His fingers rose to pluck at the sensitive tips, and sensation shimmered down to her sex. ‘And fuck you so hard and so long, you’ll still feel me in your pussy in a week’s time.’
    ‘I see,’ she said, trying for nonchalance, but getting breathless instead as excitement and trepidation rippled across her skin.
    His thumb brushed over her mound, gentle but possessive, and she lurched in his lap. ‘Easy, sweetheart,’ he murmured against her hair, nipping her earlobe as his large hand cupped her sex. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you. So now you need to tell me why you freaked out so we can fix it.’
    She shook her head, her mind already dazed by the endorphin rush, at the promise of what was to come. She couldn’t tell him about the emotional connection she felt with him. He’d think she was bonkers, or worse delusional. Especially as now that emotional connection felt so much stronger. And yet that much more hopeless—because now she knew his past made it impossible for him to trust in emotional intimacy.
    And what would be the point of telling him about her parents? About how she’d denied her sex drive, all her darkest, deepest fantasies for so long, because of some stupid belief that being a sexual being would make her like them? Because that boat had already sailed over the horizon and far, far away. And it wasn’t coming back, even if she wanted it to, and she was pretty sure she didn’t.
    But if their relationship could be only about sex, why not enjoy it, at least for the rest of the night?
    She threaded her fingers through his hair, separated the silky strands, her pulse leaping in her throat. And she plunged in where she suspected no woman had ever dared to tread. ‘Honestly?’
    He nodded, giving her the permission she hadn’t expected.
    ‘I think what freaked me out was knowing you had all the power. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed it, but afterwards it made me feel exposed. Like I wasn’t myself anymore.’ She drew in a breath and held it. ‘I want to have some of the power, too.’
    She watched his face carefully, prepared for resistance, or even irritation—especially now she knew where his desire for control came from—but instead his lips curved up on one side. And she could have sworn she saw a spark of admiration in those pale blue eyes. ‘What are you getting at? You want to spank me?’
    She could hear the amusement in his voice, but refused to rise to the bait. ‘No, I’m not quite as kinky as you are.’ She smiled back, enjoying the frankness of the discussion. When had she ever been able to do exactly what she wanted during sex? To demand whatever fantasy came into her head without feeling guilty about it? ‘But maybe some light bondage wouldn’t go amiss.’
    He hadn’t even let her kiss him. What she wouldn’t do to have that big body, that magnificent cock completely at her mercy. Power surged through her. She could explore his body the way he’d explored hers. It was like having a tiger by the tail, and then getting the chance to pet him.
    She’d always thought of herself as a confident woman, but she’d never been confident enough to take the initiative during sex—because she’d always been so bloody terrified of being as much of a sybarite as her parents. Of being controlled by her sexual desires. And the end result had been a sex life so bland, so boring, it wasn’t even vanilla. Vanilla was a subtle but smooth and seductive taste. Her sex life had no taste at all.
    Connor McCoy could never