then this conversation was just a misunderstanding and you presume far too much, sir.”
“I’m going to say yes,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “I’d be delighted to go home with you. But I think I’m also going to presume far too much, because that sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.” He caught my lower lip between his teeth and nipped it.
“Ow!” I squealed, smacking his chest. “Brute! You think that if you buy a girl a four thousand dollar bottle of wine you can just have your wicked way with her?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, his lips burning a hot trail over my throat to the hollow of my neck. He pushed the robe from my shoulders, his hands gliding down to my waist, urging me back against the rug. “The wine has nothing to do with it.” He pulled his shirt over his head and stood, removing his trousers. He towered over me, our gazes traveling hungrily over the other’s naked body. “I can have my wicked way with you because that’s exactly what you want.”
“God help me, that’s true,” I said, raising my hand to beckon him.
He lowered over me. Kicking my legs wide, he knelt between my thighs, his palms stroking, kneading their way up. Both hands glided over my skin, meeting at my core. His fingers splayed, framing my sex between his hands. “I can have my wicked way with you…” he said again, his fingers brushing over my curls, so tantalizing close, his gaze locked hotly on my sex, “pinky…” He glanced up, smirking at me. I felt the color in my cheeks deepen at the use of the nickname. “…Because that’s exactly what you need .”
My breath hitched and I bit my lip, my imagination reeling at the thought of what he might have planned.
He curled a hand under my waist, and flipped me over, yanking my hips up high so that I was on all fours, kneeling in front of him. I felt his breath on my neck as he loomed over me, his lips tickling my ear as he spoke.
“I can have you, every wicked, nasty, way I like, because that’s exactly what you crave .”
His hand cupped my sex, the heel blunt hard pressure against my core as his fingers feathered through my cleft. “Isn’t it?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I whispered, nodding my head as my arms shook under the weight of my arousal.
“But not tonight,” he said casually, his voice gentle and low. His hands urged me over, guiding me down to the rug, until I was laid out for him again, on display. “That’s not what you need tonight,” he said, brushing the hair from my forehead. He lay down next to me, our bodies parallel, and pulled me into him, weaving our limbs together.
“I swear you know what I’m thinking before I even know myself,” I said, stroking his cheek, my eyes searching his. “How do you do that?”
“Because I see you, inamorata,” he said. Capturing my hand, he laced our fingers, and pressed his mouth to mine, speaking against my lips. “We’ll do ‘wicked’ tomorrow. Tonight is for dreams.” He kissed me, our tongues tangling as his length notched against my core, hard and insistent. He slammed into me and I cried out, my teeth grazing over his lips, biting gently, trying to seize a piece of him, to claim him, as he laid claim to me. He laughed, soft and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest, into mine. Teasing his lip from my teeth with his tongue, he kissed me hard, and rolled, trapping me beneath him, pinning my hands with his, he plundered, fucking me into the floor, and I felt my body melt around him, surrendering.
6
T he breeze that wafted over the beach smelled of sugar and cream. I stretched, fingers and toes leaving long trails in the sand, the last linger of stiffness in my muscles giving way. I dipped a toe in the water, it was warm and inviting, the scent of cinnamon and coffee floating up from its foamy surface as gentle waves broke over my ankles.
Wait, that’s not right.
I opened my eyes, and saw Tom’s face, lips pursed, blowing over the edge of the largest mug of
“I’m going to say yes,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “I’d be delighted to go home with you. But I think I’m also going to presume far too much, because that sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.” He caught my lower lip between his teeth and nipped it.
“Ow!” I squealed, smacking his chest. “Brute! You think that if you buy a girl a four thousand dollar bottle of wine you can just have your wicked way with her?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, his lips burning a hot trail over my throat to the hollow of my neck. He pushed the robe from my shoulders, his hands gliding down to my waist, urging me back against the rug. “The wine has nothing to do with it.” He pulled his shirt over his head and stood, removing his trousers. He towered over me, our gazes traveling hungrily over the other’s naked body. “I can have my wicked way with you because that’s exactly what you want.”
“God help me, that’s true,” I said, raising my hand to beckon him.
He lowered over me. Kicking my legs wide, he knelt between my thighs, his palms stroking, kneading their way up. Both hands glided over my skin, meeting at my core. His fingers splayed, framing my sex between his hands. “I can have my wicked way with you…” he said again, his fingers brushing over my curls, so tantalizing close, his gaze locked hotly on my sex, “pinky…” He glanced up, smirking at me. I felt the color in my cheeks deepen at the use of the nickname. “…Because that’s exactly what you need .”
My breath hitched and I bit my lip, my imagination reeling at the thought of what he might have planned.
He curled a hand under my waist, and flipped me over, yanking my hips up high so that I was on all fours, kneeling in front of him. I felt his breath on my neck as he loomed over me, his lips tickling my ear as he spoke.
“I can have you, every wicked, nasty, way I like, because that’s exactly what you crave .”
His hand cupped my sex, the heel blunt hard pressure against my core as his fingers feathered through my cleft. “Isn’t it?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I whispered, nodding my head as my arms shook under the weight of my arousal.
“But not tonight,” he said casually, his voice gentle and low. His hands urged me over, guiding me down to the rug, until I was laid out for him again, on display. “That’s not what you need tonight,” he said, brushing the hair from my forehead. He lay down next to me, our bodies parallel, and pulled me into him, weaving our limbs together.
“I swear you know what I’m thinking before I even know myself,” I said, stroking his cheek, my eyes searching his. “How do you do that?”
“Because I see you, inamorata,” he said. Capturing my hand, he laced our fingers, and pressed his mouth to mine, speaking against my lips. “We’ll do ‘wicked’ tomorrow. Tonight is for dreams.” He kissed me, our tongues tangling as his length notched against my core, hard and insistent. He slammed into me and I cried out, my teeth grazing over his lips, biting gently, trying to seize a piece of him, to claim him, as he laid claim to me. He laughed, soft and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest, into mine. Teasing his lip from my teeth with his tongue, he kissed me hard, and rolled, trapping me beneath him, pinning my hands with his, he plundered, fucking me into the floor, and I felt my body melt around him, surrendering.
6
T he breeze that wafted over the beach smelled of sugar and cream. I stretched, fingers and toes leaving long trails in the sand, the last linger of stiffness in my muscles giving way. I dipped a toe in the water, it was warm and inviting, the scent of cinnamon and coffee floating up from its foamy surface as gentle waves broke over my ankles.
Wait, that’s not right.
I opened my eyes, and saw Tom’s face, lips pursed, blowing over the edge of the largest mug of
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