No, no.
I want everything.
His hands carving my shape in his memory, his mouth reducing me to a prayer, his dick inside me.
Tonight.
Now.
Tomorrow, too.
I reach between us, grabbing his mad erection through his trunks.
“I want this. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re part oak tree,” I whisper.
“Fuck!” he rasps against my mouth as I squeeze him.
Holy flaming hell.
Somehow, I find the wit to tease, just like he did to me, stroking his impressive length through the slick material and adoring the way he jerks and throbs with every pump of my hand.
Kane leans back like the beast he is, his eyes hot and heavy even through the darkness as he watches.
He vibrates with tension, but his hands stay riveted to my hips, holding me as he lets me rile him up.
I quicken my strokes, faster and faster, until he knows my torture.
“Damn you,” he says, low and insistent. There’s pain in his expression as his chest heaves. “Duchess, if you don’t stop, I’ll—”
“What?” I grin innocently.
Then I reach under the elastic of his shorts and wrap my fingers around his seething, rock-hard skin—or rather, I try.
He’s so huge it’s actually a struggle to close my fingers.
But it works.
Because Kane breaks with a feral groan, snapping his head back.
Oh, the perverse beauty.
It does something evil to me, watching this stonehearted hulk falling apart in my hands.
My pulse throbs between my legs.
Tonight, I’m Medusa, and I’m shameless.
His body turns to stone with every slick pump of my fist.
The water isn’t the best for this, and after a few seconds—or minutes or hours or whatever—he grabs my wrist.
“Upstairs,” he commands. “We go now or I’m fucking dragging you.”
Whoa.
No objection.
I just stand, and he joins me, tugging his shorts back in place over his seething hard-on. Nothing can hide the tent, and I swallow a muffled laugh.
