“‘Come’ being the operative word,” she insisted.
He blew over her nipple and her areola furled so tightly that she cried out with the pleasure-pain of it. Shocking herself because she’d never heard herself make a sound like that. It was primitive. Wild. Keening.
He awakened something within her that had been dormant her whole life. It was as if it’d been waiting for him. For his touch. For his kiss.
“Let go of my hands,” she pleaded. “I want to touch you.”
“No.” He loomed above her, huge and triumphant.
The wind blew a shock of hair over his forehead, making him look almost boyish. But the expression in his eyes was anything but. It was hot. And wonderfully lecherous.
“When you touch me,” he continued, slowly pulling down the other cup of her bra until both her breasts were exposed to the breeze and his ravenous gaze, “I can’t think. And Iwannathink, Alexandra. I wanna see and touch. I wanna feel and taste. All of you. Every sweet inch.”
To prove his point, his mouth reclaimed one breast while his free hand cupped and shaped and caressed the other.
She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Every wire in her brain crossed and every synapse misfired while he patiently, tirelessly tended to her breasts with his tongue and teeth and fingers.
Mason was a multitasker. He seemed able to do a million things at once.
And he was magic. That’s the only way she could explain how her bra was off and crumpled on the blanket beside her head when she couldn’t recall him removing it.
His dedicated fingers strayed to the button at the top of her shorts, and when he lifted his head to say, “I’m gonna get you naked now,” his expression looked very much like she felt.
Deliciously tormented. Full of aching need.
A line appeared between his eyebrows when she shook her head.
“You don’t want me to get you naked?” She thought she heard a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Oh, no. Idefinitelywant you to get me naked. But I wantyounaked first.”
She thought herself a genius. If he took off his swim trunks, he’d have to release her wrists. Then she’d be able to touch him like she’d been dying to since the first day she saw him sitting shirtless on a little stool in front of his easel.
So many heavy, roping muscles. Such thick slabs of flesh. All that wonderfully crinkly man hair.
He’d been covered in flecks of paint. She remembered how she’d wanted to offer to help him wash them off. With hertongue.
For a long moment, he regarded her, obviously seeing through her ploy. She held her breath, wondering if he would appease her anyway. She blew it out when he sat up and whipped off his shorts in one quick movement.
Turning back to her, he eyed the button onhershorts, intent on getting her naked as quickly as he’d gotten himself, so he didn’t see her eyes fly open so wide that the breeze coming in off the ocean dried them out and made them tear.
H-h-holy shit.
He was glorious. Also…a bit terrifying.
She’d thought her hours of research had prepared her. But it was one thing to see a very large, fully engorged penis on the screen of her iPad. Quite another thing to come face-to-face with one in real life.
She licked suddenly dry lips. “I guess my curse didn’t work.”
“What?” he asked distractedly, having pulled down the zipper on her shorts. They—along with her panties—were quickly wrenched from her legs.
He’s good. I’ll give him that, she thought with reluctant admiration, at the same time she couldn’t take her eyes off his dick.
It was…impressive. And sort of…aggressive-looking. His shaft was straight and thick, roped with angry veins. And the head? Well, it looked like a plum. Round. Shiny.
Will it taste as sweet?she wondered.
If she hadn’t been so mesmerized by his nudity, she might have been self-conscious about her own. After all, hers wasn’t a figure most men craved.
