“You want a man who lives on the edge. That’s the kind of thing that gets you hot, isn’t it?” His fingers toyed with the white zipper pull at the base of my throat.
“Yes,” I admitted as he pushed the cover-up off my shoulders. It fell to the floor in a puddle of white terry cloth. Evan’s palms caressed my arms, sliding up and down, and it wasn’t mere friction that sent the heat coursing through me.
“You want a man who likes to fly,” he said, tracing his fingertip over the curve of my breasts along the outline of my bikini top.
My breath became ragged. My skin felt prickly. And behind that tiny scrap of material, my nipples were painfully hard.
“You want little bit of danger.” His finger slipped under the material to flick my nipple, making me gasp. “You want to know that the man in your bed doesn’t play by the rules.” That same finger trailed down my belly to the band of bikini bottom.
I shifted my stance, spreading my legs a bit, and feeling my cheeks heat when I heard his soft, knowing chuckle.
“Tell me I’m right,” he demanded, though he already knew it was true.
“You’re right,” I said.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I do.” I felt the charge through me, like I was touching a live wire. I closed my eyes. “I want you, Evan. I want you to fuck me.”
“Take off the top,” he said.
I opened my eyes and found him looking not at my breasts, but at my face. Our eyes locked, and I swallowed, the force of the emotion I saw in his eyes making me weak. I reached back, then untied the string between my shoulder blades. Then I reached higher and brushed my hair aside before tugging at the bow that was the only thing now holding the top in place. I let it fall, then stood there in front of him, my breasts bare and heavy, my nipples hard and tight and practically begging for his touch.
He moved closer, then pressed his thumb against his mouth, making it wet before rubbing it slowly over my sensitive nipple. I felt the shock of his touch all the way through me, making me squirm as liquid pleasure pooled between my legs, warm and enticing.
He reached out, cupping my breasts in his palms, then bent to suckle me, so slowly and thoroughly that I had to reach out and grasp the back of a stool for fear that I would collapse to the ground.
When he pulled back, I felt the chill of the air on my damp breasts and saw his soft smile of satisfaction. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, wondering where he would touch me next.
I wasn’t surprised when he told me to drop my bikini bottom. I did without hesitation, and I saw the heat flare in his eyes. I saw, too, the bulge at the front of his shorts.
He knelt in front of me, then ran his fingertip down my pubis. I was bare, every fold visible and swollen with desire. I was sensitive—so damned sensitive, and when he bent close and blew a soft stream of air across my clit, I thought I would come right then.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “I love looking at you.” He leaned closer, then slowly licked me along my slit all the way up to my belly button, the sensation so surprising and erotic that I cried out, unable to hold back either the sound or the shimmers of pleasure that shook my body.
He stood, and I wanted to scream with protest. I wanted more. I wanted his tongue on me, his fingers stroking me, his cock inside me. I wanted it all right then, all at once. I wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation that I lost myself, and floated away in a haze that was only Evan.
But he wasn’t moving that fast. He was doling out pleasure, and as much as I wanted the assault, I had to admit that this was fine, too.
He held out his hand for me, then led me toward the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“The deck,” he said, and though I considered protesting—what if there were other people around?—I held my tongue. I was pretty sure we were alone. And even if we weren’t, I couldn’t deny the excitement that came from the possibility of being watched.
“It’s time for dessert.”
“Oh.” I decided not to ask what had happened to dinner. “What’s for dessert?”