Sophie nodded. She was a little rusty herself. She brushed her fingertips across his solid pectoral muscles, which she’d been craving to do ever since the night drunken McSailor had crashed at Kirsten’s apartment. Playfully stroking his chest, she asked, “So, your sentence was four years?”
Grant inhaled deeply, distracted by her soft caress, before he refocused and shook his head. “Three.”
She gazed up at him, puzzled. “But with good behavior, you’d be out in about half of your sentence, wouldn’t you? Eighteen months?”
“With good behavior?” he repeated distractedly, buying himself some time. Unconsciously curling his fingers, his right hand tingled with the memory of careening into another prisoner’s jaw. The ensuing image of a small, dark solitary cell jammed itself into his consciousness, and he found himself having trouble getting air. He panicked, thinking she would intuitively know about his psychotic breakdown in the hole.
Misreading his anxious expression, a coquettish smirk played on Sophie’s pink lips. “Maybe your behavior wasn’t so good? Maybe you were …” She dropped her voice huskily. “Very bad?”
All images of Gurnee were gone in a flash. “Bad?” Grant asked. He brazenly lifted one hand to cup her breast, his smooth voice matching the silky softness of her bra. “I feel very bad behavior coming on. What do you think about that?”
“I think I can handle it.” She sat back on her heels and locked eyes with him as she unclasped her bra. Allowing the lingerie to fall softly from her small breasts, she tossed the bra to the floor, where it joined the outer garments in a heap.
Suddenly seized by nervousness, one hand unconsciously flitted up to cover herself. “I’m, um, I’m kind of flat. Sorry.”
He looked almost wounded. “You’re exquisite,” he countered, drawing her back up to kneeling. Her nipples grazed his chest, driving him crazy with anticipation. He smoothed one hand over her hair, and she released the band holding her ponytail. Thick reddish-golden hair brushed over her shoulders and curled near her breasts. Her coppery eyes scorched him.
Grant plunged forward to ravage her mouth with kisses while his hands explored her firm breasts—cupping, caressing, and stimulating her hardening flesh. “You see, they fit in my hands perfectly.” Gasping for air at the touch of his long, supple fingers, she skimmed her fingertips down his ribcage and along the hard lines of his hips.
“I like Bad Grant,” she murmured between kisses. Her slender fingers skated on his waistband and began unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.
“Ladies first,” he urgently whispered back, dropping his hands and racing to remove her white pants. Grant whipped them down her lean thighs before she’d even pulled his jeans over his rear end. Although to be fair, he cheated by gyrating his hips and preventing her from getting a firm grasp on his jeans. His evasive maneuvers made her giggle.
Next, Grant problem-solved by playfully pushing her backward on the bed to finish removing her pants. Sophie’s head landed on a pillow as she willingly fell onto the sheets, circling her calves around to extend in front of her. Soon her creamy, lithe legs were fully exposed.
Grant paused at the vision of her smooth, milky skin adorned only with silky white panties. Her long, lean body lay before him in all its glory, beckoning. She grinned at the sight of his jeans hanging jauntily off his hips, the waistband of his navy-blue boxers easily visible. “Take off those jeans, McSailor,” she ordered.
He raised one eyebrow. “McSailor?”
“Oh!” she erupted in giggles once again. “Didn’t I mention the nickname Kirsten gave you?”
Narrowing his eyes, his voice sounded suspicious as he asked, “Exactly what happened the night I passed out in her apartment?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it after you take off those pants.”
He considered her offer and quickly peeled off his jeans. Crawling up the bed, he sidled in next to her and leaned on his elbow as they lay side by side. His right hand grazed the skin inside her right knee, then his fingertips brushed up the length of her thigh. With each advancing inch, she breathed in a little more, her chest rising and expanding with each inhalation until she was almost hyperventilating.
Her skin tingling, Sophie’s mood turned serious. Grant could read the want and need in her brown eyes. Both felt a catch in their throats as the air became thin. Grant’s hand rested lightly on her stomach, his tantalizing fingertips teasing her with a promised advancement and breach into her territory. His military training would not go to waste tonight.
Both knew exactly what they wanted, but taking this opportunity to practice direct communication once again, Sophie planted a warm kiss on Grant’s awaiting lips before sliding off her panties in one fluid motion.
Grant’s grateful face hovered over hers, and he whispered, “Let’s christen these sheets, shall we?”
She nodded and his lips crashed onto hers again, his hand moving to cradle her face as they kissed passionately. His hand stroked her long, silky hair, then slowly traveled south, pausing at her breasts to caress and massage her nipples, then snaking down the center groove of her flat abdomen.
Enraptured by his kisses, Sophie felt weightless and floating, utterly aroused and craving his attention to her body. But when his nimble fingers finally made their way to her receptive core, she entered a new level of ecstasy. Those long, artistic fingers that seemed so out of place on his muscular, military body; those fingers that were nonetheless perfect for Grant since they fit his gentle, intelligent nature; those fingers that adeptly repaired any piece of equipment on the ship; those fingers that fidgeted when he was nervous—those fingers now fired up a heat inside her so intense and so deep that she let out a guttural moan.
He expertly rubbed and circled her clitoris, and Sophie could not stifle her explicit sounds of pleasure with each rapid exhalation. Was he going to bring her to orgasm already? She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, providing Grant with a burst of satisfaction and confidence as he read her look of pleasure and arousal at his hand.
As her pelvic muscles contracted around his fingers, Sophie felt heat spread into her abdomen and radiate throughout her body. She shuddered and a look somewhere between bliss and alarm crossed her flushed face as she realized he was undoing her, leaving her with little self-control. She simultaneously wanted to beg him to continue and plead with him to stop, lest she cry out like an animal from his astonishing touch.
McSailor’s fingers were miraculous and marvelous! Suddenly an image appeared in her mind, like a marquee flashing in her eyes:
FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY... MCSAILOR’S MAGIC FINGERS!
A bright smile formed on her lips, and she somehow regained enough focus to gaze into those crystal-blue eyes.
“Something funny?” he asked, resting his hand on her inner thigh.