Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(70)

He flicked gently at first, then more forcefully. He was rewarded by the motion of her hips, rubbing, rubbing. She lifted her leg to hook her heel behind his knee, opening herself wider, giving herself room to get the friction just where she needed it. He could feel her sultry heat even through the layers of her cotton shorts and his neoprene wet suit. He wanted to touch. Now!

Keeping one hand on her breast, his lips suctioned tight around her sweet nipple, he slid his other hand down her warm, quivering belly until he reached the snap on her shorts. It came free with a flick of his fingers. The zipper seemed to melt away, and then… Sweet Christ!

He palmed her over the top of her black lace panties and discovered just how wet, just how hot she really was. Pressing the heel of his palm into the top of her sex where he suspected she was swollen and begging for stimulation, he moaned when her fingers speared into his hair, her nails biting into his scalp. A little pinch of pain to go along with the pleasure of the woman he loved panting and shaking in his arms.

“Please, Leo. I want you to—Oh, God, yes!”

He slid his fingers into the waistband of her panties, past the patch of neatly trimmed hair and into the wet, hot channel between her swollen lips. She instantly bathed him in her passion, coating the tips of his fingers as he rubbed back and forth, back and forth over the distended nub of nerves. Just as I thought. Beggin’ for stimulation.

Her head fell back. Her hips undulated up and down, showing him without words how she liked to be stroked, how she liked to be loved. He committed every subtle move, every slight shift to memory.

Her hands left his hair to run over his shoulders and chest, her nails skimming lightly over his nipples, both satisfaction and threat until he was forced to suck in a ragged breath. It was almost as if she’d run those cool fingers over the head of his dick. And then… Jesus Christ on the cross! She was doing exactly that, shoving her hand beneath the material of the wet suit to palm him. His cock jumped at the contact of her fingertips. A tiny drop of passion oozed from his tip. She used her thumb to spread it around his aching, swollen head. And that’s when he knew it was time to taste her.

*

3:51 p.m.…

He was just the sexiest man alive…

That’s all there was to it. The way he kissed, all soft, languid thrusts of his tongue, was a dream. The way he moved, every action both natural and at the same time calculated, was heaven. The way he felt, hot skin over hard muscles, was bliss. And when he fell to his knees in front of her, dragging her shorts and panties down to her ankles along the way, she thought she might faint. Her head was spinning. Her blood racing. The room around her was swaying back and forth.

Or was that just the rocking of the yacht? Doesn’t matter. The effect is the same. She was on a carnival ride of sensation, her stomach rising and falling in anticipation and delight.

His nostrils flared, as if he was scenting her. And perhaps that should have been disconcerting. Maybe it would have been disconcerting had those flaring nostrils not been accompanied by the low groan in the back of his throat, the one that went to her head like a straight shot of tequila. He licked his lips like a starving man presented with a buffet. His tongue flashed deep pink against the brown stubble of his beard. “Step out of your shorts, Olivia,” he instructed, his voice having gone guttural, the low purr of a big cat.

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to, but… “Jesus, Leo. Here?”

“My men will know to steer clear,” he assured her.

Despite her protests, she found herself toeing out of her shorts and panties. “And the others?”

“A risk I’m willin’ to take if you are.”

Some people got off on the idea of allowing strangers a little voyeuristic pleasure. She usually preferred to do the deed in private, so all of her attention could be focused on her own responses and the responses of her lover. But a stroll to the nearest cabin would take precious few minutes she didn’t have. She was so achy, so empty. She needed him now.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Leo.”

A victorious growl rumbled through his chest and, inexplicably, through her sex. It was almost as if he’d put a vibrator inside her. Her bare toes curled against the polished hardwood floor. She expected him to rise, to pull down his wet suit and impale her on his thick, pulsing length.

She was preparing herself for it, girding her loins, quite literally, to receive all that hot, heaving flesh. Which is why she squeaked when, instead, he hooked her leg over his shoulder and buried his face in her. His lips found the swollen bud at the top of her sex unerringly. And he sucked it into his mouth, boldly laving it with the pad of his raspy tongue.

Now, in her experience, very few men were experts at pleasuring a woman with their mouths. Most were too frenzied, trying to turn their tongues into windup toys. Others were too gentle, like they thought the vagina was a delicate flower needing the softest of touches lest its petals fall off. In fact, in her whole life she’d never met a guy who knew the exact amount of friction to use, the appropriate amount of pressure to apply. That is, until she met Leo. He was the Goldilocks of cunnilingus. He did everything just right.

As a result, her body was instantly humming. The passion running through her veins, the liquid heat tightening her womb, telling her she wouldn’t last long under his oral assault. And, oh, the sweet, welcome agony of it!

“Yesssss,” she hissed, burying her fingers in the coolness of his shaggy hair and looking down to see his lips on her, see her leg over his shoulder obscuring part of the tattooed lettering that ran in an arc across his back from shoulder to shoulder. Not All Treasure Is Silver and Gold.