Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(54)

“I don’t like relationships,” he explained.

“You don’t,” I agreed.

“And you don’t like casual sex,” he continued.

“I don’t.”

“So let’s try this. I get you off. That’s all. It’s perfectly innocent. You won’t feel used, and we stay friends.”

My brain felt too fuzzy just then to argue with the twisted logic he was using. My brows drew together, and I latched onto the biggest gap in his argument.

“What do you get out of it?”

He smiled his best smile, the one that ruined me for every other smile in the world.

I had it worse than I’d realized until just that moment.

“I’ve become obsessed with the idea of making you come. Ever since you told me that no one could get you off—”

“I said hadn’t, not couldn’t,” I argued.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you weren’t supposed to take it as a challenge!”

“Well, ever since then, it’s all I can think about. I’ve even been dreaming about it. And then the other morning, when we woke up like that…”

As he’d been speaking, I’d started to regain some brain function, but it went away again in a little puff of smoke when he mentioned that wake up session.

He swallowed hard, his hands moving to rub my stomach, water splashing over the sides of the float and hitting me in gentle waves with his movements. “When I helped you…pleasure yourself, well, I’d thought I was obsessed with it before that, but it got worse…Let me get you off. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go take a shower when you’re finished.”

“I’m not that easy to get off,” I warned him. “I usually take a lot of time, and a vibrator.”

He lifted one of my hands to his mouth, palm first. “How about a vibrating tongue?” he asked against my hand.

What he did next defied all explanation for me. He moved his tongue in fast, jerky little circles on my palm. He was so fast, in fact, that it felt like vibrations.

“What is that? What are you doing?” I asked, trying in vain to pull my hand free.

“Demonstrating what I’m about to do to your clit. Any objections?”

I couldn’t think of one.

He’d made a pretty spectacular promise, but he didn’t start there.

He began rather innocently, his hands massaging the sides of my legs. Of course, his eyes weren’t innocent. My bikini was askew, the triangles still pulled aside to reveal most of each breast, and his eyes were drinking in my dishabille.

He moved one hand to my inner thigh, shifting it so he could step between my legs as his huge hands worked on one lucky thigh.

“You have great hands,” I told him.

“I’m here any time you need a masseuse,” he reassured me.

“I need a masseuse.”

He gripped my hips, moving his hips between my thighs. He pulled until his hardness was nestled against my sex. Between my bikini, and his swim trunks, the position left nothing to the imagination.

I moaned at the contact.

I could literally feel his reaction to that as his erection twitched against me.

“Are you going to be complaining to me about blue balls later?” I asked as he began rubbing my shoulders.

“I won’t complain about any of this, hand to God. In fact, doing this to you has been on my bucket list for a couple of weeks now.”

“I bet your bucket list is just full of chicks you want to go down on.”

He had worked down one arm and was massaging my hand. I’d never realized how much tension I carried there until he was rubbing it out of me. My eyes almost rolled back in my head, it felt so good.

“Nope. Getting my hands on you was the only sexual act on that list.”

“What else is on that list?”

“I’ll tell you later. Now’s not the best time.”

I saw what he meant as he worked his hands over my ribs and down into my navel.

“You have the sexiest f*cking abs I’ve ever seen,” he told me, which made a thrill of pleasure run through me. I’d been complimented by a lot of men, but Tristan always made me feel it.

My heavy lidded gaze went to his six-pack. It was dripping wet and washboard tight. “You should talk.”

He flashed a dimple at me for one brief instant before he took his mouth to me. Neither of us did much talking after that.

It was the most surreal barrage of sensations, with the sun on my front while I floated on the water, Tristan moving his hot mouth over me, his hands massaging me everywhere.

His hips pushed mine underwater as he kissed my throat.

I shivered, throwing my arms around his hard shoulders, trying him to keep him there.

He didn’t cooperate, moving his lips to play at my collarbone, slipping down my body just enough to dislodge his lower half from mine, and bringing my hips back up above the water line.

I mumbled a protest.

“Sweetheart, I’m not a saint,” he said against my skin, his words making delicious little puffs against my skin with each word. “If my cock stays there for long, it’s going to try to find a way inside.”

He nuzzled between my breasts, my top disappearing as though by magic. It just went poof, no sign of it anywhere that I could see.