Sweet Surrender (Sweet #1)(62)

He opened the French doors and put a hand to her back to guide her outside. Warm sea air tugged at her still-damp hair. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, inhaling the tangy breeze.

It was a gorgeous night.

Gray sat down in the lounger then pulled her down in front of him. He settled her between his legs, and for a moment, she leaned against his chest, her head resting underneath his chin.

She savored the intimate contact, loved being nestled against his big body. Her body hummed, sweet desire flowing through her veins. At this moment, everything seemed so right. As if nothing could ruin such a perfect moment.

The moon shone bright in the sky and cast a brilliant glow over the calm waters of the gulf. Like a sheet of glass, the water wasn’t disturbed by so much as a ripple. Closer in, small waves lapped at the shore and cast a cascade of foam over wet sand.

Gray’s hand tangled in her hair, separating the locks with his fingers and tugging downward. He reached around her for the brush in her lap and let his hand linger close to the knotted belt of her robe, as if he contemplated untying it. Slowly, teasingly, he withdrew his hand.

She moaned softly as he began brushing the now-drying tresses. As he continued his downward strokes, he wrapped the ends around his hand and let them slide over his fingers. Each tug elicited another purr of pleasure from her.

“You have such beautiful hair,” he said. “It suits you perfectly. Vibrant. Free-flowing. Soft.”

She turned her head so she looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m tempted every so often to cut it all off.”

His hands stilled. “You wouldn’t.”

She shrugged. “It can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

“I can’t wait to see it spread out over the bed while I’m sliding my c**k between your thighs,” he said huskily.

Her clit throbbed, and her ni**les hardened, sending little tingles of pleasure buffeting through her body.

“I’ve imagined you on top of me, my dick buried so deep inside you. You leaning over me, your hair like a curtain over my chest. Then I wrap both hands in the strands and hold on while you ride me.”

She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes as she imagined the scene he portrayed. He continued his gentle strokes with the brush, each one lulling her deeper into semiconsciousness.

“But my favorite?” he whispered close to her ear. “Is you on your hands and knees, my hands wrapped all up in your hair, holding your head back as I f**k you from behind.”

Was it possible to orgasm simply from erotic talk and having your hair brushed? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out.

He grew quiet, and once again, the only sound that could be heard was the distant sound of the ocean. She relaxed against him as he alternated threading his fingers through her hair and sliding the bristles of the brush through the long strands.

She leaned farther back, turning her chin up and closing her eyes. Whispered sounds of pleasure escaped with each breath. She couldn’t ever remember being so content. Couldn’t ever remember having a man so focused on her. It was exciting, satisfying and a little terrifying all wrapped up in one.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your mom?” he asked.

She stiffened and cursed the fact that she had thought nothing could ruin this moment.

“I don’t like to talk about her.”

The brush moved down her hair, the bristles scratching lightly at her back. He was silent for a moment as he continued his careful attention.

Her shoulders fell. She supposed it wasn’t fair. She’d asked him personal questions. If they were going to make a go of any sort of a relationship, she had to be honest. Even if the thought of him knowing about her childhood and her mother gave her hives.

“That wasn’t fair of me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m sorry. I just hate to talk about her.”

“I understand,” he said.

“It’s such a long story.”

“We have all night,” he said simply.

The quiet acceptance in his voice bolstered her spirits. He wasn’t pressing for more than she wanted to give. Which only made her want to give nonetheless.

He dropped the brush on the deck but continued to play with her hair. Soon he worked his fingers deeper until they massaged her scalp.

“Mmmm. You keep doing that, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,” she said.

He chuckled but continued kneading. He worked his way down to the nape of her neck and then out over her shoulders. She sighed in sheer bliss.

“Pop isn’t my real father. Wait, that’s not true. He’s very much my real father—the only father I’ve ever known. But he isn’t my biological father.”

If she thought he’d be surprised, he didn’t show it. He continued his soothing massage, and she relaxed her tense muscles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react, just waited for her to continue.

“My mother…I’m not even sure how to describe her. She’s lived her entire life with her head in the sand. Bad decisions are second nature to her. She’s impulsive and reckless, and she’s simply unwilling to accept the consequences of her actions.”

“Sounds like a lot of people I know,” he said dryly.

She nodded. “From an early age, I was the emotional support in our ‘family.’ At the time, I didn’t understand that our relationship was so much different than other mother-daughter relationships. I was just trying to be the best daughter I could.