Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(21)

I force my eyes away from him. If I’m planning to sleep with him, I should have drunk more alcohol at the restaurant.

‘Could I … er … have a drink?’

He turns fully then. Tattoos. Muscles. Ripped body. And a beast of a cock, barely held in check by his swimming trunks. All as if carved from glowing marble. There is no fear or shame in his face. He is the most self-assured, beautiful thing I have ever seen. Powerful male sexuality radiates from every pore of his impressive form. My mouth feels dry and my body does something it has never done before.

It aches for him.





Eleven


SHANE

She stands in the glow of the lamps with absolutely no idea of just how f*cking beautiful she is. She looks like she’s made of porcelain, or fairy dust. I want to go up to her, strip her naked, and ravish her right there on the cold tiles, but I can see that she is so nervous, her knuckles show white where she is hanging on so tightly to the edges of her robe’s front.

‘Sure, you can have a drink. What do you want?’ I say, ignoring my raging hard-on, and sauntering over to the concealed bar to the left of me. She trails behind.

‘Vodka and orange juice,’ she says.

I pick up a bottle of Grey Goose and a tall glass. ‘Say when,’ I tell her, and begin to pour.

I am nearly halfway up the glass and she is still staring at it. I carry on pouring, my eyes on her face.

‘When,’ she says.

I stop pouring and put the bottle on the bar. She lifts her eyes to mine. What kind of strange, sexy creature have I got standing in front of me? No woman has captivated my interest like she has.

‘You can fill it to the top with orange juice now,’ she says.

I don’t move. ‘You’ll drown if you drink this much alcohol before you get into the water,’ I say softly.

‘Oh! I guess I should have asked you to stop pouring earlier.’

‘What’s the matter, Snow?’

‘Nothing’s the matter.’ She bites her lower lip. It is sweet, glossy, and plush. A whore’s mouth in an angel’s face. I picture her lips on my abdomen and going lower still. My cock hammers and heat churns in my balls. Fuck, my dick is begging me to throw her against the nearest wall.

‘Is this what you have to do before you let Lenny touch you?’

Her eyes fly open, and she takes a step back from me as if I have struck her. ‘You have no right. You know nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!’ she cries and then she begins to run.

My reflexes are fast, propelled by the hellfire of lust burning in my blood. I catch her easily and spin her around to face me. She gasps, sharp and sudden, and looks up at me with startled, wide eyes. Her robe is gaping open, and I can see the soft curve of her breasts as they rise and fall with her agitation. Hell! I want to f*ck her senseless. I can feel myself pulsing.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,’ I apologize. My voice is tight with frustration.

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I overreacted. I’m just nervous. You’re the only friend I have. I don’t want to fight with you.’ Her voice is wobbly.

I let go of her forearms and flash her a good imitation of a grin. ‘So, let’s not fight then. How about a swim?’ I say, and, turning away from her, dive cleanly into the pool. With slow strokes I swim away from her. I’d need to do fifty laps to burn off this sexual frustration.

When I reach the other end, I turn back to look at her, and she is sitting at the edge with her legs moving languidly back and forth in the water. In these surroundings she is like a fantasy figure, a figment of my imagination. I experience a strange sense of possession. The urge to mate with her is primal, strong and rabid. If I was an animal, my fur would be bristling, my tail out and wagging stiffly, and my ears erect.

The drive to mount a woman, possess her and claim her as mine is an unfamiliar one. Sure, I could write a whole f*cking encyclopedia about the impulse to mount a woman, but to possess and claim her? I exhale the breath I am holding and, swimming back to her, grab her feet. They are small and soft.


She giggles. ‘That’s ticklish.’

‘Are you coming in, Miss Dilshaw?’

She doesn’t stand and take off her robe the way any other woman with a body as dazzling as hers would have. Instead, she slips it off her shoulders awkwardly while still sitting, and pushes it off her hips and thighs just before she slides into the water. I catch her in my arms.

Her body is narrow and slippery. She gazes up at me, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes so dilated they are almost black. And it’s clear I’m not the only one who f*cking wants it bad. She wants it too.

‘You can let go of me now,’ she whispers.

‘Give me one good reason I should.’

‘Because I want you to,’ she says.

‘Liar,’ I counter softly. ‘Here’s what I think you want. I think you’re aching for the taste of my cock.’

‘Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ she scoffs, although bright red is crawling up her neck and into her cheeks.

‘Shall we put it to a test?’

She looks alarmed. ‘What do you mean?’

I move my head closer and she jerks back.

‘What’s the matter? Don’t trust yourself to resist even a little kiss?’ I taunt.