Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(65)

He unclips my hair and watches it fall to my shoulders, and the lustful glow in the depths of his green gaze sends a shiver through my being.

“What did I do to deserve this absolute . . . privilege?”

A smile shines bright in his green eyes. “Malcolm, Rachel. Say it,” he coaxes.

I frown a little. “It’s such a respectable name. Why do you make it sound so dirty and naughty? Malcolm?”

He both laughs, low in his throat, and groans at the same time; then he ghosts a kiss over the corner of my mouth as though to let me know he appreciates it. We hear the noise of an incoming boat and I separate a little, self-conscious of it approaching even though he doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s a speedboat with eight individuals and blaring rock music. I notice they’re taking out their phones to take pictures of Saint’s yacht. No. I hear the shrill women’s voices in the yacht and realize they’re taking pictures of Saint. And . . . me.

I roll my eyes. “Oh great. They’re going to have a field day with this.”

“SAINT! OHMIGOD, MALCOLM SAINT! Can we come on board?!” someone shouts. “It’s Tasha! TASHA! My friends and I met you once at Decan’s club, the Orion!”

They could be talking to the air.

While I stare at them, I notice Saint surveys my reddened mouth a little bit, and then takes in the rest of my face.

“Come here,” he says, stretching out his hand.

“What—”

“SAINT!!!” one yells, then loudly whispers to the friend who’s hovering at the edge of the boat, “Take pictures, bitch . . . are you taking?” Then to us, hands cupped at her mouth, “CAN WE HANG WITH YOU GUYS FOR A WHILE?”

I hear a splash and turn to stare, wide-eyed at the other boat. “Did she just throw herself in the water?”

“My guys will take care of it.” He takes my hand and leads me down to the cabin area, stopping one of the crew and making a hand signal.

“Right on it, Mr. Saint.”

I’m laughing my ass off as we reach the cabin, peering through the window. “Is she for real? Oh no, all three are swimming this way!”

“Come here,” he whispers, tugging me back to him. I close my eyes when I feel his lips.

“Malcolm . . .”

I squirm a little but he quiets me down, pressing his lips to mine.

“Let’s just see if your crew . . .” I turn in his arms and take a few steps to try to peer out.

“They’re handling it.”

His low voice ripples like a feather between my legs. I feel his gaze on my backside, and I turn, and he’s watching me, his eyes roaming all of me.

“Sin . . .”

He stands there, tall and glorious, as I still hear splashing outside.

He takes a step and runs a finger up my arm, and then over my shoulder, his thumb stroking under my bikini string. I’m panting already.

“Malcolm.”

He takes a step closer and sets a soft kiss on my mouth. God. The overwhelming experience of just his strong, soft lips.

His tongue flashes out and sweeps inside. The world goes dim. Hazy. He pulls me to his chest while he teases my lips with his.

I clutch his shoulders, hard.

“Why?” I hear a whine out in the lake. “But I know him . . . we partied once . . . ”

And their male friends from the boat. “Come on, man, it’s just hanging for a little while . . .”

“Oh wow, they’re super insistent,” I say, trying to turn. He stops me with his hands on my hips.

“They can insist all they want, they’re not coming on board,” he murmurs in my ear.

Before I can escape to watch the spectacle, he boosts me up and carries me to the bed.

“They were also your friends . . . ?” I tease.

He tosses me onto the bed and kneels on it as he tugs on the drawstring of his swim trunks. “Take it off,” he says, nodding to my bikini.

I do, quickly, and I part my legs so he can settle between them. He curls his hand around the side of my face, and I tuck my cheek into his palm, the way he holds me so exquisitely gentle.

“Hook-ups. Easy. Simple,” he says. And adds, “Nothing like you.”

His attention heads south, to my breasts as he strokes his hands appreciatively over my lean frame. The last of the day’s sunlight streams through the window; he can see every bit of me. I’m flushing but I wouldn’t stop him for the world; instead I let my fingers slip into his thick hair. His breath coasts along the top swell of one breast as he ducks his head. Then he locks around the peak, rocking my world as arrows of pleasure shoot through me.

Oh god.

I hear the speedboat leave. Then a knock.

“Taken care of, Mr. Saint!”

“Thank you,” he says in a lust-roughened voice, taking his lips off me for a second.

He smiles at me. He takes my wrists in his hands, and I shudder as a hot flick of his tongue wetly laps up my neck, to my lips. He draws my arms up, over my head, and then secures them in one hand while he lets the other wander over my body.

I arch helplessly. “Malcolm.”

“That’s right, Rachel.”

“Malcolm Saint, you’re an absolute devil . . .”

“And you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”