Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(66)

He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to punish you. I’m going to make you work for it.”

“How?” she asked, and in that one word he heard the thrill of anticipation. Her own desire to be led like this was her drug.

He clasped her hands, threading his fingers through hers, watching every move she made—the way her lips parted, how her eyes followed his, how her chest rose and fell. He stretched her arms over her head, and gently pushed her hands beneath one of the wood slats at the top of the lounge chair.

“Hold onto the chair the whole time,” he said then moved off her to reach for an ice cube from his drink. He held it above her chest, as the first bead of liquid fell from the cube and landed between her lush breasts. Her nipples pebbled through the fabric of her bikini.

He lowered the ice cube closer to her skin. “Are you hot?”

She bit her lip and answered, “Very.”

“I had a feeling you might be.” He brushed it through her cleavage, and she shivered, gasping out loud at the first contact with the cold. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes,” she said on a feathery gasp. He ran the ice under her breasts, down her belly, and to the top of her bikini bottoms, picturing the treasure that lay beneath the white fabric—her wet, hot *. His dick throbbed in his swim shorts. His need to have her intensified.

He travelled to her sides with the ice, and she squirmed, writhing under his touch. She was a live wire. At every touch, she sparked. She ignited, responding to his words, his voice, his hands, and his body. It was intoxicating. It was addictive. He bent his neck to her, licking the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. She moaned softly, whispering his name in a barely audible voice.

It sounded like a plea.

His shorts made a tent now, pitched high. “Do you want me to touch you?

“Yes.”

“My yard is big. My neighbors aren’t around today,” he said as he travelled up her body with the ice cube, watching her shiver as it left a wet path across her hot skin. He reached the hollow of her throat, making circles, watching the ice melt some. He leaned in and kissed the water away. Then he pulled back and said firmly, “Put it between your teeth.”

She opened her mouth, and waited for him to insert the cube. She held it in place with her teeth as he ran the back of his fingertips down her arm. “I could untie your bikini straps right now. Take off the top and tie you up with it. Flip you over onto your hands and knees and f*ck you from behind on this chair,” he said, not looking at her, but instead reaching for his glass, and finishing off his drink.

He returned his focus to her, and the look in her eyes was already glossy, on the path to red-hot desire. “Would you like that?”

She nodded.

Starting at her collarbone, he brushed his finger to the top of her chest, then through the valley of those gorgeous tits, on a fast track to her legs. He danced his fingers along the waistband of her bathing suit, taunting her. “Or I could take these off right now and feel how wet you are. Since you’re all nice and slippery, right?”

She bucked upwards, giving her yes. A drop of liquid drizzled from the cube down her chin. He kissed it away. “Don’t let go of the ice,” he instructed. “Hold on ’til it melts between your lips.”

He moved his hands down her legs, placing his palms on the insides of her thighs. He spread them apart, and stared at her bikini bottom. “Or maybe I’ll just torture you by brushing one finger against this wet spot I love so much. Just play with your hot * through this bikini until you’re moaning, crying, and begging me to take it off.”

Her eyes floated closed momentarily, and she lifted her hips.

Desire tore through him, twisting and curling like a wildfire. He was desperate to quench it and bring her to orgasm. But he had to fight that urge and restrain all of his lust for her.

Waiting made everything better.

With her hands stretched above her head, hooked in the slats of the lounge chair, she was bound to him.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Yes. Yes. Yes.

Every single answer was a resounding yes.

She was so wet, so turned on, so slippery, and all she wanted was his touch. She had no idea how long this torture would last. She could bite down on this ice cube now, but that would only prolong the waiting. He’d find a new way to draw out his touch if she defied him. She wanted him fiercely, with an intensity that bordered on criminal.

Lust and desire ricocheted through her body as she gripped the slats above her and writhed her hips on the lounge chair, baking under the hot sun.

Soon. He had to touch her soon.

Mercifully, he looped his hands around her neck and untied her bikini, then unsnapped the hook at her spine. Her first taste of freedom came as he lowered the straps along her arms, taking off the top. His breath stilled as he took in her breasts.

She willed him to lower his mouth to her nipples and suck, bite, and taste. Maybe she could send a telepathic message telling him to touch her; she tried valiantly by arching her back, lifting her breasts closer to him.

He got the message. Oh hell, did he get it. He reached for her mojito. “Let’s check how this tastes,” he said as he poured some of the drink down her chest. She drew a sharp breath, even with the ice cube melting in her mouth. He buried his face between her breasts, lapping up the liquid. She wanted to moan, to cry out, to shout yes to the sun and moon and stars. This was her taste of heaven—his mouth on her skin.