by Anne Marsh
He liked her, and damn if that wasn’t a dangerous thought.
“You have a tattoo.” He brushed his thumb gently over her ink. She felt just as silky and warm there as she did elsewhere. The only difference was on the surface of things.
“Uh-huh.” She twisted to look down at the pink-and-black words scrolling over her hip. “‘More than a catbird hates a cat.’”
“Two questions.” Hooking a chair with his foot, he drew it closer and dropped down on it. This gave him the best-ever view of her inner thighs. Plus, her bikini bottom barely covered her generous curves, and just knowing that only a few inches of nylon separated him from her pussy drove him crazy. He was pretty sure she knew it, too.
“Really? You want to ask questions now?” She definitely sounded breathless.
Apparently he did. He slid his hands underneath her ass and her whole body quivered in response. “Why?”
“Why get a tattoo?” She leaned up farther on her elbows. “Because...I...uh...could. Because sometimes people do things in college because there may have been too many beers and too much encouragement. Because...I have a thing for Ogden Nash.”
He untied the left string of her bikini. “Are any of those reasons true?”
She flushed. “All of them. Have I ever lied to you?”
No. That was him.
“Never,” he said, shifting closer and running a thumb over the silky soft skin of her inner thigh.
Her husky moan was followed by yet another question. They needed to work on the whole keeping-quiet thing. “How about you? Any ink on you?”
“Never.” He must have stiffened because she made a sympathetic face and patted him on the arm. As if he was five. Jesus.
“Not a needle man?”
He’d seen horrific injuries and kept right on doing his job. But show him a 28-gauge needle and he got light-headed. He puked. After getting his jabs as an enlisted man, he’d actually passed out on the nurse. So yeah, he got more than a little green just thinking about her tattoo.
Deflect. “Did it hurt?”
“If I say yes, are you going to kiss it better?” She sounded breathless again.
“No,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“Works for me,” she purred.
That made two of them. He undid the right string, and, God, he loved her swimsuits. The silky panel fell away and he’d never seen a prettier sight than her landing strip of dark red hair. He didn’t have any words for the scent of her, but she was amazing. She didn’t seem to mind that he had his face inches from her pussy. He liked that confidence. She planned to enjoy him, and apparently had no problem with letting him in on her anticipation.
“Like what you see? FYI, I’m a natural redhead.” Her voice sounded even huskier than usual, which he decided to interpret as approval of their game.
“You’re gorgeous.” If he couldn’t be honest about who he was or why he was on Fantasy Island, he didn’t want there to be any doubt about this. She was damned beautiful and he wanted to make this memorable for her. If she wanted to play erotic games, he’d do his best. Hooyah.
He reached over and slicked his finger with frosting.
“Are we getting creative?” She settled back on the table. He decided to interpret that as “carry on.”
“I thought you liked my cake.”
Not waiting for her answer, he spread her open. She was pink and glistening, clinging to his finger when he gave in to temptation and had to touch. Because looking definitely wasn’t enough. Hell, this afternoon wasn’t going to be enough. Not for him.
“Mason.” His name came out part moan, part breathy sigh.
“Mason, stop—or Mason, do it some more?” While he waited for her answer, he drew his frosting-covered finger down over her stomach, painted the sweetest of arrows to her own sweet spot. When he followed his path with his mouth, licking the frosting from her skin until he’d moved entirely between her thighs, she moaned again.
“Definitely ‘Mason, do it some more,’” she whispered pleadingly.
Grunting his approval, he swirled his tongue in small circles around the sensitive spot. She cried out, pushing up into his touch, so he did it again. Spread her wider, drank her in. She was so goddamned pretty and open, and right now she was also all his.
“You know what I have to do now.” He met her gaze, knowing his voice was low and rough, but, damn, she drove him crazy. He had no idea how he’d walk away without tasting her now.
“Do it faster,” she demanded.
He leaned forward with a laugh, pushing her thighs wider with his hands, close enough to smell the vanilla of the frosting and that musky, perfect scent that was all Maddie. “Maddie.”
He ran his tongue down her slick folds. He had a feeling that, from now on, he’d get a hard-on whenever he smelled vanilla. She was gorgeous opening up for him.
“Mason.” Good. He liked his name on her tongue, but he wanted more. More response, more Maddie, more orgasm. He inserted a finger inside her. Her soft, hot channel clung to his finger. “Mason, stop or Mason, more?”
She pushed against his finger. “You’re so slow.”
“And you like it.” He moved his finger deeper.
“More. Now.” She wriggled demandingly.
The table couldn’t possibly be comfortable, so he scooped her up and deposited her on the padded banquette seat. It wasn’t as good as having her in his bed, but it was an improvement. She wouldn’t thank him if she had bruises on her gorgeous ass tomorrow, and he already knew he wanted to see her again like this.
“Shh. Let me give you what you want.”
* * *
GOD. THE MAN could kiss. The frosting thing was more sticky and funny than sexy. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for kink, because she’d had to fight back giggles when he’d grabbed a fingerful of frosting, but then she was really glad she’d been willing to humor him because, holy moly, he’d painted her body as if she was the Sistine Chapel and he was Michelangelo. The erotic pressure had sent sensation shooting through her body. The skin of his thumb was rough and callused, as if he used his hands for plenty more than cooking. He touched her with short strokes, sensual appetizers that made her want more and, if he was decorating her like a cake, then surely he planned on licking her clean? Please.
She leaned back. Part of her wanted to watch him, to see that dark head bent over her pussy, but the rest of her just melted. She wanted this, wanted him, and apparently he felt the same way. Just the thought aroused her more.
His tongue stroked down. Up. She stopped worrying that he had her spread out in circumstances a little too public for her own tastes. But his tongue... God, the man’s tongue was magic. He licked her, ravished her as though she was his own very special, tasty treat and she dug her heels into his shoulders and let him.
Not sure where to put her hands, she jammed her fingers into her mouth because screaming wouldn’t be wise. Acquiring an audience now would suck. He stripped away her reasons to care, to hold back, because there was room only for the two of them and all that incredible, exquisite pleasure. The pleasure built and built, and all her attention focused on that one sweet, aching spot he circled with his tongue. Sucked with his wicked, talented mouth. Her whole world narrowed to the man making her come apart.
The sounds of voices talking and laughing had no place in her fantasy and jerked her back to awareness of her surroundings. Mason lifted his head, his fingers cupping her possessively. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered, as if keeping her voice down could hide what they were doing here.
She could kill them. Her body was a tight, wet, pulsing ache and she was so damned close. The need to come was a fierce demand, but they weren’t alone.
“Then, you’d better be quick,” he growled. “Because you didn’t say stop.”
She swiped her telltale swimsuit bottom from the top of the table. They were going to get busted. She’d die of embarrassment. But the arousal was there, too, and a growing sense of excitement. She wouldn’t have guessed Mason had this devilish side to him. “You can’t be serious.”
He gave her that small half smile. “We’re not done here.”
Then he curled his fingers, finding a spot inside her that made her body feel like Fourth of July fireworks. She felt her resistance—what there’d been of it—melt away. In the distance, someone called to him.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he yelled. Then, to her, he said, “Faster.”
“What about you?”
She didn’t take orders. Honestly, she was more the type to give them. Except... Just looking at him made her wet. He was a big, broad-shouldered shadow looming over her, standing between her and discovery. Maybe this could work.
“You don’t worry about me.” He stroked his fingers deeper, finding a spot that had her breath whimpering out of her and her heels drilling into his back. So good. “This is for you.”
Okay. She could work with that.
His head descended again and she held her breath. Listening. Anticipating. He pressed against her again and the sensation was just as good as before. His mouth tickled and set her on fire, sensation shooting through her. It was almost more personal now that it wasn’t just the two of them, not just their game. Someone could come in, could catch them, and then...then she had no idea. Faster, he’d ordered.
She arched her back, digging her heels in as she pushed up, hips rising to meet his mouth. His tongue moved faster, harder, stroking and circling her clit in a maddening pattern. She jammed a hand into her mouth because if she screamed, if other people knew...she had no idea, but then all thought flew out of her head as the tremors built and built, her body flying apart because suddenly she was right there. Coming for him as he pressed the heel of his hand hard against her, riding the wave of pleasure with him.
“Gorgeous,” he whispered hoarsely, lifting himself away from her. “If only I had more time, sweetheart.”
Yes. If only. If only they had more time. If only she could hold on to this moment forever. She tugged free, determined not to lose a second. Grinning because, damn, he made her feel good, she brushed a kiss over his mouth and pulled her swimsuit bottom back on. He had to get going, but the heat in his eyes warmed her. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go. Not yet.
She pulled back, easing up on her grip on his T-shirt. “Maybe we’ll see each other soon?”
He cupped her face, gave her another quick, hot kiss. The sensation of his fingertips brushing her skin was electric. He’d touched her, made her come with those same fingers, but her body tightened and quickened, already eager for more of this man.
“I’d like that,” he said huskily. “I’d really like that.”
Me, too, she thought, sliding off the table and forcing herself to walk away. I’d like that, too.
7
Okay, ladies. Advice time! Mr. Fantasy Fodder isn’t one for chitchat (think Tall, Dark, and Almost Always Silent), but when he does smile and say something, I can’t help but notice. He actually has a wicked sense of humor and gets this little twinkle in his eye when something amuses him. Yay for melting girl parts! Our chemistry is off the charts. Is this what you all felt when you met The One? Was your bedroom rocking from the get-go? Because FF seemed a little reluctant to get entirely naked with yours truly. Not that I wouldn’t have let him keep some clothes on (adventuresome is good!), but the possibility that he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to go to bed with me is a downer. Especially since the man really, really knows what to do with frosting. My lips are sealed, but the memories... I’ll just say that FF definitely lived up to his nickname and I’d like to get to know him biblically. Send advice stat!
—MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle
MASON POUNDED ALONG the jungle trail, working through mile five of his morning PT. The sound of his boots hitting ground was a familiar rhythm, but everything else about the morning was off. He’d organized cakes, for crying out loud. Really girlie, over-the-top, flower-and-frosting numbers with little plastic bride and groom dolls perched on top. He’d be making cupcakes and whipping out the Easy-Bake Oven next.
Levi had laughed his ass off. Of course, the man had also been quick to steal leftovers, too, so Mason’s cakes clearly hadn’t been the worst idea ever. Somehow, somewhere, he’d metamorphosed into Military Martha Stewart, worried about how his batter had come out and if Maddie would approve.
Bottom line? He had it bad.
Granted, getting close to her was a mission requirement, but she didn’t know that. All this getting-to-know-you crap had been genuine on her part. She’d decided that he might qualify as dating material and now she was performing her due diligence on his personality and bona fides with the same enthusiasm she approached everything else.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Maddie didn’t hide what she was feeling. She just enjoyed and went for it. The girl didn’t hold back sexually, either, which meant it didn’t take too much imagination at all for him to mentally transfer Maddie’s enthusiasm to the bedroom. She’d rock his world if he was lucky enough to get the chance. Putting her back together after he’d gotten her off yesterday had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d wanted to scoop her up, carry her off to somewhere with a bed and crawl in with her for hours. Days. As long as she’d have him.
God help him if she ever figured out why he was really on Fantasy Island, because she’d kill him. He knew without asking that Maddie had a zero-tolerance policy on lying, and sins of omission would count every bit as much as the real whoppers. So he’d make sure she didn’t find out. He was a trained professional. He’d successfully conducted hundreds of covert missions.
And...no amount of training or hands-on experience in the field could fix the basic problem. He wasn’t acting when he was around Maddie. She knew that he was interested and, hooyah, his interest was genuine. His perpetual erection when he was around her had to be one of his worst-kept secrets ever. The kissing and the touching didn’t help in the keeping-things-under-control department, either. But he felt as if he was negotiating under false pretenses. In another time, another place, he’d have happily gone after her, but here on Fantasy Island, sticking closer than close to her was essential for her safety. The recon team still hadn’t confirmed Santiago’s presence in the jungle compound, which meant the bastard could potentially be anywhere. Money also bought loyalty and guns. A Marcos bodyguard or a hired mercenary could easily slip onto the island, so that meant Mason stayed nearby.
Practically glued skin to skin with the sexy, gorgeous, uninhibited Maddie.
He picked up speed, but outrunning Maddie’s charms wasn’t a matter of pacing. It was already hot and humid, his T-shirt sticking to him as he began the upward climb. He’d turn around at the lookout, head back to the resort and relieve Levi. Levi had Maddie watch until Mason tagged back in, so she was in good hands.
Exhaustion tugged at him. He’d survived on less sleep, but banking some hours was wise. Pulling an all-nighter would be easier if he wasn’t already sleep deprived. Suck it up, sailor. He checked the dive watch strapped to his wrist, already knowing that his pace was too slow. He pushed harder, his head clearing as his blood got pumping. Failure simply wasn’t an option.
When he reached the top of the hill, he did a quick check, but Maddie either hadn’t sneaked any more cameras up here or she’d gotten a whole lot more strategic at placing them. It was just him, some palm trees and an enormous round lounger thing with cushions and a little canopy for shade. He stopped and stretched, working out the tension in his back. Blue lagoon spread out before him, stretching to the reef and beyond. Maddie had rocked a blue, fringed bikini the other day that was just that kind of peacock color.
He’d walked by the pool yesterday. Taken in the cabana scene. Looked again because, damn, the itty-bitty bikini had almost not covered Maddie’s stunning curves and he’d wanted to run his fingers over all that lush, tempting skin. Then she’d bent over, rummaging in an enormous beach bag for something, and his brain had completely short-circuited. The Brazilian swimsuit bottom absolutely, positively failed to cover her ass. He’d fought the urge to cup those naughty curves in his palms. The bottom of her suit had a wicked seam that ran up her butt, kind of like an X-marks-the-spot.
He’d stood there like a different kind of ass. For several very long, heated moments. Then she’d busted him with a wicked grin.
“Tell me if you spot a tan line.”
Yeah. He’d about swallowed his tongue. True that there were no white marks anywhere he could see, but the mental image had made him want to strip off the nylon scraps and explore for himself. Do a double-check. Maybe rub some sunscreen on, because it would be a crime to burn her pretty skin.
“Nothing to say?” She’d flopped onto a lounger, lying down on her belly and then—his all-time favorite memory of the day—had reached up to tug the strings undone. The skimpy fabric had fallen away, exposing the generous curve of her breasts.
He’d growled out a “Carry on” and beaten a hasty retreat, the big, bad SEAL run off by a string bikini.
Another wave of exhaustion battered at him. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours these past few days and he’d be no good to her if he passed out standing up. The empty lounger seemed like his best bet. Palming his secure phone, he texted Levi.
Is HRH covered?
