Page 125 of The Price of Scandal

He stroked his tongue over my nipple and then leaned across me, latching on to the other one. It felt like fire spiraling through my body. My core pulsed emptily around nothing, and I squeezed my knees together, trying to find some relief from the building pressure.

“You taste so good,” he said, pausing mid-suck.

The man was a wizard. Five seconds of playing with my breasts, and I was ready to come.

The crown of his cock peeked out of the waistband of his trunks. I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrist.

“I’ve thought about this one for a while,” he said, nuzzling at my breast.

He gave my wrist a squeeze and released it. Brushing his stubble across my nipple, he tugged the strings on my bikini bottom loose.

I opened my knees to the sides.

“And how does this one go?” I teased, opening my knees wide to the sides.

Too lightly for the friction I needed, he skimmed his hand under the fabric and over my mound. Back and forth, making me shiver.

“Well, since you asked,” he said, rising on his knees and settling between my legs. He untied the strings on the other side, folding my bikini down, baring me to the fading daylight and his gaze. “I’ll suck on these rosy nipples,” he said, pinching one between his fingers.

“And?” I prodded.

He leaned over me, his cock not close enough for me to brush against.

“And you’ll touch yourself.”

“And?” I squeaked.

“And I’ll touch myself.”

I was dizzy with the idea.

“And we’ll come together?” I told him.

He nodded, head already lowering to my breast. “We’ll come together,” he promised.

It was my last coherent thought as those brutal lips closed over the peak of my breast. My nipples worshipped him, vying for attention.

The rays from the sun warmed my bare skin, and it felt natural for me to slide one hand between my legs to tease between the folds that were already so desperately wet.

Derek growled his approval against my breast.

I watched in fascination as he took his cock out of his swim trunks. So powerfully masculine. Veined and rigid. The head was nearly purple. He stroked down to the root and held there, squeezing with a thin edge of violence.

Oh, yes.

“I fantasized about finding you out here like this. Napping in the sun,” he said, moving back to the other nipple. He stroked the flat of his tongue over it and watched it harden and strain toward him.

Dazzled and needy, I slipped two fingers inside myself.

“Such a good girl, Emily,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.

He began to move the hand that clutched his cock. When his fist rimmed the crown, a trickle of moisture appeared, forced out by the power of his grip. It dripped down on my stomach.

We both groaned.

“With you laying there like a goddess, it’s not going to take me long to come,” he warned me. His big hand working his cock. Up and down.

I was nearly there myself. With the aggressive way he loomed over me. His mouth teasing my breasts until they ached. With my own fingers working their magic on my clit. It was a living, breathing fantasy.