It’s quite obvious he’s fighting the urge to tackle me to the rug. He’s really concentrating, and I’m really loving it. The view is improving with each hand I win, too. Just one more and he’s mine, power and all.
He deals again, and I sweep my cards up, quickly calculating a total of fourteen. “Twist, please.” I gesture for him to pass a card. A two. Total: sixteen. Crap, I really don’t know what to do. “Stick. No, twist!” He goes to pass me another card on a smile. “No! No, I’ll stick.” I wave away the card, and his smile turns into a grin.
“Indecisive?” he asks, taking his leaning body back upright, putting way too much emphasis on that chest.
I blink back my peeping eyes, determined not to lose my concentration. I’m not being distracted, but it’s hellish resisting the urge to steal a look. Or even just gawp at it. “No, I’m sticking,” I affirm snootily.
“Okay.” He’s desperately fighting a smile as he turns his cards over. “Hmmm, sixteen,” he muses. “What to do?”
I shrug.
“I’ll twist,” he says, turning a card over.
I don’t know how, but I manage to keep a straight face when he reveals a six. “Oh dear,” I whisper, taking my eyes from his cards, up his torso, his neck, and then onto his lovely face. “You risked it.” I chuck my cards at him—the ones that collectively total sixteen. “I didn’t. Lose the shorts.”
He examines my cards on a faint curve of his lips, shaking his head. “You beat me, baby.”
“I have the power.” I start crawling my way over to him, not wanting to delay getting my hands on him. That was the longest card game ever. “How do you feel about that?” I unzip the fly of his shorts.
He doesn’t try to stop me. He pushes his back into the couch to raise his butt so I can negotiate them down his thighs, and with the revealing of his arousal, I struggle to contain myself.
“I’ll ask you the same question,” he rumbles, low, throatily, and with one hundred percent sex in his tone.
“I feel powerful.” I throw his shorts over his head and take the pack of cards from his hand, placing them neatly to one side.
He reaches forward and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, dragging it, his lips parting, his eyes flicking to mine. “What has my little temptress got planned?”
I should push his hand away, but I don’t. “She’s going to surrender the power,” I whisper, placing my hands on his thighs and reaching up until we’re touching noses. “What does my god say to that?”
He smiles that glorious smile. “Your god says his temptress has learned well.” His big hands curl around my wrists and pull my hands up to rest on his shoulders. “Your god says his temptress won’t regret surrendering to him.” His lips press to mine, and his tongue takes a slow sweep through my mouth. “But this god and his temptress both know how our normal relationship works.” He cups me over my lace knickers and rests his forehead on mine. “And it works perfectly.”
I bear down on his palm to get some friction. “You’re perfect.” My lips find his and my hands automatically seek out his hair. I’m yanking at it again.
“I know,” he mumbles around my demanding lips, sliding his hands around my waist and onto my bum. “I thought you surrendered the power.”
I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it, and I’m mentally praying that he doesn’t stamp his authority because I’m desperate, craving, needing. “Please don’t stop me.”
He groans, pulling me into him and showing no sign of halting this. He’s letting me have my way with him. “You know I can’t say no to you.” He stands with me wrapped around him, and I don’t even know it’s happened. I’m too consumed, but when the cool night air attacks my bare back, I’m pulling myself into his body, holding tighter and kissing harder. My brain isn’t given any space to think about where we’re going. I don’t care.
The light rushing sound of the night waves gently lapping at the shoreline is the first thing I hear. Then I smell the salty essence of the Mediterranean. There’s a chill in the air, but the warmth of his body fit snugly to mine eliminates any discomfort. I’m burning up. The wooden sleepers are taken with care as he carries me down to the sea’s edge, but he doesn’t take me into the water. He kneels and places me down on the soft, damp sand, ensuring our lips remain locked the entire time. My hands are wandering all over his muscular frame, my legs are writhing beneath him, and I’m fast losing my breath, my labored breathing not helped when a gentle wave gushes up and breaks around my sprawled body, surrounding me in a shallow puddle of cool, salty seawater. My shocked, quiet yelp isn’t containable. My fingernails dig into his biceps and my back arches to try and escape the freshness, my lace-covered breasts pushing into his bare chest.