Текст книги "The Billionaire and the Virgin"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

More than common interests, though, Marjorie found Rob fascinating. She loved to hear him talk and tell stories of growing up, of famous people he’d met, of the run-in he’d had when he was in the Army with a drill sergeant that had screamed at all the men so much that they’d played pranks on him all through basic training. And she found herself opening up about her own past, her friends, her dreams. She even told him about the not-to-be-believed job that Brontë had offered her, and they’d celebrated with a shared root beer float. She’d reached for the straw and gotten whipped cream on her fingertips, and Rob had grabbed her hand and licked it clean, which made her feel giddy and needy all at once.

And when the date was nearing its end and they could eat no more ice cream, Marjorie grabbed Rob’s hand. “Why don’t we go down to the beach and enjoy the nighttime surf?”

Rob—brash, confident Rob—visibly shuddered. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d be happy never seeing another beach again.”

“What? Why?”

“You know why,” he said with a grin. “Some classy girl had to come and save me before I got pulled out to sea. I’d prefer not to have that happen again.”

“I bet it wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She shook her head. “Then why remain at a resort on an island?”

“I found something here that made me want to stick around,” Rob told her. And his hand moved over her own, and he rubbed his thumb on the back of her knuckles.

And Marjorie found herself blushing all over again.

They went back to the resort, fingers locked together, and Rob walked Marjorie back to her room since it was late. They stood at her doorway, talking in soft voices, and when Marjorie reluctantly told Rob she had early plans in the morning, they got to the goodnight kiss. Rob’s hands went behind her neck and he pulled her against him, and they kissed for what seemed like forever, and when they parted, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was flushed and out of breath.

“’Night, sweetheart,” he told her in a husky voice.

“Not your sweetheart,” she said automatically.

“Not yet,” he agreed. They kissed one more time, and then he left her for the evening, and she went back to her room, flopped down on the bed, and touched her fingertips to her mouth.

They’d only kissed. Rob had been a perfect gentleman.

Why was that so thrilling and so disappointing all at once? Why did she want so much more? Wasn’t she waiting for love? Not lust? She’d waited this long, what was a few dates more, right?

But . . . she kind of wanted to see if Rob was interested in experiencing other bases with her. Hugging her pillow against her front, Marjorie thought about their next date.

She wanted more than just a kiss. Now . . . how to get it?

Chapter Fifteen

As he left Marjorie at her doorstep, Rob adjusted his aching cock and headed into the elevator, toward his new room under the name Ron Glasscock. His time with Marjorie had been a pleasant idyll tinged with aching every time she laughed or licked her lips, or brushed up against him, because he wanted her with an intensity that was driving him mad.

But he had to play it carefully, because she was a virgin. He didn’t want to scare her away. He’d go slow, even if it killed him.

By the time he got back to his room, his cock was aching even more. Time for his nightly jerk-off session to Marjorie. But first, a call.

One of his assistants picked up. Smith. “Yes, sir?”

“The Tits crew. They’re filming here, right?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“One of them approached Marjorie. My Marjorie.”

“I take it she wasn’t flattered, sir?”

“No. Absolutely fucking not. She was devastated. You tell those jackasses that if they come near her again, I will fucking ram their cameras down their goddamn throats, understand?”

“Understood, sir,” Smith’s voice was cool. “Whom shall I describe for them to avoid?”

“She’s fucking six feet tall, Smith. Tell them to avoid any girls that are taller than them. Christ!” He terminated the call, and when that didn’t feel like it had enough oomph, he went to the room phone and slammed it in the cradle, over and over again.

His own fucking crew. His own goddamn crew made the woman he liked feel like she was attacked. Jesus fucking Christ.

How was he ever going to tell her what he did for a living?

Rob groaned and rubbed his face, his erection gone.

***

“How do I get a guy to notice me?” Marjorie asked at the bridesmaids’ breakfast four days later, her fork toying with her scrambled eggs. The long table in the private dining hall was filled with Brontë’s bridesmaids . . . well, minus Angie, who’d found a new guy while hanging out at the resort and was spending all her time with him instead of the bridal party. In her seat sat Violet DeWitt, who was dating one of the groomsmen and was becoming a close friend of Brontë’s.

All the women turned and stared at Marjorie as she spoke, and the table got quiet. Inwardly, she quailed, but she forced herself to repeat the question. “I want a guy to really, really notice me. How do I swing that?”

“Boobs,” Gretchen said between mouthfuls of fruit. “Guys love boobs.”

Audrey rolled her eyes and pulled off a corner of her dry toast. “You’ll have to forgive my sister, Marj. She doesn’t believe in things like ‘politeness’ or ‘filters.’”

“Sure I do,” Gretchen said. “But I believe in honesty more.” She pointed her fork at Marjorie. “Boobs. Trust me.”

“Or legs,” Violet called across the table. “Some men like legs, and I bet yours does, Marjorie.”

“You’re not helping,” Audrey said, but a smile dimpled her round face.

“A good blow job,” Maylee chimed in.

They all turned and stared at the angelic-looking blonde.

“What?” she asked, an impish smile on her face. “Don’t tell me y’all don’t do that kind of thing in the north?”

“I’m suddenly looking at stuffy Griffin in a whole new light,” Gretchen said.

“Well, don’t, because he’s mine,” Maylee said with a grin. “And you can’t have him.”

“I don’t want him. I have Hunter, thank you very much, and I’m not trading for anyone.” A dreamy look crossed Gretchen’s face. Then she looked over at Marjorie. “Your guy, is he a virgin? Because let me tell you from experience, it is hell trying to nail that down.”

“He’s not,” Marjorie said, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I just want him to, you know, take things up a notch. Not necessarily get into bed together.” Since the ice cream date four days ago, they’d spent just about every waking moment together. They’d played board games, gone to bingo, had dinner together, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. It was nice. Really nice.

He never went further than kissing her goodnight.

She was starting to get a little tired of nice. And the doubts were starting to creep in. Was Rob just not that interested in her? The wedding was in three days, and things were scaling up. Her time was going to be taken up by the wedding more and more, and then she would be flying home two days afterward. She wasn’t going to have much more time to spend with Rob.

And she wanted to. She really did. But she just didn’t know how he felt about her. He held her hand, and he kissed her . . . and that was it.

Didn’t he want more? She did.

“I don’t understand why we don’t want to take things up a notch,” Gretchen said. “What’s wrong with taking things to the next level? I love sex.”

“Ignore my sister,” Audrey said in a placating voice. “You don’t have to sleep with a guy to have a relationship move forward.”

“Like you would know, Miss Oh-oops-I’m-full-of-your-baby-batter-and-we-forgot-a-condom,” Gretchen retorted.

Audrey blushed, her face turning red from her ears to her hairline. “One time. One time!”

“This is crazy,” Violet said, “But have you tried actually telling this man that you like him and want to take things a step further? Because I find that grabbing a guy by the collar and telling him how you feel works wonders.”

“‘You will never do anything in this world without courage,’” Brontë chimed in. “Aristotle.”

“I knew she had one of those in her,” Gretchen said.

“She always does,” Audrey said fondly.

This was as bad as asking Edna and Agnes for advice. “Thanks, ladies,” Marjorie said politely. “You’ve given me a lot to think on.”

Maylee beamed at her from the far end of the table. “When in doubt, blow jobs.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles arose from the table, and Marjorie felt like the only one not in on the joke. She wasn’t going to just grab Rob and give him a blow job . . .

Was she? That seemed awfully like fourth base. Maybe three point five. She just wanted to see what two was like.

Maybe three.

Okay, she probably wanted to see three first.

Chapter Sixteen

Things were going pretty fucking good with Marjorie, Rob thought as he gazed at her from across the dinner table. She was animated as she told him another tale about another dress fitting and how she’d gotten her dress and it was almost half a foot too short. The bride had panicked and burst into tears, another bridesmaid had yelled at the seamstress, and someone else had gained weight and burst through her dress. Marjorie’s expression was a mixture of amusement and sympathy for the stressed bride, but he had to admit that he wasn’t listening to the story half as much as he was watching her movements. The way that she brushed her hair off her shoulders when she got animated. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her friends. The graceful curve of her neck. Hell, he was even fascinated with the way her throat moved when she swallowed her drink.

He’d never been this bad over a woman before. Never.

What was fucking ironic was that he was okay with her being a virgin. He knew it going in, and he’d figured that he’d wine and dine her, seduce her into giving up her V-card, and then forget all about her. But the more time he spent with Marjorie . . . the more it didn’t matter. Having her comfortable with him, seeing her laugh and her animated smiles was worth so much more than pushing her to have sex just so he could get his rocks off.

Not that his rocks didn’t want to get off. They did. It was just that . . . Marjorie was more important. He could wait a month or two, or three. However long it took for her to be ready.

Marjorie was his. He knew her time here at the resort was growing limited, and he was working on a plan to see her again after the resort.

He just had to figure out a way to bring up who he was and what he did for a living.

It still amazed Rob that they’d known each other for a week and she hadn’t once googled him to find information out about him. She . . . trusted him. And that was both humbling and terrifying.

And it made him even more determined not to fuck things up by being his usual self.

“Rob? Are you listening?” Her brilliant smile faltered slightly.

“I am,” he lied, and then took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “I was just a bit distracted watching you.”

Her cheeks pinked in that adorable way. “Watching me?”

“It’s my favorite pastime. I fucking love watching you.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but she smiled.

“So . . . when is the wedding?” he asked. “Has to be soon, right?” After all, his crew had already filmed two episodes’ worth of footage for Tits or GTFO in this week, and it hadn’t flushed Logan Hawkings out of hiding just yet. Rob was running out of opportunities.

Strange how thinking of his original motive for coming to Seaturtle Cay made him feel guilty. Marjorie would hate him if she knew the truth. He shouldn’t have hidden who he was, but he felt cornered; he didn’t have a choice. If she knew the truth, she’d loathe him. So he kept his mouth shut and pretended to simply be a run-of-the-mill business guy on a business trip.

And Marjorie was so trusting that she believed every word of it.

“The wedding?” Her expression dimmed a little. “It’s in three days.”

He rubbed his thumb over her hand, enjoying the simple act of touching her. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

“It’s not that. I’m ready to go to New York and start my new life. And I’m excited for Brontë and Logan.” Her smile returned, but it didn’t have the spark he was used to. “I just, well. I’m not ready for this week to be over yet.”

“I know the feeling.” Christ. Her upcoming job in New York was going to be another kink in his plans. Bad enough that he lived in California and only flew in to New York for business. How could he date Marjorie when she spent every minute with Brontë, as her assistant? She was sure to get her ears filled with tales of how awful he was.

Briefly, he contemplated somehow sabotaging the job offer that Brontë had extended . . . but then discarded the thought. Even he wasn’t that big of a dick. It’d be selfish to ruin Marjorie’s life just because he wanted her all to himself for a bit longer.

A mischievous look crossed her face and she got up from her chair. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she told him, and tugged at his hand.

He tossed money down on the table to cover the bill and allowed her to lead him out of the dark, atmospheric restaurant, intrigued by this turn of events.

But a few minutes later, he protested when Marjorie took off her high heels and began to pad through the sand toward the beach. “Oh, come on. You know I fucking hate the water.”

She only looked over her shoulder at him, her expression playful, and kept strolling toward the beach, her hips swaying with her movements.

And he found himself following her after all. “Are we going to walk on the beach? Because I’m fine with that as long as we don’t go any deeper.”

Marjorie simply laughed, and when she got to the edge of the water, she stripped off her dress. He experienced a moment of shock, then realized she was wearing a bikini.

And . . . damn. When had his modest Marjorie bought a bikini? He stared at the tiny string tied at the center of her back, at the small stripey panties that barely covered her luscious ass.

“Do you want to swim with me?” she asked, easing into the water. Her long legs were gorgeous in the moonlight.

He was glad the beach was empty, because his pants were growing uncomfortably tight across the groin. “If I say no, are you going to get dressed?”

She looked back at him, smiling, and ran her fingers over the surface of the water. “You want to come in here with me. You know you do.”

“This part of me does,” he agreed, pointing at his dick. “This part of me isn’t so sure.” He pointed at his brain.

Her laughter floated up between the crash of the waves. “It’s still warm. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“The last time I went out higher than my ankles, I nearly became worm food,” Rob called out, but he found himself taking off his shoes and socks anyway. Like a dumbass.

“I’ll hold on to you,” she offered enticingly, and then walked further out into the water, until it was up to her breasts. And then she beckoned him. “Come join me.”

Rob sighed. His hands went to his hips and he studied the beach. It was near midnight, the tide high. The moon was shining down on the dark waters of the ocean, and the waves rolled in rhythmically. The beach, normally crowded in the daytime, was completely empty this late at night. It would just be him and Marjorie.

He stalled a moment more. “I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”

“Are you boxers or briefs?” She called out to him, splashing water in his direction.

“Will it bother you if I say neither? I go commando. Always have.”

Her shocked giggle floated through the night air, making his dick even harder. “Really?”

“Really. You still want to swim?”

“I do,” she called out. “I promise not to look.” And she turned her back to him.

Well, dammit, he kind of wanted her to look. Virgin, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he glanced around and then shucked his pants into the sand. This was going to be a huge fucking mistake, he just knew it. But he was drawn toward the frolicking, bikini-clad Marjorie like a moth to flame.

The water was fucking cold and he yelped as it hit his bare nuts. “Jesus, you’re a fucking liar,” he called out. “This is like ice!”

She only giggled, her hands moving through the water as she continued to stare out into the ocean, obediently not looking as he eased into the water. He wished she’d look, though. He wanted her to gaze at him with wondering eyes, to check out his package like she had that morning in the hotel room.

Then again, considering that he was probably shriveling thanks to the cold, it was likely for the best that she didn’t check out his stuff. Yet.

“You’re a horrible, horrible little tease,” he growled under his breath, wading out to her. The water grew deeper, now at his waist, and when the tide rolled back, it sucked and pulled at his legs, and panic stirred in him again. “Come back,” he told her. “Don’t go out so fucking far.”

“This isn’t far,” she said lightly, dancing a few feet away. “I’m barely at chest height.”

“Yes, but I’m shorter than you,” he said. “I might drown if I go out that far.”

She turned around and splashed him, scowling.

He put up his hands to block the icy water, chuckling. “That got your attention.”

“Cruel man,” she said in a tone of voice that implied he was anything but. Hell, just that teasing note in her voice made his dick get all hard again, icy water or not.

“You’re the cruel one—trying to drown me in the water here.” He skated a hand over the surface. “Do sharks swim at night? Do we need to worry about that shit? What about riptides?”

“It’s fine,” she soothed. “Don’t worry. I’m right here with you.”

“I fucking hate the water,” he grumbled. “Fucking hate it. Can’t believe you’re making me come out here.”

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” She moved toward him a few feet, close enough that he could see the amusement shining in her eyes, and the water lapping just below her breasts in that tiny string bikini. His gaze kept traveling downward, and he kept forcing it up again to be polite.

At this rate, he was going to need a medal for sainthood.

Something brushed against his foot, and he yelped and moved toward Marjorie in the water. “What the fuck was that?”

She giggled again. “That was my foot.”

“Christ, don’t do that again.” His heart was hammering in his chest.

“You really are scared, aren’t you?”

“I think I have PTSD from almost drowning last week. It doesn’t bother me too much until I’m out farther than ankle deep. Fuck, I don’t even like baths anymore. Just showers.”

“Poor baby,” she soothed in that teasing voice, and her arms moved to his neck and wrapped around him. “I’m right here. You can lean on me if you need to.”

“That so?” His hands went to her waist, caressing her skin just above the bikini bottom. He didn’t know what had brought out this playful side of Marjorie, but he was liking it. He drew her closer, and his mouth moved toward hers. “If you feel something jab you in the stomach, that’s not the Loch Ness Monster. Just my dick.”

She snorted with laughter a moment before her mouth went to his. Then, they were kissing.

Rob had learned something interesting about Marjorie this week—every kiss with her seemed to get better. Maybe she hadn’t had a lot of practice before, but now when their mouths met, she was as eager for him as he was for her. Her tongue swept into his mouth without him having to prompt her, and her lips were open and eager as they kissed and molded and meshed with one another. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue teasing, and he wanted to drown himself in the taste of her. Kissing Marjorie was an exquisite torture. Exquisite because he enjoyed kissing her more than he thought possible . . . and torture because he knew it would not go any further than that. His cock wasn’t listening, though. It was an optimist, and his dick was hard with anticipation, practically pressing against her soft belly under the water. He edged his hips back slightly so he wouldn’t alarm her by prodding her with it.

Tonight, as they kissed, her hands moved from his neck and smoothed down his shoulders, her long fingers caressing his skin. And he shuddered under that light, exploratory touch. “God damn, it feels good when you touch me, Marjorie,” he murmured against her lips.

“I like touching you,” she told him shyly, between little presses of her mouth to his. Her hands slid to his biceps and she squeezed them, testing the muscle there.

He groaned, his brain likening that exploratory little squeeze to her hands doing the same on his cock. Now he was aching with need, his pulse throbbing from her little touches.

“Rob,” she said, voice soft as she pressed her mouth against his upper lip, then the corners of his mouth.

“Hmm?” It was taking all his concentration not to grab her and force her hips against his cock, to have her soft, slippery flesh cradling him. Definitely bound for sainthood.

“How come we never do anything more than kiss?”

Ah, Jesus. “Because you’re a virgin, sweetheart. The last thing I want to do is freak you out or make you feel pressured.”

Her hands skimmed down his sides, up and down, tormenting him with their soft little motions. “What if . . . what if I took the lead on things?”

He stilled, composing himself. “What . . . did you have in mind?”

“I want to touch you,” she murmured against his mouth. “And I want you to touch me. Can we try second base?”

“Sweetheart, we can do anything you want. But you gotta remind me what second base is.” It’d been far too long since he’d dated someone that referred to bases. “And if second base is anal, the answer is unequivocally ‘yes.’”

She gasped. “No, not anal!”

“Darn. What is it then?” His hands went to her hair, tugging it free of her ponytail and letting it sweep over her damp shoulders. So soft and lovely, his Marjorie.

“It’s . . . you know. Petting. Above the belt.”

He could practically see the flush on her cheeks. “That so? But you’re already petting me.” Her hands were still gliding over his sides, even though his remained locked in place.

“Rob,” she said in a pleading voice. Her face burrowed against his neck. “You know what I’m asking.”

“You’re asking me to touch you?” Goddamn, it must be Christmas.

She nodded, her nose brushing against his skin, her head still pressed against his shoulder. If she moved one more inch, his dick was going to stab her in the belly.

“I’ll touch you,” he said, gliding his hands up her back. “But you have to tell me if you get freaked out or uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want.”

“All right.” Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

“You said you’ve been to second base before?”

“Once,” she admitted. Her arms went around him and he felt her hands against his back, a mimic of his own touch. “I think I mentioned the party I went to? I was drunk and so was he. He saw how tall I was the next day and complained to all his friends that he had beer goggles on that night.”

“That fucking little prick.” His hands clenched into fists. “There’s nothing wrong with your height, Marjorie. It just gives you an extra six inches of long legs, and I fucking love your legs.”

“You might be the only one,” she said, and snuggled up against him before he could warn her. Then, his cock was pressed against her warm body, and she gasped. But she didn’t move away. “Is . . . that . . .”

“Yep.” He stroked his fingers down the curve of her spine. “I was trying to keep it off of you, but it looks like that failed. Want me to go put my jeans on?”

“I . . . no . . .” she breathed, and pressed her body a little closer to his. “I like it.”

Dear sweet fucking god. She was pressing her hips up against him. It was like she was reading his filthy mind. “Christ. You’re perfection, you know that?”

“I like it when you say things like that,” she told him in a soft voice, and then pressed her lips against his neck.

He could feel his dick jerk in response, and he had to fight to keep his breathing even. If Marjorie was as unexperienced as she claimed, he was going to have to move slow as fuck to not freak her out. “I’m going to move my hands over your back,” he told her in a low voice. “Just exploring.”

In response, her mouth pressed against his neck again, and he felt her tongue flick against his skin. Jesus, his virgin wasn’t very good with the meaning of slow, was she? His hands moved up and down her back, carefully avoiding the string-tie of her bikini top. Her skin felt deliciously warm in the cool water, and when she pressed her mouth to his neck again and began to kiss, he forgot to be slow and courteous, and grasped her ass in his hands, pressing her hips forward so she pushed even harder against his cock.

Her gasp rang in his ear, followed by a softly shuddering breath.

“Too much?” he asked in a low voice. If he turned his head, his lips would move against her small ear. So close, and yet he wanted her to be closer. Hell, he wanted her under him, her legs wrapped around him, screaming his name.

“Feels good.”

“Damn, you are absolutely my favorite virgin, sweetheart.” He noticed she didn’t protest when he used the nickname on her. Not anymore. That made him feel . . . fucking fantastic, actually. Almost as good as his cock cradled against her sex. She was tall enough that their bodies met up at all the right places, and where he’d normally stab a girl in the stomach with his cock, it was at just the right spot with Marjorie.

From now on, he was only dating tall women.

Fuck that. From now on, he only wanted Marjorie.

Her own hands fluttered down his back, and then she grabbed his ass. Just as quickly, her hands pulled away again, and she gave another little shocked gasp. “I forgot you weren’t wearing underwear.”

“Did all that skin startle you?” He chuckled. “I liked your hands. Feel free to grope me wherever and whenever.” Maybe she’d get bold enough to decide to experience his front, too. A guy’s dick could hope.

Marjorie’s hands hesitated, and then she put them back on his ass. Her mouth went back to his for another hot kiss, and they remained wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, the kiss going on endlessly as they tasted each other, tongues intertwining, hands gripping each other’s asses.

His hands began to slowly knead her curvy buttocks, flexing and moving in what he hoped wasn’t an alarming sort of massage. She took the cue, her hands mimicking his motions on her skin, and she clenched at his ass and rubbed, and Christ Almighty, it felt so good that he nearly blew his load right there in the water. Needing a moment, he pulled away from her hungry mouth, ignoring her small whimper of protest.

“How are you feeling, Marjorie?” His voice was husky with desire. One hand reached up to cup her cheek, and he brushed a thumb over one of her tiny earlobes. Were her ears sensitive? He intended to find out.

“Good,” she said breathlessly. “Can we . . . can we keep going?”

He’d go until she told him to stop. “Absolutely.”

“Are you still wigged out about the water? Do we need to go in?”

“I can honestly say I’ve forgotten all about the water.”

Her smile broadened, her mouth swollen from his kisses. “That was the plan.”

“Minx,” he told her, pinching her ass. She yelped and gave a little jump of surprise, her body rubbing up and down against his. And fuck, her hard little nipples had scraped over his chest in a way that both of them had noticed.

Marjorie sucked in another breath, and then she pressed her breasts against him again. One of her hands left his skin, and she fidgeted. A moment later, he felt the strings of her bikini top hit his hands, and realized she was untying it.

He groaned and pulled her in for another kiss just as the fabric fell away, and this time, her bare breasts pushed against his chest. And fuck, they were nice breasts. Real breasts. Small and firm, like apples, with tiny little tips. Not big and like rocks, with distorted nipples from forcing so much silicone under the skin. “Fuck me, Marjorie, I love your breasts.”

“Y-you do?” Her breathing grew faster, and he realized she was nervous. Hell, she was practically trembling against him. “I-I’m not exactly—”

“Complete and utter perfection?” he interrupted. “To me, you are.”

Her dark eyes blinked up at him in the moonlight, as if analyzing that comment. Then, she took his hand in hers and slowly moved it to one of her breasts.

He sucked in a breath at the same time she did. It had been a long time since he’d felt a sense of wonder and reverence at touching a pair of tits, but touching Marjorie? Touching Marjorie was totally different from anything he’d felt before. Her breast was small in his hand, her flesh warm despite the goose bumps that pebbled her skin. She was either cold, or terrified—or both. His sweet Marjorie. He ran his fingers over her breast, tracing the curves of it with his fingers, his gaze on her face so he could watch each expression as it moved over her. Her eyes grew hazy as he touched her, her expression softening, and when his fingers slid along the underside of her breast, she gave an all-over body shiver.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted, and her voice was so damn shy. How had she remained a virgin for so long? It was unfathomable. She was delicious—open and eager and gorgeous and all fucking his. A possessive surge shot through him, and he resisted the urge to crush her entire body against his again. She liked him touching her breasts—he’d keep doing it. He couldn’t wait to see how she reacted when he put his mouth on one of those tiny, hard nipples.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.” Her voice was breathless. “I really want you to keep going.”

“Man, I love it when you fucking say that.” His thumb brushed over the tip of one nipple.

Her entire body quivered in response.

That was fucking glorious to see. “Do you like it when I touch your nipples, Marjorie?” His thumb stroked over the taut little bud again, flicking it with his thumbnail. He was pleased when it seemed to harden and pucker even more under his touch.

She nodded, and then her mouth formed a soft little O of wonder when his other hand slid up to cup her other breast. He gripped both of them, enjoying the feel of her soft skin and the reactions racing through her. The expression on her face was full of emotion—shyness and wonder and arousal all at once.