Bring the Heat Page 5

  “Does it make you wet to think about people watching us?” he murmured, drawing his hand up her thigh to where her shorts began.

  Flicking at the button, he exposed the skin there, his fingers diving just below the waistband. “I don’t think they can see our faces,” he assured her.

  And then because he was a depraved asshole, and because he had one chance to show her that she hadn’t been the one with the problem in her relationship, he stepped back and slid off his own shorts and boxer briefs, letting them join the other clothes on the deck.

  He stroked a hand over his erect length as he watched her. “On the other hand, I don’t give a shit if they do.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MOLLY WATCHED AS Oliver stroked a hand over himself, the crown glistening already with evidence of his desire. The memories of their time in bed were certainly dirty, but she’d also been too young to know that what she and Oliver had done back then had been anything but ordinary. All she’d known was that it’d been so damned good. Sex with other people had never compared and now that she was possibly baring her breasts to millionaires on neighboring yachts, she finally understood why.

  “So, do you?” he said, pressing her into him as his hand splayed across her stomach. He was taking her over. Sensible and rational Molly was suddenly nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a wanton sex goddess whose only desire was more Oliver.

  At her nod, he growled and pulled down her zipper. “Show me, Molly.”

  Oh God, she was not going to make it.

  Meeting his eyes, she felt powerful because he made absolutely no effort to hide his desire for her. Idly, he stroked himself just as he cataloged every inch of her exposed body.

  Oliver was a different type of animal than her; he slid in and out of decadence, physical and material. Even the way he moved, he prowled like a leopard, showy and flashy, but no less sly or dangerous for it. His hot, beckoning gaze dared her to be bad, to forget about the circumstances that brought her on this boat and just play with him. It would be harmless if that’s all it was, playing.

  Scooting off the railing, locking her eyes with his, she let her own pants fall to the ground.

  “Goddamn,” he cursed, the words hushed on his lips. “You’re so perfect.”

  Her gaze dropped down to where he was stroking himself. “You, too.”

  That grin—perfect white teeth and wide, full lips with eyes dancing—she’d never forgotten it over the years. He shouldn’t be so nice and so handsome and make her feel so different than she normally did. She felt safe with him, less guarded, even though they really hadn’t been close in over seven years.

  “You are something else, Molly,” Oliver growled, his thumb running over the head of him, slicking the moisture there around the wide head.

  She shrugged, tucking her thumbs into her underwear, glancing at the other boat and feeling unsure if she should continue. “Don’t chicken out now.”

  Looking at his eyes only, she tugged down the kelly green cotton boy shorts that weren’t exactly textbook sexy but felt extremely so when his gaze went hot at the sight of them. His hand moved faster and when she straightened back up he was looking at her expectantly.

  She bit her lip, pretending to consider whether or not she should take this next step, but knowing there was no way she couldn’t. Her veins were vibrating with lust, just watching him; feeling his closeness even from far away as he struggled with their burgeoning attraction pulled her to him. Her fingers slid down into her folds, inhaling sharply as she encountered the sensitive bud, the welcoming wet heat to smooth her way. Her eyes fluttering closed as she began to move her finger over herself, she heard his grunt of approval on the periphery of her senses.

  “Fuck,” he gritted out, and she opened her eyes to see that he’d stopped stroking and was watching her.

  She figured it was her turn to put on a show so she leaned back against the railing, legs splayed, head falling back as she let her own moans of pleasure float away in the breeze.

  Every muscle strung tight, she was on the verge of going over when movement had her cracking her eyes open. Oliver was striding toward her, a determined look on his face.

  “We’re not doing this for the first time in years in front of all these assholes,” he ground out before hoisting her up into his arms and heading off for the interior of the boat. He carefully maneuvered her down the narrow steps to the main deck, where he made a beeline for his master suite.

  She inwardly laughed at her assumption yesterday about all the time she’d be spending alone in her own bed. That had been silly. As if she’d had no intention of sleeping with Oliver when she’d accepted this trip. As if she hadn’t relived their time together over the intervening years a million times. She excelled in lying to herself.

  He finally set her down at the edge of the bed, her bare feet digging into the soft, plush carpet. Her nipples beaded tightly against the cool air-conditioning and she was still wound up from touching herself. And she also wanted to touch him, so she reached out a hand and placed it flat on his chest between the raised square sections of his pectoral muscles and was shocked at the heat of him, reveled in the patch of rough hair against her palm, the racing of his heart that matched hers.

  Licking her lips, she ran her fingers over his nipples, playing there for just a moment before kissing the areas her hand had greeted, licking and caressing and exploring. She wondered how he’d gotten these muscles, if he worked out in a gym every day or if he still lifted anchor chains for exercise like he’d done that summer.

  “You always liked touching me,” he said, eyes dark as he followed the movements of her hands.

  Her fingertips drew across his collarbone down the corded hills of his biceps and beneath to the delicate skin of his triceps. She grinned when he shivered. “I like knowing the parts of something, how they all work together,” she agreed, her thumb pressing into the taut muscle of his forearm before exploring the contours of his palm and fingers. “And you’ve got some pretty impressive parts.”

  Oliver laughed, interrupting her exploration by tugging her in for a quick kiss. “If you pay half as much attention to the best part as you’re doing to all these others, I’ll be a very happy guy.”

  “It’s definitely my favorite part,” she murmured against his lips. “And not just because I know exactly how to make it work.”

  “Christ, I’ve missed you, Molly,” he sighed against her lips before taking them again in a slow, sweet kiss that she felt in the tips of her toes and in the corners of her heart.

  “Me, too,” she whispered back when they came up to breathe.

  He stepped away from her and held his arms out. “Well, then, I think it’s time we get reacquainted. Go ahead and study me, Molly.”

  She loved that he could command without being bossy—it was the easy way he always had about him; nothing was too serious. Kneeling in front of him, she started at his feet, loving the sounds of frustration and desire he made as she ran a finger between his toes. Her face was on a level with his straining cock so that every time she breathed it drifted over the taut skin, and it was totally on purpose as she busied herself with other areas. Her fingers found the fleshy pads of his toes, some calloused, some still soft, followed the length of narrow bones that made up a pair of masculine feet, large and wide and tan, up to his ankles. She pressed in behind his knee just to see what he’d do. He looked down at her with a wry expression, a corner of his mouth quirked. “You sure are taking your time down there.”

  Shrugging, she tilted her head back so she could meet his eyes. “I figured that we have literally nothing but time on this boat—why not be completely thorough?”

  “That’s for damn sure,” he told her, ripping off his watch and throwing it carelessly onto the side table. She’d already scoped it as a Patek Philippe that cost more than her first car, so it meant something that he didn’t care
much about it at this moment.

  “I never took you for symbolic gestures,” she said, dropping a kiss on his kneecap, the hair fuzzy and strangely intimate against her lips.

  “You didn’t?” he asked, both eyebrows raised in surprise. “I called this boat Chance as in second chance, for my life and for possibly us, Molly. I’d say I’m pretty big on them. When I make the effort to make a point, I’m damn well going to make it.”

  She brushed slowly across the back of his thigh and he twitched. Smiling, she kissed the other knee, rubbing a thumb over the place she’d touched with her lips. “I stand corrected,” she admitted, and gladly. Ignoring the second-chance-for-them remark because she knew it was just words. Oliver was so good at talking, at being amiable and telling people what they wanted to hear. It wasn’t meant to be deceitful, but he wasn’t promising her something. He was just talking. He’d given his boat a double meaning and that was the end of it. She wasn’t going to read further into it.

  With a glance at the hard length she was skipping in her journey up his leg, Molly traveled instead to kneel behind him. A curveball he hadn’t anticipated that had him cursing. “Fuck, Molly, I wish you really were standing right now because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “I think you have to take all of it, Oliver,” she commanded playfully as she set her hands to both tight sides of his ass. The carved cutouts in the side where her pinkies rested were hollow and firm just like the rest of him. She caressed downward, hoping for some measure of plump fleshiness, but was to find no such thing. He was hard all over.

  Dropping a kiss in one of those muscled hollows, she murmured, “You could at least acknowledge it when I kiss your ass.”

  She felt more than saw him shake his head. “You’re treading on thin ice, Molly,” he warned.

  He grunted when she drew a finger down the seam of his ass. She wasn’t going to breach it but she loved knowing she might have that power, loved knowing that Oliver was the type of person to put the power in her hands because he didn’t feel it diminished his. She kept going up, squeezing the bottom of his cheeks as she stood, her nails digging in because touching him like this, watching his body subtly react to her, was addictive and she was drunk on his desire for her. After so many years of phoning it in during sex she felt reborn, a woman who could please and be pleased.

  She ran her hands over the sides of his rib cage, over the winged span of his back, the muscles beneath the golden skin jumping and tensing with each pass of her palms, fingers and lips. Then she brought her hands up to tangle in the back of his hair, his head dipping forward as he shivered. Fingernails teased his scalp and she felt an answering tingle in her body. Tall herself, she stood only five or so inches shorter than him, and kissing his shoulder, she reached a hand around his torso to grip his length, the wetness that leaked out coating her palm as she slid it downward and up again.

  His breathing was audible as he stood stock-still as she stroked like she’d watched him do earlier on the deck.

  “Is this good?” she asked, knowing the mechanics were solid but seeking any special requests.

  “You’re back there because the angle is better?”

  She nodded; she wanted to deliver maximum pleasure, and why do things the hard way when this was the most mechanically sound way to get a job like this done?

  He laughed and thrust into her hand. “Well, come on, then, you’ve literally got me by the balls, so show me what you’ve got.”

  “Technically—”

  “Molly,” he growled, placing his hand over hers on his cock.

  “Fine.” She relented on pointing out that she was not holding his balls as such. “But hands off, this is my show.” He immediately lifted his hands and she saw them fist at his sides. “Good boy,” she laughed.

  He grunted in response, his head shaking. So she granted him relief, slowly stroking over his length, pressing soft kisses randomly over his back as she worked him. The rough arousal she’d felt earlier on the deck hit her hard as she heard him exhale, saw his knuckles turn white as she squeezed and played.

  “Is this good?” she asked, truly curious.

  “Sublime perfection,” he gritted.

  “Are you sure there’s not a certain technique you’d like me to try, no preferred way that you do this?”

  “I like it any way, Molly, but if you’re asking me what I do to get myself off quickly, yeah, there are some pointers I could share.”

  She waited for him to expound, but he didn’t, just thrust forward in her hand with another audible inhale.

  “Are you going to share them?”

  “Wetter,” he told her, then disengaged her hand and brought it to his mouth, where he licked her palm in an erotic motion, tickling and making sure to moisten the whole area. She sucked in a breath herself.

  He put her hand back on his dick and sighed, then took her other hand and fastened it on his root, where the crimpy hair there tickled her skin. “Just hold that there, squeezing if you want.”

  She nodded against his back, kissing the top of his spine as she moved her hands again, the going easier now that her hand was wet. He liked it, too, the muted sounds he was making heating her from the inside.

  “Harder,” he instructed, then squeezed his hand over hers again to show her just how much pressure she should exert.

  “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?” she asked, moving her hand up and down like he’d shown her.

  “Positive,” he gasped, his hips nearly bucking her hold off him. “It feels fucking amazing, Molly. You could give up a career in engineering and just become a professor of hand jobs.”

  “You told me what to do,” she laughed, stroking him harder and harder as he squirmed against her, his back to her chest. She wondered if her hard nipples pressed against his back were driving him as crazy as they were her. She was so wet, so ready for him to turn around and take her, but she loved this, too. Absolutely loved being able to give him pleasure, to make him happy. He’d done so much for her by giving her this escape. She wasn’t in the habit of thanking people with hand jobs, but in this instance she was more than happy to do it.

  “The position was your idea,” he pointed out, a little breathless. “And that made all the damned difference.”

  She pressed an openmouthed kiss to the ridged edge of his shoulder blade and let her hips move in time to his. It was so weird being behind a guy this way but it made her so hot, too; this was a power position. He was in her arms, she was giving him pleasure, it was new, it was delicious, it was a little dirty.

  “Molly,” he groaned when she pulled what she thought was too hard. “Faster, please.”

  She granted his request immediately, her fist flying over his erection, the pre-come leaking out, slicking her hand right up making it so smooth, so easy. Then he was bucking against her wildly grunting her name over and over again. “Move away or I’m going to come all over your hand,” he warned, but she kept going. Wanted him on her, and when he went, she angled him up so he’d land on his own chest, but most of it caught on her hands, the milky white liquid coating her fingers as she continued to slowly bring him down, reveling in his little shudders against her.

  “I never got to feel those when we had sex when we were younger,” she told him, her voice hushed. “You were always above me or behind me and I never got to feel your whole body come.”

  He turned in her arms then, his eyes hot when they met hers. “Did you like it?”

  She nodded. “It was nice to feel what I did to you.”

  That darkened his gaze even more and then it went positively black when she lifted her dripping hand to her mouth and sucked every bit of him off her fingers and hand, ending with the thumb in a smacking sound.

  “Get on the bed,” he ordered, his voice low and gruff and barely audible. “Get on the fucking bed right now, Molly. Jesus Christ, I can�
��t believe you just did that. Am I supposed to be a goddamn saint?”

  Apparently playtime was over.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “No one’s ever eaten your come before?”

  He tilted his head to the side as if he was tense and stretching before a battle. “Not like that, and I hope to see you do it again sometime.”

  “I promise,” she told him.

  “Good,” he said shortly. “Now get on the bed like I just told you to.”

  He barely gave her time to scramble over to the blue duvet before he was on her.

  “You have learned some new things since last time, Molly,” he said, stalking up her body on his hands and knees. He drew a fingertip through her dripping wetness. “I’ve never been a jealous man before, but I want to erase the memory of every person who’s seen you this way,” he told her, sinking down to suck a nipple into his mouth.

  She arched against him as he pulled, his teeth grazing the very tip, pressing down to tease, tugging hard enough to tantalize. Her body was bellowing with want; getting him off was an extreme pleasure but had also made her desperate for him, for just his touch. He was still too far away and she wanted the weight of him against her, the roaring heat and power of his body, the smooth feel of his skin.

  “I can’t wait anymore,” Molly breathed in a frenzied rush.

  He shifted his head so he could meet her eyes, her nipple still buried in his mouth before he let it drop, and answered, “That’s too bad, because I just came really fucking hard and I could spend an entire hour going down on you before I need to come again. Guess you didn’t think about that before you had your way with me.”

  Her eyes closed because he was such an ass, but she liked it. She also could see as well as he could that he was already hard as a rock again and ready to go. He was just living to tease her.