Make Me Forget - Page 78

“I trust you far too much as it is.”

“Are you going to let me show you what I have in mind? You can always say no.”

“Can I at least have a drink first?”

A rough bark of laughter scraped his throat. She smiled at the unexpectedness of his flash of humor.

“You’ve called me out. I’m a shit host. Wait here.”

She walked over to the wrought iron fence while she waited, breathing in the fresh scent of the surrounding pines and trying to dampen her mounting anticipation. She blinked, startl

ed, when he was suddenly standing next to her, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was as silent as a ghost. She took the champagne gratefully.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. His gaze dipped from her face to the champagne flute. “Drink up while you can.”

Her brows went up at that. She watched him as he went back inside, admiring his broad shoulders and the shape of his ass in the swim trunks. Excitement bubbled up in her. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d bargained for with him? A thrilling sexual affair, a wholesale distraction from the gray grief that had swallowed up her life recently? She glanced around her, seeing a world of luxury, beauty, and brilliant, blinding color. Her breasts and sex ached pleasantly with the knowledge of the pleasure and challenge to come.

He was delivering, in spades. The least she could do was try to return the favor. She swallowed half the contents of the flute, the clean, crisp taste and effervescence only amplifying her anxious arousal.

She was glad for the rush conferred by the delicious champagne when he backed out of the door a moment later and turned, and she saw what he carried. It looked a little like a sitting massage chair, but there were more hinges and movable parts, and some of the cushions on it weren’t in typical places.

Definitely in different places, Harper thought when she saw that the place where a person would prop their legs had been split so that their thighs could be kept open. There were other variations from a sitting massage chair. There were straps hanging from the leg portion and below the cushion where a person would rest their forearms and hands. Instead of the donut cushion where one usually placed their face during a massage, there was a narrow chin pad that curved upward, like a thin crescent.

He set down the contraption in front of the fence ten feet away from her. He turned in her direction. Harper downed the rest of her champagne, set the flute on a nearby table, and walked toward him.

“That looks like something from a torture chamber,” she said, attempting levity to hide her nerves.

“It’s not. It’s meant for pleasure.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Ideally, both. But its intention is to give me complete control.”

Her heart starting to thrum in her ears, she glanced warily at the black metal movable parts and cushions.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said.

“I know,” she replied.

“I set it up here, because the design is thicker on the fence here,” he said, pointing to the wrought iron design of intertwining branches. “It’ll be enough to hide you, should anyone pass in a boat and happen to be staring, but it’s open enough that you’ll still be able to enjoy the view.”

“Like I’ll be paying attention to the view,” she scoffed under her breath.

She looked up when he stepped closer and his long finger brushed against the skin below her chin. His eyes shone, looking especially golden in the evening light. She stared up at him, spellbound.

“It’ll excite me to have you in this chair. I think it’ll excite you, too. But it’s your call.”

She nodded, swallowing thickly. She turned toward the chair.

“How . . . how do I get on it?”

“First, let’s get this off you,” he murmured, and she felt his fingers slip beneath the ties of her bikini at her back. Remembering what he’d told her about always wanting to undress her, she stood without moving as he drew the bikini top off her. He knelt and pulled the snug briefs down over her ass and thighs. She paused in the process of stepping out of the bikini bottoms when she felt his hand spread just above her knee. He swept it up, over her outer thigh, hip, and the side of her ass in a warm, greedy caress.

“You’re so pretty, Harper.”

Her mouth fell open. He’d said something similar to her several times before. It wasn’t the compliment a sophisticated, worldly playboy gave a woman. She realized that for the first time. It was the kind of compliment that came from an awestruck boy.

“What?” he asked, and he was towering over her again, a big, powerful figure, his outline blocking the setting sun. He’d noticed the look of wonder and puzzlement on her face.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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