Then she slid him a glance. “I’m officially saying, ‘I told you so.’”
He spread his fingers over her butt, his fingertips grazing the crack. She was pretty sure they both felt the shiver that coursed through her. “About?”
“You’re not just a chef. Or you’ve been a busy boy in a former life.” She tugged on the metal tags around his neck, sifting the skin-warmed metal through her fingers. “Dog tags.”
“Maybe they’re decorative,” he suggested, his nonanswer more than enough answer for her. “Or maybe I’ve served a tour or two.”
Imagining him as a soldier wasn’t difficult. He had a watchful stillness about him, an awareness of his surroundings and an easy confidence in his body that she liked. “That’s it? No details?” She ran her fingers over the dog tags.
“You want my biography?” His fingers stroked a little deeper, fondling her butt and moving closer to wicked territory.
“That’s an exit, not an entrance,” she pointed out, but darn it, she sounded breathless.
“I thought you wanted to play games,” he rasped, bending his head to whisper the words into her ear. He followed up with another wicked stroke.
“Yes, but I want to pick the game.”
His hand squeezed, his finger moving. The thought of where they could take this sent pleasure streaking through her. She could feel his calluses on the sensitive skin, the pads of his fingers tracing the small dimples.
“If you pick tonight, do I get to pick tomorrow? In the spirit of being fair.”
She could let him choose. She could give up control. He’d make it memorable and he’d absolutely make sure she came. He was kind of a gentleman like that.
“One night at a time.”
“Chicken,” he chided gently.
Probably. “I’m not a kinky sex expert,” she warned.
His husky laugh said it all. “Do I look as if I am?”
He was big and rough around the edges. But also safe. She got the strong sense that the man lurking behind that hottie exterior was keeper material. If he was all tough badass on the outside, he was a sweet marshmallow on the inside.
“A gal can hope.” And there was no time like the present to find out what he looked like naked, so she grabbed his hand and towed him into the bedroom. Not that he was putting up any resistance right now, but she’d worked too hard to get here to risk him bolting now. Mason had all these gentlemanly notions and she didn’t need anything scaring him off.
“Strip,” she ordered, throwing herself onto the bed. “Give me a show.”
He arched a brow. “Just like that? I don’t merit any foreplay?”
But his hands went to the edge of his T-shirt, fingering the cotton as another smile quirked at his mouth. She loved this looser, more fun side of Mason.
“Up.” She waggled her fingers. “Make me a happy woman, okay?”
He shook his head, but pulled the shirt over his head in one swift move. Oh. Sooo worth waiting for. She considered making him put the shirt back on, just so she could unwrap her present again. Or make one of those animated GIFs of him. Fortunately, there was still plenty more to unwrap. If she was lucky, the rest of him would be just as cut.
“Now it’s your turn.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he folded his shirt neatly and set it over the back of a chair. Wow. The man was a closet neat freak? That didn’t bode well for them. She shoved a silky kimono, a pair of sleep pants and tomorrow’s clean thong off the bed, making room for him to sit down. She was...messy. And that was a generous estimate of her housecleaning skills. Plus, the resort had been out of rose petals and the freebie champagne had yet to show up. Overall, her planning skills sucked.
“Who said this was a tit-for-tat relationship?”
“I could convince you.” He dropped onto the bed, making short work of his boots and socks. She sighed happily. There was really nothing better than a man in just his blue jeans, and he deserved a reward for getting naked. In that spirit, she swung herself over his lap, setting her hands on his shoulders.
“Please do,” she crooned, and he smiled slowly.
“Okay, then.” He reached one hand up to cup the back of her neck and pulled her down to him for a kiss.
* * *
UNLIKE HIS, HER LIPS were soft and champagne flavored. She exhaled, rocking against him, riding his lap and his dick as though she was a cowgirl and he was her own personal stallion.
He deepened their kiss, licking the seam of her mouth, catching that breath. She stilled against him, as if she wanted to capture the sensation, drink it in and not miss a moment of it. Or maybe he was projecting because that simple kiss felt damned good. He did it again, licking deeper. She opened up for him on a gasp, her tongue brushing against his and then retreating in a wicked dance. He felt her shiver, her nails digging into his shoulders.