Maggie opened her eyes and watched as he made a s’more for himself. He was teasing her. He knew his words would have her body burning with need and that there was nothing she could do about it. He was in control. It drove her crazy when he tried to take charge in her work life, but right now, under the stars? It thrilled her. She shifted, rubbing her inner thighs together, and watched him.
“What happened with the girl? The one who loved chocolate?”
“It didn’t last. I was thirteen. She was fourteen. We were too young,” he said. “But I scored a kiss.”
“You went to all this trouble for a kiss?” she asked, licking her lips.
He leaned close again. “I want more than a kiss, Maggie, but not because I cooked for you. Because you want it, too.”
Closing the gap, he licked her lips, and this time she tasted the chocolate on his tongue. She opened her mouth. Reaching her hands up, she drew him into a slow, sweet kiss. She heard him drop the stick and felt his hands on the sides of her face, working their way into her hair, holding her still so his mouth and tongue could ravage her. When he pulled back, she felt a sharp pang of need for more.
“Are we there yet?” she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow, his hands still holding her. “Where?”
“The part I’ve been waiting for all night.”
Hunter let out a tense laugh. “Hell, yes.” His hands fell and he pushed himself up from the hay bale. “But not here.”
He quickly extinguished the fire and reached for her. She took his hand and followed him back to the house as fast as her ridiculous heels would carry her. Her body hummed with excitement and nerves. After his romantic dinner in the woods, she didn’t know what to expect from him. What kind of fantasies did a man who agreed to give a stranger amazing orgasms one day and make her s’mores the next have? And why the shoes?
Inside, he took her hand and led her down the hall to her guest room, currently his bedroom. She paused at the doorway. It was one thing to let a one-night lover take control in a hotel room, or to take off her clothes after too many margaritas, but sober in her guest room? It felt different. More intimate and risky even though she knew she was safe with him. Physically. The more she learned about him, the more time she spent with him, the more she worried that the sexual attraction between them might lead to something else. Something dangerous.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Maggie, look at me.”
She obeyed.
“Do you trust me not to hurt you?”
“Yes.” She didn’t have to think about it. Over the past few days this man, who in so many ways resembled the parent who’d nearly broken her faith in others, had earned her trust.
&n
bsp; He drew her into the room, leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to make this good for you. Just relax and let me take control.”
“I thought tonight was about what you want,” she whispered.
“Honey, we’re already halfway there. You. In those shoes. That’s part of it.” He took her hand and led her past the bed to the blue armchair by the window.
“And the other part?”
He sat down and looked up at her. “Take off your dress, but keep the shoes.”
Maggie stared at him. The orange glow from the setting sun poured in the open window, and in the distance she heard the soft sound of crickets. Could she do this? Strip while he sat and watched?
“You don’t have to think about it, Maggie. Not in here. Not with me.”
She reached her arms behind her and found the zipper. She wanted to do this, she realized. He’d given her what she wanted that first night. If this was his fantasy, she’d do everything she could to make it good for him.
Slowly, she drew the zipper down her back. Reaching up to her shoulders, she started to peel off the dress, revealing the new black lace bra Olivia had insisted she purchase to match her shoes. She shimmied the fabric over her hips and let it fall to the floor. Stepping aside, she waited for his next order.
“Take off your bra and panties.”
Maggie stripped away her underwear until she stood in front of him in only her heels. This might be his fantasy, but she was more turned on than she’d ever been. Her skin ached for his touch, his mouth.