When she stood again and set the skirt aside, the only thing stopping him from fully taking in the pale temptation of her body was a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her hard ni**les, and a teeny-tiny thong.
Damn, was it possible to have a fatal heart attack at thirtyone?
He should walk away now. Focus on surveillance until he knew she was safe. Stop fixating on a woman he planned to f**k once…just so Brandon could appreciate the pain and rage a man felt when he knew his woman had surrendered willingly to another hard dick.
But walking away from Morgan was easier said than done. At this point, he couldn’t find the will to try.
Drawing in a shaky breath, he watched as she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. The movement thrust her br**sts forward, accentuating their round, firm shape and those pretty ni**les he thirsted to suck into his mouth.
A moment later, they came into view. Plump, soft, blushing pink, and swollen, they beckoned like little bits of heaven topping the pale beauty of her br**sts, which shimmered with dancing, golden candlelight. He grabbed the ledge outside the window and let out a ragged breath.
How the hell was he going to keep from f**king her into oblivion in the next ten minutes?
Before he could answer that question, she slid the little black thong off and tossed it away, revealing the last of her secrets to him. And boy, was it a doozie.
The tiny patch of hair covering Morgan’s pu**y was fiery red.
Now Jack knew how a bull felt when someone waved something red in its face: enflamed, ready to charge.
Toro!
He braced his hands against the side of the cabin to steady himself as Morgan stepped into the tub and sank into the steaming water, eyes closed.
Damn, he had to stop spying on her like some loser sicko who couldn’t persuade a woman to undress for him. And he would…as soon as she stopped slashing water over her shoulders, on her br**sts. The water beaded up on her creamy skin, running in rivulets that dripped from succulent ni**les. He’d love to lick her up with his tongue.
The sun edged up over the horizon behind Jack, making it harder to see inside the little bathroom. It was probably a sign that he should be noble and stop acting like a peeping Tom.
Morgan dragged a thumb over one of her hard ni**les, and her lips parted in a silent gasp.
Fuck nobility.
He stepped closer to the window to improve his view.
Her ni**les responded to their wet state and the cool air, beading up even tighter, turning a shade darker. She lay against the back of the tub and sighed.
Then she lifted her hands from the water—to cup her br**sts. A moment later, Morgan stunned him when she dragged her thumbs across the rigid peaks deliberately and moaned.
A fresh gallon of blood ran south to engorge his c**k even more. God, he was going to go insane. He, who had never had even a hint of mental illness in his family, would be certifiable before Morgan finished her bath.
Jack held his breath as she pinched her lush ni**les, rolling them between thumb and fingers, pulling at them harder than he would have imagined. First one, then the other, finally together, she worked them with her small fingers. She threw her head back, neck arched, moist lips parted. She looked like a sensual goddess, like the ultimate f**k.
In that moment, he would have charged into the house, plucked her damp, naked body from the water and plunged his steel-hard c**k right into her. But he wanted to know too damn bad just what she would do next.
As her ni**les darkened and swelled from her fondling, she sank deeper into the tub, until only the twin peaks of her br**sts rose from the water, wet and tempting. She lifted her right leg and rested her heel on the rim of the tub, then bent her left knee and spread her legs wide.
Jack couldn’t see Morgan’s pu**y under the water, but glimpsed an occasional flash of red hair. But his imagination filled in the gaps. Fiery curls shielding swollen pink flesh, slick and pouting and ready.
If she was his, he’d keep her like that—naked and hot. Always wet. He’d spend mornings lapping at her ni**les. While she ate breakfast, he’d eat her. They’d shower with her mouth around his c**k as she took him deep, all the way to the back of her throat. And then he’d get serious, push her to the limits of her body, her trust. He’d leave no part of her untouched. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do with her, to her, to hear her scream her throat raw in pleasure.
Morgan jolted him out of his reverie when she trailed her hand from her breast, down her abdomen and between her legs.
She began to stroke herself.
Oh, shit… If he hadn’t yet lost his mind, it was going to go up in flames now—just like his body.
He shifted his aching c**k in his jeans and edged closer to the window until his face was nearly pressed against it. Eyes closed, Morgan made lazy circles with the hand between her legs while the other continued to pluck at her ni**les, keep them hard and ready.
Soon, the slow circles of her fingers gained speed. Water sloshed in the tub, dousing the ends of her silky hair, which hung wildly about her shoulders. Her hips began to lift to meet her fingers. Jack caught electrifying flashes of red, along with slick, spread flesh. Lust pooled in his belly, demanding relief, demanding her, as her chest rose and fell with quick, panting breaths. Morgan tightened the circle, moving faster than ever. Her lips, now a deep red, opened on a silent gasp. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Jack stepped closer still to the window for an even better view, clutching the window ledge with a white-knuckled grip, his own rapid breathing creating circles of damp heat against the glass.