She paused a mere instant before she released a deep breath and eased off the bed, exposing her lush, pale br**sts, framed by the golden camisole. Her ni**les still stood hard and rosy from his sucking.
Fresh lust kicked him in gut, pulsed in his balls, as she sent him a hesitant glance, then hooked her thumbs in the lacy strips over her hips. Slowly, so damn slowly he tried not to hold his breath, she began pulling the thong down, displaying more paleperfect skin dotted with tiny, faint freckles.
Then she exposed the fiery hair guarding her pu**y. Jack clenched his jaw. He was dying to taste her. She was already slick. Totally wet and ready. Knowing that was killing him.
Finally, her thong made it to the floor. She straightened, casting him an uncertain glance, but played brave by throwing her shoulders back and holding her head high. Jack knew from the way she squirmed that she was fighting the urge to cover her br**sts with the camisole hanging from her shoulders and place a hand over her mound. But she didn’t. His respect for her courage climbed up a notch—as did his eagerness to have her completely at his mercy.
“Pick up the thong.”
Morgan stared at him, a little frown crinkling between her brows as she looked for the logic in his request. He’d break her of that habit eventually.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.
With an expression torn between confusion and resignation, she bent and picked up the thong, then held it against her bare br**sts. Her fiery hair lay tousled across her shoulders. Her red mouth, which would do Angelina Jolie proud, looked moist, lips parted. A sweet flush spread across her cheeks.
Jack sucked in a breath. Damn it, she was so beautiful. And so wasted on Brandon Ross. The thought of showering her with pleasure until she screamed was clawing at his restraint. He was getting harder by the second. He had to retain some control here. Otherwise, he couldn’t give her what she needed—what they both needed.
“Give me the thong, cher.”
Swallowing, she reached out a hesitant hand full of golden lace and silk. Fear and eagerness to please warred on her face, clutched at his heart. He had to both soothe her and push her. Balance his responses. It was the only way to coax her into really letting go.
Jack took the thong from her and bunched it in his hand. It was damp. And even six inches from his nose, he could smell her arousal on the garment. The knot of lust in his gut wrenched so tight, he could hardly catch a breath.
“You’re wet.”
Morgan said nothing, just stared with wide blue eyes the color of a Caribbean sea, dilating more with each second.
“Acknowledge my comment, Morgan. Yes or no.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes, what?” he prompted.
“Yes…sir.”
It didn’t roll off her tongue yet, but it would. He’d keep at her until it did. Softly and harshly. Alternating, keeping her off balance. Keeping her aroused and uncertain. It would be his pleasure.
“Good. I like that you’re wet. I plan to keep you that way all night.”
She absorbed his words, tensing slightly. Her eyes dilated further. Her areolas puckered tight around the nubs of her ni**les. She slicked her tongue over her full bottom lip. His c**k jerked in impatience.
“Jack—”
“You don’t call me that in the bedroom. If I have to remind you again, I’ll paddle your pretty ass.”
A mutinous frown furrowed her brow. Her jaw tensed. She wanted to snap some acid comment back at him. Instead, she swallowed it.
He kept his smile to himself. She was learning. Slowly, but surely…
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Take the camisole off.”
Morgan complied almost without hesitation. Almost. Not perfection, but progress.
The gentle chastisement that rose to his mouth died as she exposed the lean line of her torso, a taut belly, graceful shoulders, the full curve of her br**sts. Jack hadn’t thought it possible, but his c**k stiffened with a fresh surge of blood.
“Hand it to me,” he demanded.