44 Chapters About 4 Men - BB Easton Page 0,47

McMansion had been wrapped, swathed, and wallpapered in thousands upon thousands of white Christmas lights—in the middle of July.

Obviously, there must have been a party or wedding, some grand celebration, here earlier, but there was no evidence of life anywhere. The rustic Italian grotto-style pool in the center of the yard was as still as a pane of glass, which allowed it to better reflect the twinkling lights coiled tightly around every tree branch and deck post within a hundred-yard radius. And speaking of the deck, the entire main floor of the three-story modernized plantation-style house was equipped with a wooden deck that boasted an outdoor kitchen, a stone fireplace, and a hot tub the size of my bedroom, all illuminated by gauzy paper lanterns suspended overhead.

Below the main floor was a patio tucked away under the deck, which was furnished with a perfect row of at least six expensive-looking teak lounge chairs with overstuffed red cushions and at least three ceiling fans, still rotating on high speed. The rustic stone tile that surrounded the pool fed right into the patio area and ended at a set of double doors that probably gave entrance into some grand basement bathhouse that was fully equipped with a spare pool, just in case.

I couldn’t even process all the beauty at once. The way my attention was flitting from one shiny object to the next must have been what Hans’s brain felt like all the time. As my head swiveled and my eyes darted around that sparkly, glowing jewelry box of a backyard, I failed to notice that Hans was pulling me farther and farther onto this obviously very private property.

It wasn’t until my body plopped down onto Hans’s lap (his signature move) that I realized he had escorted me all the way down to the patio, and we were now sitting on one of the cushy lounge chairs under the deck.

Oh no. What the fuck is he doing?

These people obviously had a stupid amount of money and probably owned a state-of-the-art Hunger Games-style security system with invisible lasers and paralysis-inducing mist—I knew Hans was impulsive and needed me to be the voice of reason—but it was too late. Between Hans’s strong arms around my waist, the secluded coziness of the covered patio, and the majesty of a hundred thousand tiny lights dancing in the trees and water before me, I was already paralyzed.

Hans and I just sat in silence, enjoying the view. The fiery tree branches flickered in concert with the sounds of crickets and cicadas and air conditioners in the distance, weaving a tapestry of white noise and white light that made the dark stillness of our patio hideaway feel even more secluded. As we watched the show, tucked into and around each other, Hans and I had an entire conversation telepathically, one that was full of promises and shiny rings and I dos and baby names.

Beyond the scenery and intimate seclusion, I was also enjoying the feel of Hans’s tattooed arms around my body and his desire, hard and ready, against my hip. He always did have a sensitive cock—and by sensitive, I mean, emotionally.

Hans began trailing featherlight kisses from my shoulder up to my neck and then just behind my ear.

Mmm…

He repeated his delicate assault on the other side. Only, this time, when his mouth reached my neck, he bit down on one of the tails of the bow holding my halter dress up and yanked. Within seconds, the black fabric covering my chest was replaced by warm, damp air.

My first instinct was to snatch my dress back up and scurry off before the owners had a chance to let loose the hounds, but when Hans took both of my pierced nipples between his talented fingertips and tugged gently, I was a goner. My head rolled back onto his shoulder, and my back arched involuntarily. The psychological rush of having my breasts exposed in such a dangerous yet romantic setting took the already intense physiological experience and pushed it over the edge. That sensation alone was worth the risk of being attacked by trained killer bees.

Just as I was about to cry out from the exquisite pleasure, Hans abruptly stood up, came around to the foot of the lounge chair where I was sitting, and knelt before me. It was reminiscent of our postures from just minutes ago in the parking lot. Only now, everything had changed. Hans’s signature smirk had been returned to its rightful place, and I was