until my back was flat on the sunbed. A crazy giggle bubbled up and out of my throat from the surprise movement and left a goofy grin footprint behind where it passed. Dragging my head along the cushion also dislodged the mask so I was able to see my surroundings again.
“You’re insane,” I said through my smile.
“Possibly,” Grant said, but his tone was darker, sounding much more like a threat than my teasing one had. In the span of a breath, I found out why. The pretty sundress I wore became a casualty of his impatience. Instead of unfastening the wrist cuffs and unbuttoning the tiny buttons that made a delicate row through my cleavage, he grabbed the hem and jerked upward, splitting the lightweight cotton in half along the length of my body. I couldn’t even protest the destruction of the garment because he was the one who purchased it.
“No! Definitely!” I squealed and regretted it immediately. In a swift move, he took my bound wrists, hoisted them over my head, and hooked them to a cleat on the boat’s deck.
“Excuse me, prisoner? How did you remove your blindfold?” He crawled up beside my shoulder while he waited for my answer, knelt up tall once there, and began opening the button and fly on his shorts. I was so mesmerized by his hand dipping into the waistband of his boxers, my mouth went dry, making speech to answer him impossible.
Ruthlessly, he slid a hand between the torn halves of my dress to pluck my nipple. With the hard little point squeezed between his two fingers, he warned, “I’m waiting.”
“Graaant,” I moaned. “Feels so good.” He pinched harder and harder in measured increments, and I let my head loll from side to side while the pain washed over me. Finally, I shouted, “Enough! That’s enough.” When I went to move my arms from overhead to protect my abused nipple, it was no use. In my stimulated haze, I had forgotten I was still trussed up.
Mischievous blue eyes awaited mine in the dark night. “Where did your blindfold go, Blaze?” he asked with a playful grin that was so sexy and devilish, he could charm every pair of knickers off an entire room of nuns.
“It’s your fau—Oohh! Shit! Christ, Grant! Oh my God, yes.” I moaned, still trying to catch a full breath from the first nipple pinching when he moved to the other side. We both had dropped the detective and suspect game at that point and were caught up in each other. I realized, probably much too late, how loud my cries of pleasure had been and did my very level best to keep my lips pressed tightly together so another sound couldn’t escape. But when he latched on to the same sore bud with his wet, perfect mouth, it didn’t matter. Angels were surely singing.
The man looked up over the swells of my breasts to check in with me. “How’s that, baby? Feel better now?”
“Grant. Please. Stop teasing.”
“Oh, I’m not teasing. Tell me, and it’s yours. What do you want? More pain? More pleasure? Both?”
A chain reaction began with the look he gave me. It set off every needy, tingling pulse point between my mouth, which I desperately wanted him to kiss again, and my pussy, which was throbbing and gushing between my thighs.
“Kiss me,” I whimpered.
“Kiss you where?” he taunted in response.
“On my mouth. Kiss my mouth, with your lips and tongue,” I husked and quickly added, “and don’t stop until I say stop.”
Grant moved to lie over me, his grin growing wider while he did so. “Don’t get carried away now.”
“Please,” I begged and didn’t feel an ounce of shame about it. The man was on me then like a firestorm. Raging flames licked up my body where his hands caressed, leaving trails of scorched, needy skin in their paths. The span of his broad grasp, from thumb to pinky finger, covered more than half my torso in one possessive stroke. When I tried to arch into his palm to guide his ministrations, the bastard just chuckled.
“Baby,” he coaxed. “Just relax. You don’t have to try to force me into doing what you want. Just feel me on you. Feel me touching you and kissing you.” He brushed strands of hair off my forehead and kissed the spot before pulling back to look at me hungrily.
“I need to taste you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about today.”
Exactly why was he seeking permission now? Grant Twombley didn’t