I Cross My Heart

In the semidarkness, she grew bold. “I think we left off here.” She flattened her palms against his sculpted chest. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth against his breastbone. His skin was hot, and his heart throbbed against her hand.

He tasted like heaven and sin all wrapped up in the musky aroma of pure male. Slowly she made her way down his torso, hands stroking, mouth nibbling, until she reached her goal and dropped to her knees. As she curled her fingers around his generous endowment, he groaned.

“I thought you weren’t any good at this.” He sounded hoarse and not nearly as in control as he had been moments ago.

“I’m not.” She placed a soft kiss on the head of his penis.

He sucked in a breath. “I beg to differ.”

“Maybe you inspire me.” He might never realize how much. Obviously she’d never abandoned the fantasy of a cowboy lover—strong and daring, yet tender and kind—but she’d never indulged that fantasy. Tonight she would.

His voice was strained. “Bethany…”

“I’m here.” With that, she took him into her mouth and felt the power of making a man her slave.

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