Read Online Passion's Mistral by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page A

was by far the most handsome she had ever seen. It was a
    purely masculine face with bold eyebrows that arched over eyes the color of dark topaz. Sensuous
    lips—the bottom fuller than the top—were perfectly framed beneath high cheekbones and a nose that
    would be a plastic surgeon’s dream. Strong, even white teeth—ears that were positioned perfectly
    against St. John’s head over which a thick mane of sleek black hair curled in careless abandon and an
    athletic neck that suggested a youthful regimen of bridging exercises cast an undeniable picture of health,
    vitality and male supremacy. Only his jaw line hinted at a nature that could be rife with danger.
    “Well?” he prodded. “Which is it?”
    Silkie cleared her throat. “I don’t have a clue what a jaculum is but the midline seam that runs on the
    underside of your penis, Mr. St. John, is called the raphe.”
    St. John smiled and that smile sent a tremor down Silkie’s spine.
    “And the seminal vesicles?” he asked.
    Glad for the crash course in penal anatomy Dr. Carstairs had given her on the plane trip to the Cay,
    Silkie relaxed in her chair, crossing one leg over the other.
    “They are on the sides of the scrotal sac. They feel like little twigs.” She arched a brow. “And what, pray
    tell, is a jaculum?”
    St. John’s smile widened. “Perhaps I meant ejaculum,” he responded.
    “Well, if that’s what you meant, that’s just another word for cum, Mr. St. John. Cum is—”
    “I know what it is, Ms. Trevor,” he said, cutting her off.
    Silkie lifted her chin. “I’m sure you do,” she said.
    He made a steeple with his fingers and rested the tips beneath his chin as he braced his elbows on the
    chair arms. “How many—would you estimate—cocks have you photographed for Dr. Carstairs?”
    She could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks and from the knowing look in his stare, she knew he
    could see the telltale color. Realizing he was watching her intently, ready to pounce on a lie, she
    shrugged. “None as of yet.”
    “Really?” he asked. “But you do know what you’re looking for?”
    There was no mistaking the twinkle in his eye and although she wasn’t sure if he was teasing or goading
    her, she cocked her head to one side.
    “Well, let’s see—hopefully a long, fleshy piece of cartilage with a bush of crinkly pubic hair on top and a
    heavy scrotum hanging beneath. Some will be circumcised and some won’t. If they are, the head of the
    shaft will be very apparent. If not, it will be necessary to have the subject pull—”
    “I believe you know what you’re looking for,” he said, amusement turning his eyes a lighter shade of
    gold.
    “Yeppers, I do,” she said brightly. “Cocks of all different sizes and shapes and colors and—”
    “When would you like to start?” he interrupted harshly.
    She was taken aback by his strident tone and slightly unnerved by the sudden hardening of his features.
    “Will I have access to the resort grounds or will you send the men to me for me to photograph?” she
    asked.
    His gaze narrowed. “Which do you prefer?”
    Though it was a lie, she said she had to admit she would like to see what the resort was like. In truth, she
    didn’t want to be alone in a room with a man whose penis was only inches from her face. Out in the
    open, with others around, seemed a bit less intimidating although she feared it would be more
    embarrassing.
    He stared at her for a long moment then leaned back in his chair. “I will have Henri find a spot for you on
    the beach. At any given time there are always helpers around. Do you have a preference of what size or
    shape or color you’d like to start with?”
    She wished she could tell him she needed to see only the penises of those men who were white and
    thirty-seven years of age but then he would know she was there for a purpose other than what had been
    put forth.
    “I’ll leave that up to you,” she said, ducking her head and pretending to