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body.
    Her hands ran down his chest, the thick pad of muscle, the rippling abs, until she clung to his hips. His erection flexed, as if demanding that she touch him, know him.
    “Does it frighten you?”
    His voice sounded foggy. Had she done that to him, despite all his one-night stands?
    “Not exactly.”
    He blinked, surfaced. “Do you want to touch me?”
    She sucked in a breath and lost it somewhere in the center of her chest. “ Yes ,” she admitted brokenly. Yes, let this be another first for her. Let him be the first man she’d ever touched voluntarily.
    He took her hands in his so her palms made little cups, then he pressed them against his cock.
    He spilled out of one hand so she needed two to hold him.
    He purred as she stroked him.
    She couldn’t meet his gaze, heat blasting out of her cheeks, but she also couldn’t let go of him.
    “It’s… You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I always thought so.”
    His breath caught. “Jenny…”
    The mounds below his cock felt cannon ball sized in her palms.
    He was breathing unsteadily now. “You keep pettin’ me and I’m going to come.” His steady gaze asked her, was she ready for that?
    She hesitated, feeling abruptly stupid. Should she keep caressing him? Is that how it was done? She didn’t know.
    “Jenny, you kill me,” he groaned. Gently he took her hands, making the decision for her, guiding them back to his stomach.
    This she wanted, this she felt comfortable doing, tracing every part of his body with her hands. His shoulders, his hair, which he seemed to prefer shaggy to regulation short. “I always picture you when you come back from one of your ocean swims as a merman with long, enticing hair.”
    He blinked at her in exaggeration, as if he had the long eyelashes of a siren. “And would you be enticed?”
    “I already am. God!” Her hands weren’t enough. Untutored but now not caring so much, she brushed her cheek against one of his pecs, felt the wire tension of muscle under silken skin. Heard him gasp. Oh, that was nice.
    She had the same power to move him as he did her?
    She rubbed her face, her lips against his belly. He sucked in a breath, his hands tangling in her hair as if to restrain her, as if to encourage her? She didn’t care. Now she was learning him.
    She nudged him to lift his arm then put her lips against the curls she found there.
    “Oh, God. Oh, fuck .”
    He seemed to like what she was doing so much that she licked him, tasting salt and Taz, that mix of sand and fresh lime and sea air.
    He balled his fists on the edges of the recliner, as if holding himself back so he wouldn’t do anything to scare her. She felt his want like heatwaves shimmering between them. With every touch, she lit a match. He wasn’t quiet, he was restless, a pacing beast who had locked himself in chains for her. He gasped and growled and hummed if he liked something, like when she ran a finger on his thigh, close to his sex. He raised himself up, muscled arms straining, beautiful body arched like a bow, a line of sweat rolling down the center of his chest so she just had to catch it, suck on it and his skin.
    Something shattered.
    Fragments of silvered wood scattered around them. He’d broken the armrests of the recliner with his bare hands and now he buried those hands in her hair.
    “Touch me, oh, Christ—”
    He guided her so that his cock brushed her cheek.
    His breath hissed as if she’d hurt him. His huge body trembled, on the verge of the cataclysm he’d warned her about.
    It felt hot against her lips, hot satin, moist at the tip. She didn’t know what else to do so she just rubbed her face softly against him while he cursed and arched against her. A second later hot liquid spurted, hitting the side of her face and neck.
    He was panting, still trembling like he’d run a race. His arms fell away and he stared at her, dazed.
    A second later clarity snapped into his eyes and he sat up abruptly, all soft enjoyment gone. “Are you