station. Heâd told them they could keep the medal and send him back to New Orleans for a reward.
Theyâd recruited him into the ranks of military intelligence instead. Sean always used to say he should have just accepted the medal and kept his damned mouth shut.
His nipples were copper-colored. Genevieve could easily see the erect, flat discs through the smattering of curly, light brown hair on his chest. As usual, his short, wavy hair was tousled. It fell on his forehead as he looked down at the woman with a fixed, intent expression as he slowly pushed his cock between her widely spread lips.
Genevieve stared, held captive by the erotic sight. It was as if her brain had frozen right along with her muscles. She
felt
, she realized dazedly. It had become warm and achy between her thighs, but she was unconnected to her sexual arousal . . . as though she observed her bodyâs response in the same bizarre, detached manner with which she watched the man sheâd once loved with all her body and soul having sex with another woman.
Even though she throbbed in desire, Genevieve had gone numb. When the woman strained forward with her head, drawing several inches of thick, veined flesh between her lips, Sean grunted in dissatisfaction. He tightened his hold on the handful of blonde hair he grasped at the womanâs nape. Genevieve knew from experience the restraint of his hand would be gentle.
But firm.
The woman moaned in obvious protest when he withdrew his cock from her mouth. It made a popping noise as it cleared her lips. His penis fell at a downward angle, weighted by the heavy, tapered cockhead.
âIâm about to spontaneously combust down here, you bastard.â Her voice sounded gruff . . . desire-roughened. Genevieve could see that the crests of her small breasts were pointed and hard.
He wrapped a big hand around his erection and stroked himself, his manner casual. âDidnât you say you were a trader at the Mercantile Exchange? Doesnât that job require the characteristic of patience?â
The woman tried to duck forward to get at his cock, but his hand at the base of her neck held firm. âDamn you,â she hissed. She looked up at him, her expression both plaintive and irritated. He chuckled as he released her hair and stroked her jaw and cheek. The womanâs lips curved in shared humor. No one could resist Sean when he smiled.
âIâm going to have to do something about that itch you have, or youâre not going to play nice, are you, darlinâ?â he teased with the soft New Orleans drawl that contrasted so sharply with all that hard muscle and brawn. Just the sound of his voice so close to her ear used to make Genevieve shiver . . . heat up her very core.
He helped the bound woman up from her kneeling position, his manner relaxed; his touch gentle.
Genevieve blinked, realizing her gaze had been glued to his glistening cock. It looked magnificent as it poked out from the fly of his jeans, a ready tool awaiting its masterâs bidding.
It didnât surprise her that he seemed so controlled. Not really.
Even when heâd allowed full expression of his wild, primitive nature on that New Yearâs Eve three years ago, even when heâd lost himself in the depths of intense passion, Genevieve had guessed Sean wasnât typically so expressive during lovemaking. He was usually so somber, so contained; his gaze alert, watchful. He lived like he was always ready for the other shoe to drop . . . like it was inevitable something was about to happen.
In Seanâs experience, that
something
was usually never good.
His steel blue eyes didnât blaze with wild, inner fires like they had on that night so long ago when heâd looked down at Genevieve as he fucked her with long, powerful strokes. Genevieve hadnât been able to move a fraction of an inch from Seanâs thorough possession of her body and
Theyâd recruited him into the ranks of military intelligence instead. Sean always used to say he should have just accepted the medal and kept his damned mouth shut.
His nipples were copper-colored. Genevieve could easily see the erect, flat discs through the smattering of curly, light brown hair on his chest. As usual, his short, wavy hair was tousled. It fell on his forehead as he looked down at the woman with a fixed, intent expression as he slowly pushed his cock between her widely spread lips.
Genevieve stared, held captive by the erotic sight. It was as if her brain had frozen right along with her muscles. She
felt
, she realized dazedly. It had become warm and achy between her thighs, but she was unconnected to her sexual arousal . . . as though she observed her bodyâs response in the same bizarre, detached manner with which she watched the man sheâd once loved with all her body and soul having sex with another woman.
Even though she throbbed in desire, Genevieve had gone numb. When the woman strained forward with her head, drawing several inches of thick, veined flesh between her lips, Sean grunted in dissatisfaction. He tightened his hold on the handful of blonde hair he grasped at the womanâs nape. Genevieve knew from experience the restraint of his hand would be gentle.
But firm.
The woman moaned in obvious protest when he withdrew his cock from her mouth. It made a popping noise as it cleared her lips. His penis fell at a downward angle, weighted by the heavy, tapered cockhead.
âIâm about to spontaneously combust down here, you bastard.â Her voice sounded gruff . . . desire-roughened. Genevieve could see that the crests of her small breasts were pointed and hard.
He wrapped a big hand around his erection and stroked himself, his manner casual. âDidnât you say you were a trader at the Mercantile Exchange? Doesnât that job require the characteristic of patience?â
The woman tried to duck forward to get at his cock, but his hand at the base of her neck held firm. âDamn you,â she hissed. She looked up at him, her expression both plaintive and irritated. He chuckled as he released her hair and stroked her jaw and cheek. The womanâs lips curved in shared humor. No one could resist Sean when he smiled.
âIâm going to have to do something about that itch you have, or youâre not going to play nice, are you, darlinâ?â he teased with the soft New Orleans drawl that contrasted so sharply with all that hard muscle and brawn. Just the sound of his voice so close to her ear used to make Genevieve shiver . . . heat up her very core.
He helped the bound woman up from her kneeling position, his manner relaxed; his touch gentle.
Genevieve blinked, realizing her gaze had been glued to his glistening cock. It looked magnificent as it poked out from the fly of his jeans, a ready tool awaiting its masterâs bidding.
It didnât surprise her that he seemed so controlled. Not really.
Even when heâd allowed full expression of his wild, primitive nature on that New Yearâs Eve three years ago, even when heâd lost himself in the depths of intense passion, Genevieve had guessed Sean wasnât typically so expressive during lovemaking. He was usually so somber, so contained; his gaze alert, watchful. He lived like he was always ready for the other shoe to drop . . . like it was inevitable something was about to happen.
In Seanâs experience, that
something
was usually never good.
His steel blue eyes didnât blaze with wild, inner fires like they had on that night so long ago when heâd looked down at Genevieve as he fucked her with long, powerful strokes. Genevieve hadnât been able to move a fraction of an inch from Seanâs thorough possession of her body and
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