by Kate Douglas
Would the pirate on the deck come down to the master cabin and grab her ankles like the actor had? She closed her eyes and let her fantasy play out. It was better than any porn flick because she could control every movement, every word, and all of her responses. She could tell Jared what to do and he’d do it.
She could tell him to lick her breasts and lift her hips to bring her closer to his mouth. He could trail his scratchy chin delicately along her inner thigh until he got close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her hotter pussy. She slid her other hand to a nipple and plucked it while she opened to her questing fingertip.
She would tell him to linger there, just far enough away from her that he’d be able to see her wet lips, smell her aroused flesh, feel her need. Sliding a fingertip into herself, familiar tension built while she worked to bring herself to orgasm. He would kiss her there where she was hottest, moist and achy. He’d do whatever she told him to and like it.
She wasn’t wired for abstinence, hadn’t wanted to go along with Philip’s crazy idea, but—oh, yes, it was building to a peak now and soon she’d be over the—on a weak sigh, her orgasm pulsed through her lower body in a poor imitation of what she’d witnessed onscreen.
She opened her eyes on the wish that Jared had seen her, that he was right now on his way to ravish her like the pirate he was. But no, he’d been a gentleman and left her to herself.
Her unsatisfied self.
She’d taken the edge off, but it had been far too long since she’d had a truly good orgasm. And she deserved one. Or three.
Or a week full of them. She smiled and rose to wash her hands. In the mirror, she faced herself.
Philip was gone. She was here. Jared was here.
And Jared was hot, hot, hot.
She decided to unpack her lingerie after all.
Her carry-on bag sat on the floor beside the bed, tagged and zipped and bulging. A couple of sharp points threatened to poke holes through the sides, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to open it.
She took another drink of champagne instead.
The bag was full of shoes. Stilettos, each and every pair. Toes pointed enough to cripple, Philip always wanted her to wear them. If he’d wanted a tall, lanky, long-limbed wife why had he asked her out in the first place? She would never have that look, no matter how high her heels were. She was lean, yes, but her muscle tone was obvious.
Some men liked her athletic build. The pirate above deck for one, she realized as she poured and drank another tumbler of champagne. She sat on the edge of the bed, one toe on the floor for balance, the other heel tucked into her crotch. She bent over toward the night table to grab the bottle again, but nearly fell off the bed.
She was tipsy. Well and truly feeling no pain. She giggled.
Oh, hell, who cared? There was no one here to judge her. No one to tell her she’d had too much and had to mind herself.
No one to tell her to keep her hands to herself and off Jared MacKay.
“Step away from the pirate,” she intoned in a dramatic imitation of Philip’s most commanding tone. Then she laughed harder.
Philip had no say in anything she did anymore. He’d given up the right to chastise her, instruct her, or humiliate her when he’d dashed out of the church this morning.
She stood, still laughing, curiously aware of an incredible sense of freedom. She set aside her carry-on bag. She’d open it later. Right now she wanted her bathing suit and sarong.
There was a sunset waiting for her.
A sunset and a pirate who needed taming.
APHRODISIA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2006 by Kate Douglas
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ISBN 0-7582-2009-X