the water below. Instead, they hung up on cleat and flapped in the breeze.
A soft giggle pulled his attention back to the wom an writhing on the chaise lounge, her shapely legs parted, with her skirt riding up her thighs to heaven. His heaven .
She licked her lips and eyed his dick, as if it fascinated her. The poor thing jerk ed, fascinated by her, too.
Kne eling down, Branson imprisoned her eyes with his gaze. He slid his hands up her creamy thighs, feeling his way under her thin skirt until he hit pay dirt. His gaze dropped to her crotch.
Holy shit.
He clenched his eyes shut and breathed in and out in an attempt to force calmness. All during dinner he’d forced himself to picture a nice chaste pair of white panties under that dress. But not this. He’d have never made it through the first course if he’d known she’d been wearing a scrap of black lace barely covering her crotch. His long fingers slipped under the thin material across her hips.
“You like?”
Where the hell did this tease come from and what had she done with Sarah?
His groan reverberated off his ribcage. “You could go to jail for this.”
“For what? Wearing a g-string?”
“For murder by panties.” He looked into her eyes and loved what he saw—not just lust, but amusement and fondness, like she actually liked him for who he was, not just because he had money and fame.
She cocked an eyebrow at him and laughed. He cocked an eyebrow back, chuckled, and before she could take another breath, ripped those damn enticing panties right off her body, then instantly regretted his caveman behavior.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I’m just so hot for you.” He cussed under his breath. He’d meant to take this slow, but the passion glazing her eyes assured him that she didn’t mind a bit.
“You’re apologizing because you’re hot for me? Not going to win you points, stud muffin.” She winked at him.
“You’re messing with fire.” He didn’t know where this bold woman came from but he adored her as much as he adored the shyer version, and she was going to pay for that little remark with some erotic torture, Bullock style.
“Then burn me ,” she shot back matching him taunt for taunt.
“Those are fighting w ords, honey.” He knelt between her legs and grinned with mock menace
She wasn’t menaced. In fact, she laughed.
“You’re messing with my ego, baby. That’s not good.”
Sarah arched her back and tantalized him with her naked lower half. He’d make her pay for that later with delicious torture they’d both enjoy.
Right now , he had more pressing matters to attend to, such as his cock pressing into her wet, warm hotness. He leaned over and untied the back of her halter, pushing the top aside to get a fifty-yard-line view of her heart-stoppingly gorgeous breasts. Holy freaking crap, she would be arrested for murder. Kneeling beside her, he took a ripe nipple in his mouth and sucked it into an even harder peak. Hungrily, he worked his special brand of magic on the other side, needing to taste her, every last bit of her.
She writhed and whimpered. A fine bead of perspiration broke out on her forehead, while he was sweating like a race horse who’d just run in the Kentucky Derby. He kissed circles around those glorious breasts, a generous handful even for a guy with big hands like him.
Sitting back on his haunches and panting, he met her sexy gaze. “They’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I think that’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.” She pointed to his groin.
“It’s all for you, honey, ready and willing to fulfill your every desire.”
“I’d like that.” She reached out a tentative hand, suddenly shy again, and stroked him.
His dick jerked at the contact.
Sarah almost smiled. “I think the poor baby is in dire straits.” She ran a fingernail over the tip.
Branson sucked in a breath. “Keep that up, and nothing about this will be slow and easy.”
“Maybe I don’t