The Dare Collection March 2019. Rachael Stewart
low, rich chuckle tumbled over her like a different kind of touch altogether.
Lucinda didn’t have time to fight it off, because that was when his hands made contact.
And she stopped breathing.
He started at her neck. He traced the delicate column down, then spread his big, wide palms out to take in her shoulders. His palms were hot, hotter than the sun beating down from above, and spread fire everywhere they touched.
And they touched everything. Every inch.
He traced her shoulder blades, then moved farther down, all along the indentation of her spine. Then he tracked the flare of her hips.
He covered every inch, then moved lower still. He paused to get more lotion, then slicked those hard, intensely masculine hands over the curves of her ass.
Lucinda...fell.
Right off that edge into sheer insanity.
She stopped worrying about trifling concerns like goose bumps. She stopped trying to control her breath. She let go of her threadbare control as she tumbled fast and hard over the side of the cliff she’d imagined in her head, and the world disappeared.
There was nothing but here, now.
There was nothing but Jason Kaoki and his talented, impossibly calloused and tender hands, working their way over every square inch of her overheated skin. He didn’t linger anywhere in particular, which made all the places that longed for his attention heat up, as if in protest.
And deep inside her, something turned over, then began to hum like an engine, low and insistent and wired to the soft heat between her legs.
He smoothed his palms down the backs of her thighs, the hollow of knees that already felt too weak, and then down to her calves.
“Turn around,” he ordered her, his voice like gravel.
It didn’t occur to Lucinda to disobey.
She turned and instantly everything was worse. Or maybe better. Certainly hotter, because now there was no pretending that she was standing by herself on the edge of the world having erotic daydreams of a man’s touch.
A touch she could feel cascading over her, through her, then deep into her. Making her quiver, deep in her pussy. Making her want to shift, run—something to release the impossible pressure building inside her—
Because he was right there in front of her, big, brawny and almost indescribably beautiful.
Jason crouched down before her, so tall that he still came up to her chest. And he was so close that when he slicked more lotion on his hands, then looked up, the world shuddered to a halt.
That pulsing pressure between her legs grew. She could feel it in her toes. Her breasts. Her stiff nipples.
His eyes were dark fire. And she could see, so clearly, all the things he wanted. All the images that were chasing each other around and around inside his head, as if they were both watching the same movie that starred the two of them.
But he didn’t do anything except reach for her foot, then start making his way up one leg. Then down the next.
Each slick slide of his big hand over her flesh made her...tremble. Each lazy, smooth bit of heat collected in her pussy and made her clench her thighs to keep from surrendering to all that pressure and need and longing.
When he reversed direction and shifted his attention to her belly, he slowed down. Or time did.
Lucinda knew she was breathing too fast. That she was showing too much and surrendering whatever claim to power she’d had inside.
That it was entirely possible her body was about to betray her, right here and now.
But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
And she couldn’t seem to care, either. Something she was sure would concern her when this was over. But he was moving higher now, smoothing his way over the slopes of her breasts, and her mind went blank.
Blank...yet full of color and sensation, all of it spiraling down through her body to wind her tighter and tighter. Her clit was so ripe and ready she might simply tip over that edge all on her own the next time she squeezed her thighs together.
But she didn’t. Somehow, she didn’t.
His hands were wicked and left her shaking, yet he never went too far. He was restrained if not strictly clinical—but that only made the heat and need between her legs worse.
He slicked the lotion, smelling of coconut, over the exposed curves of her breasts and then moved higher, as if he was unmoved either way. Which only made Lucinda feel more exposed. Time ground to a halt as he worked, until there was nothing but the sound of her own breath, the beat of her heart and the rough slide of his fingers over her skin.
She could feel every touch as if those talented fingers were working her clit.
And she shuddered, close. So close—
“Give me your face,” he ordered her, his voice gruff, and Lucinda didn’t understand why it felt like some kind of surrender when she obediently inclined her head toward him.
Or why she felt like this was another frankly sexual act, the way he smoothed the last of the lotion over her forehead, then her cheeks and jaw. He took extra care with her ears, carefully covering the strip of space behind each one, and even ran his palms over her hair.
And when he was done, he moved his hands back to her cheeks and held her face there.
And everything in Lucinda...throbbed. She could feel it in her breasts, her clit and everything in between. She could feel that shuddering inside her, tipping her toward that edge again, sweeping over her and through her in a trembling rush.
Bright and hot and like some kind of madness, caught up in the light and the breeze and the tumbling waves behind her.
So close—So close—
And she knew full well it wasn’t the scenery that made her shiver, it was the man kneeling before her.
Jason studied her, his dark gaze frank and carnal, and the heat of his palms made her ache. Her breasts were too full, her belly quivered uncontrollably, and her pussy was soaking wet with molten heat.
And her clit was a breath away from taking her over.
She wanted him. All of him, so huge and hard and outside her experience in a thousand different ways. Lucinda had no time for seduction. She preferred to throw back a few drinks, then find a likely lad in an upscale bar. Back to his to get off, then out the door.
This felt nothing like any of those half-drunk encounters, with Lucinda always on top and in control, then gone.
This felt like melting. This felt wrong, somehow, but delicious all the same, a part of the bright sun and the palm trees overhead and the insistent caress of the air all around her.
Thousands upon thousands of miles away from everything she knew.
Lucinda felt electric and helpless all at once and told herself she hated the sensation.
But that was another lie.
The truth was that scalding, insistent heat between her legs.
She was so close—
But she refused.
She refused to come like this, from suntan lotion and his hands on her skin. She refused to allow herself to lose the game like that, before she’d even begun to play it. She refused to hand over control.
She refused.
Her gaze locked to his, she made herself breathe. She found the rising crest of that tide and somehow, someway, pushed it back.
Before it could sweep her away where she stood.
And for a moment there was nothing but the little bit of space between