Page 8 of Make Me Yours

chapter 3

GERTIE

I’m not exactlysure how it happened, but suddenly I’m naked in front of a man for the first time in my entire life.

Naked with astranger, no less.

I know this man must be a Tripp—probably one of the older cousins who was sent away to business school, while Mark stayed here to learn the operation from the docks up—but I don’t even know his first name.

I’m about to lose my virginity to an anonymous asshole who thinks he can treat me like his own personal small-town prostitute.

Well, he has another think coming on that. No way in hell will I be trotting my ass down to his yacht every night to service his cock and sneaking out like a shameful secret the next morning. Yes, I would have been willing to sneak around with Mark, but Mark is a friend—sort of—not a pompous, arrogant shithead who thinks he’s?—

“Oh my God,” I moan, my hands flying to tangle in the pompous shithead’s hair as he buries his face between my legs, his tongue swirling against my clit with a firm assurance that sends electric shocks of pleasure pulsing across my skin.

He kisses methere, in that place no man has ever kissed me, and I instinctively know no other man will ever measure up to this jerk’s mouth. His lips, his tongue, his teeth…he employs every tool at his disposal with the kind of skill I’m guessing only comes with hours and hours of devoted practice.

His tongue pushes inside me and I die a little. Then his tongue is on my clit and his fingers are inside me and things are happening that have only ever happened while I’m alone in my room with my vibrator between my legs and a steamy romance in my headphones.

I come.

And not just come, I comehard.

I come writhing and bucking into his lips and squirming shamelessly closer to his magical mouth. I come with an intensity that leaves my head spinning and my breath rushing so fast I can barely bleat in protest as he abruptly flips me onto my stomach and swats my ass.

Once I’ve managed to pull in a breath, I jerk my attention over my shoulder, in time to see him swat me again, hard enough to make my flesh sting.

“What was that for?” I demand, outraged and pissed off and…so fucking turned on I can barely stand it.

“For trespassing,” he says, swatting me again even as his other hand moves between my legs from behind. He strokes his fingers through my swollen, sensitive flesh, making me tremble. “And this is for having the most delicious pussy I’ve ever tasted.” The next two slaps are softer.

Or maybe I’m just getting used to the sting.

Getting used to it and liking it way more than I ever imagined I would…

But still, I’ve read enough kinky romance to know you’re supposed to ask for permission to introduce pain into pleasure.“That’s the last time you spank me without permission,” I say. “Next time, you ask.”

His lips curve into a wicked smile as he continues to finger me. “Yes, ma’am.”

My brows shoot up and my thighs ease farther apart, making more room for his talented hand. “It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy.” He smooths his free palm over the flushed skin on my backside. “I won’t spank you at all, if you don’t like it, but…I think you do.” His fingers push deeper into where I’m dripping for him, making me moan. “Tell me you like it when I spank you, Sully.”

“I…” I trail off, biting my bottom lip as he proves just how good he is at making me forget how to speak. “I don’t understand why you spanked me for tasting good.”

A beat later, he’s hovering over me, his hands on either side of my shoulders and his heat warming my entire body as he whispers in my ear, “I didn’t say good. I said delicious, so delicious I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it for a very long time. Your sweet little pussy is going to haunt me, Sully.”

“Good,” I murmur, feeling wicked and wonderful as he wraps his arm around my waist, flipping me onto my back with an ease that makes me feel delicate for the first time in my life. Then, his big palm is between my shoulders, sliding me higher on the mattress with one hand, and I feel every drop of feminism leech from my body.

At five eight, I’ve always been taller than a lot of men. As a former rugby player, who’s only gotten in better shape since high school, I’m also stronger than a good number of them. I’ve never felt small or dainty with a guy I’ve dated, but I’ve never imagined I’d enjoy feeling that way, either.

I like knowing I can handle myself in a scuffle with just about anyone and that, worst-case scenario, I could drag my date out of a burning building as easily as he could do the same.

I never thought I’d melt for a man who could move me around with one hand, or with thighs even stronger than my own.

But as my stranger guides my legs apart and settles between them, the feel of his hard, muscled body makes me tremble.

“Nervous?” he asks, mistaking the reason for my shiver.

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