Page 13 of Chiseled Mountain Man

“If I take my bra off, would that help?” she asked.

My eyes widened. I should say no. I didn’t need the bra off to carve her image. Saying no would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But the woman was sitting here in her underwear. Gentlemanly flew out the window a while ago.

So despite myself, I found words coming out of my mouth as my cock pressed painfully against my jeans. “Yes. Take off your bra.”

7

BRONTE

I’d blame it on the brandy, but I didn’t feel all that tipsy. No, a different rush was surging through my body. Adrenaline, I assumed. I felt alive for the first time in my life.

How had I gone this long without experiencing this kind of intense arousal? I wanted him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his mouth on my body. But mostly, I wanted him inside me.Deepinside me.

The fantasies were flying through my mind so fast and furious, I was squirming on the stool. I reached behind me and unclasped the bra, sliding it off and dropping it to the floor on top of my blouse and pants.

Sean didn’t look at me. He kept his attention on the block of wood in front of him. I was trying not to feel insulted by it. Maybe that was what he needed to keep himself under control.

I’d eyed the crotch of his jeans numerous times over the past half hour or so, wondering if I was turning him on. I was pretty sure I saw a bulge there, but it was hard to tell.

He had to be turned on, right? If not, how much more could I do? I could remove my panties, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Besides, I didn’t want to sit herewith that particular part of my anatomy bare. It just seemed like it would be uncomfortable.

“I see curves,” I said.

He looked up then, his gaze heading straight to my face. And that was when I saw it. Heat, intensity—the clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. Oh yeah, he was definitely turned on.

“Huh?” he asked.

“What you’re doing right now.” I gestured toward the wood. “It looks like you’re carving my breasts.”

Carving my breasts. That sounded weird. It was also the first time I’d used that word in front of him—or any man that I could remember.

But I wasn’t blushing. I wasn’t even shy about it. This guy was opening up a new side of me.

“You’re not supposed to peek at the artist’s creation,” he said.

I didn’t miss the hint of amusement in his eyes as he returned his attention to the sculpture. But watching him run his fingers over the curves was doing something to me. I wanted him to be touching me that way. And in a way, he was. I wondered if he was imagining running his hands over my breasts, my waist, and my hips as he ran his fingers over the curves of the wood. Again, warmth spread to that area of my body that made me squirmy.

“You can just do that?” I asked, speaking aloud something I’d wondered for a good ten minutes in silence.

He looked up as though being awoken from a sleep. “Do what?”

“Run your hands over my curves without it affecting you physically.”

There. That was a diplomatic way to say it. But would he think I was weird for wanting to know if it turned him on?

“It’s wood,” he said.

“Yeah.” I bit my own lip. “I just thought maybe…”

I couldn’t get more words out than that. I had no idea how to put it. I should just drop the topic and sit here quietly.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve been fighting everything in me not to stand up, cross the room, and give you the best kiss of your life.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

Gosh. I was being brave—braver than I’d ever been. Who knew this side of me existed?

I chewed on my lip again—a nervous habit—as I waited to see what he’d do next. He set down his tools on the table behind him and stared at the wood structure.

---