Page 81 of Revenge Honeymoon

Max smoothed his hand across her bare thighs. Her legs relaxed at his scintillating touch, and her knees splayed apart.

“Not yet, Emily.” Gently, he pushed her knees back together. “I want to take my time.”

Oh, goodness.

Her core burned. The apex of her thighs trembled. How much time? Her nipples tingled at the thought.

He leaned on one elbow and swept her hair off her forehead. “I’m not interested in some cruise fling, Emily.”

His hand slid behind her neck and loosened the knot of her halter dress.

“No?” she squeaked out the question.

Max, her fantasy man, was about to see her naked from the waist up. She held her breath as the knot came undone.

“No, beautiful.” With a gentle hand, he lowered the straps of her dress and bared her breasts.

Automatically, she laid her arm across her nakedness, embarrassed. This kind of woman was not his type. His kind of woman was sleek and lean and perfect.

“Stop.” His heated gaze met hers. “Let me see you. I want to see every gorgeous inch of you.”

She let him brush her arm aside and then he kissed from her bare shoulder, down her collarbone, and over the curve of her breast, capturing the nipple in his mouth. His hand kneaded the soft flesh as he suckled, causing sparks of pleasure to run down her body.

Everything she’d ever wanted was about to come true, but in the back of her mind she thought about her deception to come, and it weighed on her.

Max moved his mouth to her other nipple and pushed her dress further down her body. “Beautiful, beautiful, Emily,” he muttered.

Emily’s mind could only focus on that singular thing. Her secondary goal pushed far, far away.

* * *

Oh. Holy. Hell.

How did she manage to end up in bed with the most gorgeous perfect man she’d ever met? His lips and tongue were working miracles on her body. Like literal miracles. How come Kyle didn’t know how to do this stuff? How come any one of her few-and-far-between sex partners didn’t either? And where had her dress disappeared to?

She gripped Max’s head with both hands. He’d reached her belly button. Pretty soon he’d be...well...down there. Between her chunky thighs. Thighs he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, every touch of her flesh had been a caress, as if he were worshipping her body rather than putting up with it. Could it be possible Max had a thing for curvy bodies? Like, really curvy bodies?

Maybe she didn’t have to wear the plastic wrap dress after all. Maybe she could’ve shown up in a paper bag—well, maybe not a literal paper bag—but how about yoga pants and an old T-shirt?

Max pushed her thighs apart.

Her eyes flew open.

“Relax,” he whispered. The warm air of his breath teasing her center. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this.”

He dreamed about her?

His tongue did ridiculous things to her most sensitive parts, and her mind turned off completely. Like one-hundred percent nothingness. He seemed to know exactly where to lick.

Her chest tightened, her legs tensed, her whole body trembled in anticipation of...well...of...yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

That.

Oh, and then the scream. The very loud, very embarrassing, very uncontrollable scream. Probably heard as far as the elevators, maybe even all the way at the pool. Security would probably knock down the door thinking she had been attacked.

She threw a hand across her eyes.

Oh, God. What would he think?

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