Page 56 of One Secret

'You'd best make the most of me while I'm here…' I finish, with a teasing tilt of my head. 'Speaking of which, if we leave now I bet we can snag a table at—'

'Don't you fucking dare.'

My giggle dies a swift death as Cyrus slams his mouth down over mine. There's no build-up, no foreplay. His tongue invades me, finding mine, tangling…

The second I taste him, every cell in my body lights up. Every muscle screams fire. Every heartbeat pounds heat.

Fuck, who was I kidding? No foreplay? This whole trip has been days of it. Some deliberate, some accidental. But all of it centered on Cyrus. All of it designed to drive him to distraction, to have him blind with need.

Congratulations, Captain. Mission accomplished.

And aren't I right there with him?

'God…' I gasp, when we break for air, lips clinging, hands searching.

'I know…' Equally out of breath, Cyrus nips at my lower lip. 'Just remember this is all your fault.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' I deny, biting him right back.

With a growl, Cyrus literally rips the bikini top from my body and throws it onto the rocks somewhere. I have no time for startled modesty because elastane is instantly replaced with skin as he palms my small breasts.

He's possessive, demanding... and all-consuming.

He strokes their shape, cradles their curves, and plucks at their tips.

I gasp out loud, only to be filled with his tongue once more.

And I'm sure as hell not to be outdone. My fingers are working just as fast as his, diving for the waist of his shorts.

His hands are quick to join mine. With no space between us to work his drawstring loose and half-blinded by the sun, I think he's about to help me but his fingers suddenly shackle my wrists.

I growl my protests loud and clear when Cyrus abruptly breaks away and turns to lead me down to the edge of the water trap.

Beneath the lapping tide is a steep drop, like a plunge pool. After slipping into the water and finding his feet, Cyrus stands waist-deep in the water. Half submerged, and a foot below me, he still feels the taller of us somehow. Strong and dominating with an unflinching charisma. The confidence of a man who claims mastery over life and death.

And with a body like that to boot…

Thickly padded pectorals, ridged abdominal muscles, and a clear slanting V into the front of his shorts form the striking architecture of his anatomy. A dusting of hair casts shadows beneath his navel, its silky trail then distorted and zig-zagging beneath the water line.

His skin is wet, doused in the spray of the sea and the broad flare of his shoulders is an open canvas for reflecting twinkling sunlight.

Cyrus holds out a hand to me, the digits long and thick, his forearms lithely sculpted. His bicep bulks up heavily as he reaches up out of the water...

I lose my train of thought for a second and simply drink him in. All of him.

Maybe the Greeks of old had a point about those irresistible Gods of theirs...

I'm gratified to notice that I'm not the only one staring. As I descend into the pool, Cyrus's eyes are hyper-focused. I feel him drawing the lines of my body in his mind with my every step. Forming the shape of my bare breasts and memorizing the color of my nipples.

Upon joining him in the water, he replaces his gaze with his hands, molding, sculpting... committing to memory...

For all his machismo and muscles, Cyrus touches me with the devotion of an artist. And tastes me with the reverence of a gourmet.

This time, when he kisses me, the connection is slow. No less hungry and no less forceful; he sips, he tastes, he bites... But it's at a painfully unhurried pace. I deepen the kiss. I seek out his tongue. I'm so hot that I'm ready to burst into flames. So tight in my core, I think I might cry with the need for release...

All those hours riding the high of teasing this man...

And now I'm the one ready to roll over and beg.

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