Page 14 of Feast

“For what?” she asked, still mesmerized by his naked torso, then blinked.

He let out a low laugh, a rumble of sound that scraped over her nerve endings like sandpaper, and dropped down to sit on the foot of the bed. “Strip.”

Well, that was clear enough, she thought and reached for the hem of her t-shirt.

The small part of her brain that was still capable of rational thought told her to go slow, to draw it out in a sexy strip-tease. That part of her brain was easily overpowered by the flood of arousal pumping through the rest of her, and she whipped the shirt over her head. Cool air whispered over her skin, raising goosebumps and turning her already pebbled nipples into little rocks inside the lace of her bra. Her breasts jiggled when she tossed the shirt to the side, making the lace slide over the erect flesh, and it felt so good she shifted her shoulders to make it happen again.

His eyes followed the motion, a slight grunt slipping from his lips. “Do that again.”

“What, this?” she asked and shimmied her shoulders.

The sound that came out of him this time was a deep rumble of appreciation, his eyes fixed on her breasts.

She looked down at the bright pink lace of her bra and, inspired, skimmed her hands down the sides. The lace scraped at her palms, a gentle abrasion that fed the arousal building inside her. Wanting more of it, she slid her hands up again, skimming over her nipples so they dragged against her palms. She kept going, watching him watch her, until she found the soft, creamy flesh of the tops of her breasts.

“You like this?” she asked, trailing her fingers over the lace.

“It’s nice,” he said, his eyes lifting to hers. “Pretty. Get rid of it.”

She tried a pout, just to see how he’d react. “You didn’t say please.”

His eyes flashed, whether in warning or delight, she wasn’t sure. Then he said, “You can take it off, or I can cut it off.”

Definitely a warning, she thought and reached back for the clasp with a shiver of delight. “Yes, Daddy.”

He went statue still, and for a moment she thought she’d fucked up.

“What did you call me?”

“Um. Daddy?” she said warily and stumbled back a step in panic when he surged to his feet. She was about to babble out an apology when he took two steps to close the distance between them, grabbed her chin and kissed her.

The force of it rocked her back on her heels, stole her breath. She grabbed his shoulders to keep her balance, but she needn’t have worried. His hands were hard on her hips, holding her in place as his mouth connected with hers with bruising force. Her mouth fell open under the pressure, and his tongue stroked inside. He fucked her mouth like she wanted him to fuck her pussy—with bold, sure strokes and barely restrained violence.

She rose up on her toes, trying to chase his tongue with hers, then let out a shocked squeak when he nipped her lip and lifted his head. She blinked up at him, confused and aroused and wanting his mouth back. He was staring down at her, close enough for her to see the approval mingling with the heat in his dark brown eyes.

“Oh,” she breathed in wonder and delight. “I guess you don’t mind if I call you that.”

“I don’t mind,” he rumbled, his voice low and soft and so intimate she went lightheaded. Then he stroked his thumb down her chin before stepping back and resuming his perch on the bed.

She stood, swaying on her feet and feeling as though she’d just been run over by a truckload of hormones. Then he said, “The bra, baby girl,” in a tone that brooked no argument and she snapped back to the moment.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said just to see his face go feral again and went to work on her bra. There were four hooks—boobs like hers neededsupport—so it took a bit to get through them, each one popping free getting her one step closer to the promise she saw in his eyes.

When it was finally undone, and the weight of her breasts pulled the straps off her shoulders, she let it fall soundlessly to the floor and stood, bold and proud, and let him look his fill.

It was like being devoured without being touched. She thought he’d been intense before, but it was nothing compared to the energy pumping off him now. Being the target of that intensity was exhilarating, and arousing, and a maybe little scary.

She liked it.

She drew in a deep breath, partly because her head was starting to go light but also because she wanted to watch him watch her breasts lift and sway with it, and she wasn’t disappointed. He looked like a hungry man eyeing a feast, and she wanted nothing more than for him to take a great big bite.

“The rest,” he finally said in a voice like gravel, and she reached for the waistband of her jeans.

She popped the button loose and dragged down the zipper, moving as quickly as she could without fumbling, and had her jeans and panties past her knees before she remembered she still wore her ankle boots.

“Leave them,” he rumbled and she looked up through the curtain of her hair, still bent over to undo her boots, and saw him smiling at her.

Strangely, it didn’t dilute the smoldering intensity at all.

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