One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One 1)

He groaned and stroked his beard. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Aw honey, with your own words? You don’t have a screenwriter on speed dial?”

He narrowed his eyes under those unkempt stuck-on brows. “Don’t need a wordsmith to tell you what I’m going to do to you when we get home.”

Home. Hers had wilted pot plants, a near-empty fridge and a blown bulb in the bathroom she needed to borrow a ladder to change. “You don’t?”

He moved closer, right up against her ear, his body pressed on hers, that beard brushing her cheek, making her shiver. “I’m going to make you so wet you glisten, wet enough we can both hear how slick you are. I’m going to put you right on my mouth, have you ride my face, feel how talented my tongue is without a script. That’s where you’ll come the first time.”

The first time.

“The second time I’m going to take you on your knees, that sweet ass in the air, that pretty pussy all pink and juicy and ready to suck my fingers, squeeze my cock. I’m going to pump into you, hard as you can take it, fast as you can handle it until your brain shorts and your body is an electric current of pleasure. The third time.”

A nibble on her ear that made her gasp. Third.

“The third time I’m going to lay you down, all your hair fanned out on the pillow, your hips propped high on another, your amazing legs around my waist, your gorgeous lips on mine. I’m going to fuck you gently, slowly, draw your orgasm out, make you tremble for it, make you go flying, tandem with me. How does that sound to you?”

She got a breathy exhale out because all her critical faculties were fluttering their eyelashes and that air was left over from when she was a real person, not a hyperventilating mindless bag of lust.

“Then you can tell me you’re chafed, tender and a tiny bit sore,” he finished.

Before she could reboot her brain, the headsets they’d lowered to wear around their necks crackled into life with the climb leader’s voice. Five minutes more before they began their descent.

Teela’s descent, when it came, wasn’t going to be slow, steady and simple like the bridge climb, but steep and brutal and she’d be lucky if she didn’t trip over her own feet.

That was before they got back to the suite and she saw the dress.

It was a confection made of gossamer webbing and ivory silk strands. An impossible construction that clung to her body like fro

sting on a cake, light, airy, miraculous.

“Divine,” Haydn said, smoothing his hand up her bare arm. She faced a full-length mirror. He stood behind her wearing a towel and a love bite she’d planted on his neck.

“This is extraordinary. I appreciate the gesture, but I have nowhere to wear a dress like this.” Even her most formal occasion didn’t accommodate a red-carpet-worthy dream gown.

He kissed her bare shoulder. “Wear it for me tonight.”

There wasn’t much of tonight left. They’d come back to the hotel after the bridge climb and had a room service dinner, followed by some explicitly raunchy face-riding beard sex as promised that did cause some chafing in very private places.

Kissing his bearded face took some getting used to. It was like starting over, learning to kiss a different man, one who was a little more wicked, a little more persistent, positively bossy. That beard prickled, ticked against her teeth and was foreign on her tongue and it wasn’t easy to kiss when you kept grinning.

“It’s a bit like kissing a broom,” she’d told him.

That’s when he started kissing her other places. She’d liked his lips on her neck, the little bit of rough with the smooth, a rasp followed by softness, a tickle followed by a hot, wet, drugging drag. The effect on her nipples was electrifying. They were already sensitive, and the prick of beard made her squirm and writhe, and he was the one smiling when she asked for more, heels in the bed, shoving her body against his, hands in his hair.

Then he put that beard to work, taking it on a journey down her sternum, over her ribs and belly and down, down and around the curve of her inner thigh, all the way to her goddamn knee. The rudest noise came out of her when he bypassed the main destination for an inferior landing place. He laughed that beard up the length of her other thigh, grazing, nibbling and skimming her goose-bumped flesh and then skipping X marks the spot again to rub his face on her hip bone.

“You bastard.” She tried to push his head where it belonged.

“Want me to stop?”

“It’s a term of affection here. I want you to start.” Now who was bossy.

For that piece of advice, she got fingered, which was lovely and all, he had a talent for it, possibly award winning, alternating hard and soft touches, teasing and delivering, but it wasn’t what was advertised.

“You’re going to have to tell me what you want, impatient girl.”

“Bastard. Your mouth on my pussy.”