“You’re a genius,” he said. “Now take off your clothes.”
10
Issam stripped his shirt over his head, giving Mackenzie a full view of his eight-pack. Every single muscle stood out in sharp relief, and Mackenzie sent up silent thanks to whoever had invented CrossFit. And from the look in his eyes, Issam would take their time together as seriously as he took his workouts.
“Take them off,” he commanded again, and this time Mackenzie hurried to obey. Her shirt was hardly over her head when Issam came close, sliding his palms over the curve of her waist, down, and then back up to the lace of her bra. He ran his thumbs over the fabric, and her nipples tightened in response. He was a prince, and power radiated from him. It made her hot.
Issam reached around and deftly unclipped the bra, putting her breasts on display. He sucked in a breath. “Perfection,” he murmured, half to himself, and then he tested each one out in his hands, rolling his thumbs over her nipples.
The sensation nearly made her knees buckle. But Issam took his hands away and stepped back. “Skirt.”
“Do I have to?”
“Would you rather I bent you over this bed and shoved it up around your waist?” His mouth curved in a smile that told her he would do exactly that. But as badly as Mackenzie wanted his hands on her, she couldn’t fight the urge to push back. Just a little.
“No,” she said flippantly, then turned away from him.
First she had to unzip the skirt, then she wriggled it down over her hips. Issam was there again in a flash, his hands tracing the lines of her panties.
“You’re not going fast enough,” he said. “I’m forced to help you.” He yanked them down to her ankles so quickly she gasped. And then he took them in his hands and tore them off her.
“Issam!”
“Was that a protest?” Hands on her hips, her turned her easily to face him, and this was different. It was so different from being pushed up against the wall in the gym, and Mackenzie felt naked.
Well, nearly naked. She kicked off her high heels. “Not a protest,” she said. “Only surprise…”
His eyes raked over her skin, and his hands followed. “You are a surprise every moment of my life.” He leaned forward and pressed a hot kiss to her collarbone, following it with a possessive lick. Mackenzie tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. How could she do anything else? Issam worked his way down to her belly button, to her navel, and then he spread her open with his strong hands. He tipped her back onto the bed so that she was balanced there and opened her another inch. It was so filthy, being exposed this way, and so delicious, and Mackenzie arched in his grip.
“No more surprises,” she said, the words difficult to say against the tide of her pleasure and shame. “You’ve seen everything.”
“There’s a difference between seeing and tasting,” he said, and then Issam lowered his head between her legs.
Mackenzie was lost to his tongue. He devoured her with shocking skill, playing her like a musical instrument. Long strokes of his tongue tortured her, short strokes teased, and when he sucked her clit between his teeth she thought she’d die from the intensity.
The land dispute fell away. Her mission was no longer the thing that drove her forward. It was Issam—his hands, his body. By turns, she strained to spread her legs wider, giving him more access, and pushed against his powerful grip as her body tried to protect her from the waves of desire. They threatened to pull her under.
Issam thrust his tongue into her opening, and she clutched at the comforter on the bed. It was too much.
It was not enough.
“Please,” she begged, forgetting to play the part of the confident, sassy, relentless lawyer. “Please, Issam, please—”
He withdrew his tongue and let his breath linger between her legs. “I love the sound of my name on your lips. Especially after please. Say it again.”
“Please, Issam.”
“Please what?”
“Please—”
“I have you spread out on the bed, completely naked, completely exposed.”
“Yes…” She bucked up against his hands.
“Then why do you have any shame left? Why are you hesitating to ask for what you want?” He stroked two fingers over her wet folds and she groaned in frustration. “Is it this?” He pushed them inside, hooking them forward so that he stroked her g-spot. Fireworks. It was like fireworks, but they were too fleeting for Mackenzie’s taste. She wanted something with more…heft.
“Yes. No. More.” She tilted her hips up, trying to sink into the sensation. “I need you to fuck me.”