Envy Mass Market

He snuffled a laugh, then stroked his chin somberly. “I see. Could you be more specific?”

“There are several examples. So what I thought,” she said, pausing to clear her throat, as she opened to the marked page, “is that we could act it out and see if these… configurations… are doable.”

“That’s what you thought?” h

e drawled sexily.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

He remained very still for several moments, gazing at her. Then slowly he removed his hand from behind his head. “As I recall, our handsome, sexy, roguish, but engaging hero begins by placing his hand on Frenchy’s thigh. It’s a comforting gesture. Nothing more. He wants to reassure her that he poses no threat.”

He placed his hand on her thigh just above her bent knee and squeezed it lightly. Through the baby-blue silk of her nightgown, she felt the heat and strength of all five fingers individually.

“Debatable,” she murmured. “The part about him posing no threat, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“In exchange for that gesture of kindness, and despite the fact that Deck had drawn the low card, Frenchy tells him that at the time of the murder, she had heard a noise coming from the alley.”

“Which caused her to look out her bedroom window. That’s when she saw…” Needlessly Maris referred to the printed page. “The man in the red baseball cap running from the neighboring building.”

“A valuable piece of information,” Parker said. “Especially since Frenchy can describe the cap right down to the logo embroidered on it. Our hero thanks her with a kiss.”

Parker removed her eyeglasses and framed her face between his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones while his eyes touched on every feature. He followed their path with his lips. When he reached her mouth, he kissed it softly, sensually.

Maris struggled to keep her response down to a low moan of arousal.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “She tastes incredible.”

“It doesn’t say that.”

“It doesn’t? It should. He’s compelled to go back for more.”

“Frenchy doesn’t resist.”

He kept the kisses gentle. They teased and tantalized and left her wanting. It was several minutes before they separated, and by then Maris felt drugged. A delicious lassitude had afflicted her limbs. Even so, she had enough presence of mind to continue the game.

Needlessly, she reached for her glasses and fumbled trying to get them on correctly. “Never mind.” She dropped them alongside the book. “I know what comes next. Frenchy, that lucky girl, draws the high card again.”

“Cayton’s pretty damn lucky himself. He gets to grant her a sexual favor.”

“But he’s uncomfortable with their position, so he pulls her astride his lap.”

Parker curved his hands around her waist. She came up on her knees and straddled him. “If I’m remembering correctly, Cayton kisses her ears, her throat, her…”

But Parker was way ahead of her. He had, after all, written the scene and knew the sequence. The straps of her nightgown had been lowered before she was completely settled on him. Her breasts lay cupped in his hands, his thumbs brushing her nipples. And now he was taking one into his mouth and sucking it lustily, pressing it hard between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

Shamelessly she folded her arms around his head, holding it fast. Whimpering wordless sounds, she kissed the crown of his head, his temple, anyplace that she could reach without dislodging him, because she didn’t want him to stop.

Her sex softened and swelled, opening like a piece of fruit that had been ripened beyond its ability to contain itself. Parker reached between her thighs and when he touched her, she shuddered involuntarily. Her body closed wetly around his fingers.

“Go ahead,” he urged. “You know what you want to do.”

His name staggered out on an uneven breath.

“Go ahead, Maris.”

She began to move, rocking her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers deeper into her, responding to his subtle stroking until she was in the throes of an orgasm.

Or so she thought.