The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

Daisy snorted at that, even while battling a pang in her heart at the thought of a young man, with no loved one back home, having to keep a picture of a long-dead movie icon for comfort . . . and probably other stuff.

“I look nothing like her; I’m not even blonde.”

“I meant your body. All these sweet curves. I mean, luckily these”—he cupped her breasts—“are a bit more substantial. And you have a plumper, rounder ass than hers.” Was he really comparing her body to Marilyn Monroe’s and finding hers more desirable? That was both sweet and a little unbelievable.

“Wait, so all the stuff we did and when I had my mouth on your—there—last night, you were imagining I was your bow-chicka-wow-wow dream woman?” she asked without any heat, confident that he had been entirely focused on her—Daisy—last night.

“Hell no. That was all you, angel. And for someone who’s never given a blow job before, let me tell you, that was a fuckin’ stellar performance.”

The annoying buzzing sounded again, and he reached for his phone and swiped the screen.

“Why is your alarm going off at this god-awful hour?” she asked, irritated.

“Thought I’d go for a predawn run on the beach, watch the sun rise. Want to join me?” he asked, nuzzling the back of her neck, while his hands started to roam. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace, pushing her behind up against his hardening erection.

“Do you really think I’m the jogging type?” she asked, and he made a noncommittal sound.

“I figured you weren’t, but it would be rude not to ask, right?”

“Trust me, I won’t think you’re rude if you never ask me again. But are you sure you want to go for that run? I can think of so many other more interesting forms of exercise.” Encouraged by the burgeoning hardness against her butt, she reached back and took hold of his solid shaft, and he sucked in a gasp of air. Happy with his reaction, she gave a long stroke and felt him go even harder.

“I’d love to, but you’re new to this, and I could tell after our last time that you were feeling a little stiff.”

“No. You’re feeling a little stiff,” she corrected, and he laughed.

“Who’s twisting whose words now, Daisy?”

“Apparently that’s what happens when you spend time with ‘testosterone-fueled guys,’” she countered, continuing with her languid stroking, and he groaned, the sound loaded with appreciation.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, Daisy. I’d make love with you all day if I could, but you need some proper rest. Go back to sleep, and when I get back we’ll take a bath together.”

Daisy knew he was right, now that some of her grogginess had worn off; she was starting to feel aches and pains all over her body. He’d given her a heck of a workout last night, had twisted and turned her body in so many unfamiliar ways, she was shocked she wasn’t a human pretzel this morning.

She gave him one last stroke before releasing him, and he moaned—a soft, disappointed sound—before moving away from her and getting out of bed. She immediately felt cold without him and bundled the bedcovers even closer, snuggling down and watching sleepily when he switched on the bedside lamp and started rummaging through his bag. He was walking around the room unabashedly naked and still massively aroused, and she admired every taut muscle that worked as he tugged on his briefs—boo—over that still-straining erection, then his drawstring workout pants, socks . . .

Her eyelids were unbearably heavy when he got around to covering up that beautiful upper body, and by the time he pulled on his beanie and fingerless gloves, she was fast asleep. She didn’t know he stood watching her for a long moment before he left, didn’t feel his hand brush through her hair and stroke her face, and never knew that he leaned down to kiss her lips before he grabbed his iPod and headed out the door.

There were a few people on the beach despite the early hour, some dog walkers, a jogger, a young couple doing yoga, and—of course—in the distance a small group of people on horseback, some of Lia’s more enthusiastic wedding guests. Mason sucked in a few breaths of the crisp air, filling his lungs with the fresh coldness and holding it there before releasing it slowly.

God, he felt amazing. Completely invigorated. His entire body was buzzing on a natural high after last night’s intense sex, and his chest gave a weird little leap every time he thought of the woman he had left sleeping back in his hotel room. He did a few long, satisfying stretches, easing the kinks out of his neck and back before adjusting his earbuds and starting up his running playlist. He began at an easy lope, allowing his muscles to warm up before increasing his pace. He didn’t jog, he ran, faster and longer than most average joggers. For Mason running was about maintaining his high fitness level and increasing his endurance. He had an alarm set on his iPod to remind him when to slow his pace and settle into a cooldown run. Without the alarm he could run for hours, especially when he got lost in his own head.