Pleasing Her SEAL

He reached over and slicked his finger with frosting.

“Are we getting creative?” She settled back on the table. He decided to interpret that as “carry on.”

“I thought you liked my cake.”

Not waiting for her answer, he spread her open. She was pink and glistening, clinging to his finger when he gave in to temptation and had to touch. Because looking definitely wasn’t enough. Hell, this afternoon wasn’t going to be enough. Not for him.

“Mason.” His name came out part moan, part breathy sigh.

“Mason, stop—or Mason, do it some more?” While he waited for her answer, he drew his frosting-covered finger down over her stomach, painted the sweetest of arrows to her own sweet spot. When he followed his path with his mouth, licking the frosting from her skin until he’d moved entirely between her thighs, she moaned again.

“Definitely ‘Mason, do it some more,’” she whispered pleadingly.

Grunting his approval, he swirled his tongue in small circles around the sensitive spot. She cried out, pushing up into his touch, so he did it again. Spread her wider, drank her in. She was so goddamned pretty and open, and right now she was also all his.

“You know what I have to do now.” He met her gaze, knowing his voice was low and rough, but, damn, she drove him crazy. He had no idea how he’d walk away without tasting her now.

“Do it faster,” she demanded.

He leaned forward with a laugh, pushing her thighs wider with his hands, close enough to smell the vanilla of the frosting and that musky, perfect scent that was all Maddie. “Maddie.”

He ran his tongue down her slick folds. He had a feeling that, from now on, he’d get a hard-on whenever he smelled vanilla. She was gorgeous opening up for him.

“Mason.” Good. He liked his name on her tongue, but he wanted more. More response, more Maddie, more orgasm. He inserted a finger inside her. Her soft, hot channel clung to his finger. “Mason, stop or Mason, more?”

She pushed against his finger. “You’re so slow.”

“And you like it.” He moved his finger deeper.

“More. Now.” She wriggled demandingly.

The table couldn’t possibly be comfortable, so he scooped her up and deposited her on the padded banquette seat. It wasn’t as good as having her in his bed, but it was an improvement. She wouldn’t thank him if she had bruises on her gorgeous ass tomorrow, and he already knew he wanted to see her again like this.

“Shh. Let me give you what you want.”

* * *

GOD. THE MAN could kiss. The frosting thing was more sticky and funny than sexy. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for kink, because she’d had to fight back giggles when he’d grabbed a fingerful of frosting, but then she was really glad she’d been willing to humor him because, holy moly, he’d painted her body as if she was the Sistine Chapel and he was Michelangelo. The erotic pressure had sent sensation shooting through her body. The skin of his thumb was rough and callused, as if he used his hands for plenty more than cooking. He touched her with short strokes, sensual appetizers that made her want more and, if he was decorating her like a cake, then surely he planned on licking her clean? Please.

She leaned back. Part of her wanted to watch him, to see that dark head bent over her pussy, but the rest of her just melted. She wanted this, wanted him, and apparently he felt the same way. Just the thought aroused her more.

His tongue stroked down. Up. She stopped worrying that he had her spread out in circumstances a little too public for her own tastes. But his tongue... God, the man’s tongue was magic. He licked her, ravished her as though she was his own very special, tasty treat and she dug her heels into his shoulders and let him.

Not sure where to put her hands, she jammed her fingers into her mouth because screaming wouldn’t be wise. Acquiring an audience now would suck. He stripped away her reasons to care, to hold back, because there was room only for the two of them and all that incredible, exquisite pleasure. The pleasure built and built, and all her attention focused on that one sweet, aching spot he circled with his tongue. Sucked with his wicked, talented mouth. Her whole world narrowed to the man making her come apart.

The sounds of voices talking and laughing had no place in her fantasy and jerked her back to awareness of her surroundings. Mason lifted his head, his fingers cupping her possessively. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered, as if keeping her voice down could hide what they were doing here.

She could kill them. Her body was a tight, wet, pulsing ache and she was so damned close. The need to come was a fierce demand, but they weren’t alone.