Page 68 of Shark’s Edge

“Ahhhh. The Tahoe place. Just an hour or so by jet,” he explained. “But once we’re there”—he advanced through photos of a modern-themed place bordered by thick evergreens—“also completely private. Probably a good thing, because I’d want to bury myself inside you on that table . . . and on that stairway . . . and in front of that fireplace . . . and—”

“And what’s the last one?” A real rush now, since the thought of him screwing me on the deep rug in front of that fireplace was equivalent to jamming a hand down my pants and stroking myself.

“Playa del Carmen, in Cancun. A longer plane ride but worth it. Right along the water, with some very . . . interesting . . . architecture.”

My breathing halted as he clicked through the images. Many contained pieces of heavy wooden furniture that were definitely not designed for simple relaxation. One big apparatus even had a curved leather swing device hanging from it, with cuffs strategically placed at the sides.

“Uhhh . . . yes,” I finally grated as my imagination took that kinky ball and sprinted with it. Right away, my mind’s eye was consumed with the idea of being suspended in that thing, with Sebastian’s naked form fitted between my legs. His fine, muscled buttocks would flex and release with every new thrust into me. He’d go harder and harder as his desire spiraled . . . and mine along with it . . . “Inter . . . esting,” I blurted. “Ah . . . yes.”

His satisfied chuckle was a dim sound against the roaring blood in my ears “That settles it. Playa del Carmen, here we come.” He placed a quick but sensual kiss on my mouth. “Hopefully, in a bunch of different ways.”

I dared to take the lead on initiating our new kiss. One, because I couldn’t resist the allure of the man’s smiling lips. Two, because I knew he didn’t indulge in smiles very often. Well, not this kind. An expression that was authentic and true instead of a show he put on for others.

It was that openness that I spoke to with the tender touch of my lips. It was what he returned to me in his silken caress along my nape and his velvety groan into my throat.

It was magical—nearly surreal.

I was moved.

And inspired.

Enough to take a deep breath and finally murmur, “Mexico sounds . . . really awesome.”

His grin kicked higher. “Awesome is only the start, baby.” And his growl dipped lower, vibrating through my chest as he loosened the knot behind my neck, dropped my apron, and delved his face into the V of my T-shirt. “And I’m going to start the trip by freeing these beautiful mounds as soon as we get on the plane.” He nosed his way inside, just beneath the edge of my left bra cup. “Abbigail, you’re a constant, vibrant revelation.”

“R-Revelation?” I stammered. “I—I’m not sure I under—”

“Don’t worry.” The adoration in his voice was like a physical caress. “In all the best ways, I promise.” He stretched his tongue, flicking my nipple . . . igniting every cell of my blood. “Christ. Look at you. Look at these tits, so erect and stunning. You make me feel like a virgin again. No, even better. Back to third grade again. These definitely put Miss Dandelion to shame.”

“I’m . . . I’m glad they please you.”

“I’m positive all of you is going to please me, Little Red.”

“I can’t wait to please you in a lot of ways, Mr. Shark.”

“And I can’t wait to fuck you in just as many ways, Ms. Gibson.”

I gasped as he unclasped my bra with his teeth. But it was an exclamation of mixed sensations—especially as I swallowed hard while tangling my hands into his thick hair. “Then you’ll get to be my revelation.”

He growled out a chuckle into my bare cleavage. “That so? Tell me about it, baby.”

“Well . . . ” I let go of his hair as he dragged his stare up. His bold features and thick stubble were mind-meltingly beautiful, even in the garish fluorescent lighting. My prince. The thought was reassuring. He was my prince, worthy of entrusting with my deepest secrets. “The . . . virgin part.”

Between one breath and the next, all his warmth vanished.

Between the next two seconds, so did mine.

I broke out in an all-over shiver. Sebastian did nothing. Said nothing.

“Is that going to be . . . a problem?” I attempted to insert some humor by diving into my best BBC anchor accent and quipping, “You know, a few hundred years ago, a gentleman of your ilk would pay a hefty purse for my—”

Sebastian lurched to his feet, toppling me down from his lap to the corner of his desk before spinning away. “Well, I’m not a fucking gentleman,” he spewed, balling his hands into fists against his nape while coming to a violent stop next to the coffee table. “Of any goddamned ilk.”

“Fine.” I pushed at his chair with a foot, adding a fresh set of nicks to the unit behind it. “Just to be clear, I’m not asking you to pay for it.”

“To be equally clear, that’s not exactly a deal-breaker for me.”

“Wow,” I spat past viciously stinging eyes. “Let’s alert the press about that one. Oh, wait. Someone already did.”