I chomped into the peel and gagged myself with the fruit as his tongue darted over my clit. Holding onto the back of the seat for dear life, I moaned and moaned and moaned some fucking more, and my teeth sank a little deeper into the apple. He teased my pulsating bud of nerves until I thought I couldn’t handle another round, yet I chanted please don’t ever stop in my head.

Rafe’s tongue was my downfall.

If I had an apple wedged between my lips, then I couldn’t ask questions. If he drove me out of my mind with his hot, wet mouth on my pussy, then I wouldn’t care that he refused to answer. No one could bend me so well, could take more than I wanted to give and make it seem like it had all been my idea to begin with.

His tongue burrowed deep then surfaced to flick and tease. He alternated between making me want less…making me want more. I arched my back, stranded between sweet agony and just plain agony. What a contradiction. He pushed a finger into my center, and I bucked off the table with a cry. I almost lost the apple.

“Easy, sweetheart.” His warning vibrated on my throbbing clit. Using my feet, I pushed against the seat cushions behind him and braced my arms for more traction, trying to ride his face. He withdrew, and I screeched my outrage around the apple dripping from my lips. Sweat broke out on my naked body, bowed over the table, legs spread wide in unabashed glory.

He’d reduced me to a shameless hussy, and I was ready to break in two if he didn’t stop torturing me.

The boat swayed, shifted, and heavy footsteps announced someone’s arrival. “I see I’m interrupting breakfast.”

Jax. Shit. I tightened my stomach muscles, bringing myself upright, but Rafe placed a firm hand on my belly that kept me sprawled.

“Don’t move. He’s seen it all before.”

Embarrassment made my skin feverish, and I despised how my chest heaved from my arousal, how my nipples were achingly erect. One look between my legs would be evidence enough; I was Rafe’s whore, the one he had no qualms leaving in a state of heightened near-orgasmic state for his buddy to gawk at.

Rafe lifted my leg, scooted over so he could stand, then set my foot on the seat back again. Jax stared at me from the narrow path between the table and couch area, his eyes alight with amusement.

“An apple…that’s creative, man.”

Creative and messy. Juice trailed down my face toward my ears, and there was nothing I could do about it unless I wanted to risk disobeying Rafe.

Which I didn’t.