At the sound of my voice, his eyes snap open. The heat in them sears me. “You want to see me come, Delilah?”

“Yes.”

His lashes flutter. “Then make it hurt, honey.”

The next downstroke has the water frothing. I give him no mercy, pumping him, pulling on his cock as he grunts and thrusts. He’s panting, his straight brows knitted in a look of near pain, but he keeps his gaze on me, silently begging for more.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, squeezing his shaft. His nostrils flare as his hips lift, and a long, agonized groan tears from him. He comes in a fine arc over his chest and sinks back into the water with a shuddering sigh.

I gentle my hold but stay with him until he is limp and replete. We fall silent until suddenly Macon moves, grasping the back of my neck to haul me close. His kiss is quick but messy, like he’s all wrung out but needs to convey how much he liked what I did.

The dark fringe of his lashes are clumped and wet from his bath as he stares into my eyes. “Thank you.”

He kisses me again to punctuate the sentiment.

I smile against his mouth. “You’re thanking me for a hand job?”

He huffs out a laugh, his lips tickling mine. “I’m thanking you for trusting me enough to give one.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Delilah

Make it hurt . . .

With a gasp, I wake up in my bed, flushed and fevered and wanting him. I’m slick and swollen between my legs, the soft linen sheets almost coarse against my sensitized skin. I’ve been dreaming of him. My hand still feels the imprint of his hard dick, the weight of it, the girth.

“Sweet Jesus,” I mutter, wiping an unsteady hand over my damp brow.

I actually jerked Macon Saint off in the bath. And it was glorious, gorgeous, hot as hell. His orgasm was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Logically, I’m glad I asked to take it a bit slow. Physically? I want to fuck him and forget the world.

Cheeks burning, I take a long cool shower and then pour myself a glass of juice from the little bar set up in my room. It’s early, not quite sunup. Part of me wants to go to Macon now, tell him . . . what? Do me? Can I touch your cock again? Pretty please.

I laugh at my neediness. A little decorum, Delilah. Just a little.

But I’m happy. And slightly shy at the prospect of facing him. I mean, I jerked off Macon. Macon Saint. The world truly has turned over on its head. Butterflies go to war in my belly, and my fingers are twitchy with anticipation.

Humming “Where Is My Mind?” by the Pixies, I sit back and watch the sun rise over the Pacific. I’m almost totally relaxed when my phone rings.