Page 22 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

Deliberately she studied his bulging package. “I’ll show, you tell.”

“Tell what?” His teeth met with a click when she gave the taut zip a wicked tug.

“Anything you want. About you, about me, about the man in the moon.”

“I’m a doer, not a talker.”

“These jeans are very tight.” She’d had to stand to work them down his hips and once again his eyes were burning holes into her dangling breasts.

“Only going to get tighter,” he said needlessly.

“I’m doing this,” she said, and Dios, was she ever

, as he lifted his hips a little to help her get the jeans down. “Showing you off,” she added under her breath as she peeled back the clinging cotton of his briefs and his cock sprang out. Good thing she hadn’t bent any closer or he would have put her eye out. She knelt again to slide the jeans and underwear off his legs, her hands working blindly. Once they were gone, she motioned for him to lie back on the bed, more toward the center. “And you’re the teller,” she finally remembered to say, stopping for a moment to marvel before she slithered up his body and cupped her hands between his legs.

He inhaled. “You think I can talk when you’re touching me there?”

“I can stop, if you prefer.”

That earned another of the wry, lopsided grins. And a quick, “Okay, I’ll talk. About anything, right?”

She should have looked at him before she answered, but she was absorbed elsewhere. “Mm-hmm.”

The springy hair on his thighs tickled her. “Spread ’em wider.”

She should have wondered why he was compliant, but she was still absorbed elsewhere.

He jerked under her touch. Fascinating creatures, penises. So hard and yet soft. So alive and purposeful. She used the tip of one finger to follow a pulsing vein and when she reached the rim of the head, already engorged to the point where she wondered how he would ever fit inside her, it jerked again. Petting the creature wouldn’t calm it, but she tried, grasping the shaft between her palms, stroking and cradling it. The thing insisted on pushing itself out of her grasp. Still growing. Perhaps she should attempt a soothing lullaby? She grinned. Or a kiss . . .

Estrella looked up. “Jesse?”

His eyes were squeezed shut. “Yeah? Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

She let go of his penis, put her hands on either side of his hips and got her legs up under her. Looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, right. I want to talk about you.”

“I’d rather hear about you, but go ahead.”

He paused. “You taste like cinnamon. And sugar.”

“That was the churro I had for a snack. I was craving one, so I stopped at Pasquali’s Bakery on my way back from the dry cleaner’s.”

“You had dry cleaning in the convertible on the day we met.”

“Well, Eve—everyone with a white fetish has a lot of dry cleaning.” She squeezed his balls.

Good distraction. His eyes rolled back in his head and he arched off the bed, forgetting all about dry cleaning. She wondered what would happen if she sucked them into her mouth.

Not yet. But if he continued to ask questions, she might resort to any number of illicit distractions. For now, she gentled her touch, rolling his warm sac around in her fingers. “You were saying?”

He got a determined look on his face. “I was saying you taste like cinnamon sugar. Sweet. But that’s not all. You’re spicy too. Hot and tangy.”

“Um-hmm.” She took the head of his cock between two fingers and bent her head. Said, “Keep talking,” and then opened her mouth.

“Peppery.”

Extended her tongue.

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