Page 65 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

She pushed against his chest, surprising him off-balance. He fell back onto the hay, and she followed, straddling his hips before he could recover.

"No," she said, pressing her palms flat against his chest. "Not tonight."

He stared up at her. His eyes were dark in the starlight, his breath coming faster.

"What—"

"Tonight, you do what I say." She ground her hips down against his, feeling him already hardened. "Understood?"

His eyes darkened. Surprise, yes. But beneath it, hunger. Curiosity.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I stop." She let her hand drift lower, brushing across his stomach. "And I leave you like this. Hard and aching and desperate. All night."

"Understood," he said roughly.

Florence smiled.

She took her time undressing him. Button by button, layer by layer, revealing the scarred landscape of his body inch by inch. His hands found her waist, slid up her ribs, traced the curve of her breasts through the rough wool.

"Been thinking about this all day," he murmured. "Watching you spit like a sailor. Watching that mouth of yours."

"And what were you thinking?"

"What else I want it to do."

She freed the last button and spread his shirt open. Her palms mapped the terrain of his chest, the ridges of scar tissue, the coarse hair, the hard muscle beneath warm skin.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then guided it lower, down his stomach, to the bulge straining his trousers.

"Feel that?" His voice was rough. "That's what you do to me."

She stroked him through the fabric. Felt him pulse against her palm.

"Impressive."

"Take it out. See for yourself."

She unfastened his trousers slowly. One button, then the next, then the next. His breath grew ragged as she worked.

When she finally freed him, his cock sprang up thick and hard, flushed dark, the tip already glistening. She wrapped her fingers around the base and stroked once, root to tip.

He groaned. "Tighter."

She obliged, squeezing as she stroked again.

"That's it." His head fell back, eyes half-closed. "Just like that."

She set a steady rhythm—firm strokes, the way he'd taught her he liked it. His hips rolled lazily, pushing into her grip.

"Your mouth," he said. "I want your mouth."

"Do you?"

"Put those pretty lips on me."

She lowered her head and breathed hot air across the tip.