My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Tiffany didn't even blush. She just spun around to face us, planting her feet wide and resting her hands on her hips. "Well? Hot stuff, right?"
"Gorgeous," I admitted.
After last night's little "showdown," I was seriously regretting not packing a sexier bikini. Tiffany had completely stolen the show.
That's when I spotted it—a crimson butterfly tattooed low on Tiffany's abdomen.
She caught me looking and tugged her thong down further, revealing the sharp curve of her hipbone. "Like it? Vincent's handiwork."
Who knew Vincent—all rugged muscles and brooding looks—had an artistic side?
"He brought his whole kit. I'll get him to do you next!" Tiffany's eyes sparkled as she dragged me onto the beach mat.
I bit my lip. "Isn't that... too much trouble?"
"Relax, it's like five minutes."
With a devilish grin, Tiffany shooed my husband toward the water. "Artists need their space. Borrowing your man for a sec."
When my husband didn't protest, I settled back.
"What do you want?"
Vincent's gaze burned across my exposed skin like physical touch.
Heat flooded my cheeks as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Same as Tiffany's."
A curt nod. "Rule number one—absolute silence while I work. Helps me concentrate."
I obeyed, gasping when the cold brush first touched my skin. "Thank God I waxed before this trip."
"I'm letting a virtual stranger paint there."
This was uncharted territory—especially after he'd heard everything last night.
Vincent's corded arm moved with surgeon's precision as he worked, his breath warming my inner thigh.
Suddenly I was reliving every sound from next door, that memory sending liquid heat pooling low in my belly. My pulse kicked up.
Then his hand—the one bracing my thigh—shifted. His fingers skimmed the edge of my thong, barely grazing my most sensitive spot.
For a tough guy, his touch was shockingly delicate. His thumb made slow, teasing circles, showing both restraint and terrifying expertise.
"Ah—"
Lightning shot through me. My back arched of its own accord, legs falling open.
From tailbone to skull, electric tingles exploded under my skin, every nerve ending screaming to life.
How does he know exactly where to touch a woman?
I grabbed his forearm—half to stop him, half to steady myself. But pressed against steel-corded muscle, I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Not that I had the strength.
And he wasn't finished. His fingertips slipped beneath the thin fabric, testing how far I'd let him go.
"N-no... don't—"
"Gorgeous," I admitted.
After last night's little "showdown," I was seriously regretting not packing a sexier bikini. Tiffany had completely stolen the show.
That's when I spotted it—a crimson butterfly tattooed low on Tiffany's abdomen.
She caught me looking and tugged her thong down further, revealing the sharp curve of her hipbone. "Like it? Vincent's handiwork."
Who knew Vincent—all rugged muscles and brooding looks—had an artistic side?
"He brought his whole kit. I'll get him to do you next!" Tiffany's eyes sparkled as she dragged me onto the beach mat.
I bit my lip. "Isn't that... too much trouble?"
"Relax, it's like five minutes."
With a devilish grin, Tiffany shooed my husband toward the water. "Artists need their space. Borrowing your man for a sec."
When my husband didn't protest, I settled back.
"What do you want?"
Vincent's gaze burned across my exposed skin like physical touch.
Heat flooded my cheeks as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Same as Tiffany's."
A curt nod. "Rule number one—absolute silence while I work. Helps me concentrate."
I obeyed, gasping when the cold brush first touched my skin. "Thank God I waxed before this trip."
"I'm letting a virtual stranger paint there."
This was uncharted territory—especially after he'd heard everything last night.
Vincent's corded arm moved with surgeon's precision as he worked, his breath warming my inner thigh.
Suddenly I was reliving every sound from next door, that memory sending liquid heat pooling low in my belly. My pulse kicked up.
Then his hand—the one bracing my thigh—shifted. His fingers skimmed the edge of my thong, barely grazing my most sensitive spot.
For a tough guy, his touch was shockingly delicate. His thumb made slow, teasing circles, showing both restraint and terrifying expertise.
"Ah—"
Lightning shot through me. My back arched of its own accord, legs falling open.
From tailbone to skull, electric tingles exploded under my skin, every nerve ending screaming to life.
How does he know exactly where to touch a woman?
I grabbed his forearm—half to stop him, half to steady myself. But pressed against steel-corded muscle, I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Not that I had the strength.
And he wasn't finished. His fingertips slipped beneath the thin fabric, testing how far I'd let him go.
"N-no... don't—"
End of My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap book page.