when she saw his stunned face. He was staring at her, his eyes gleaming with an amused and intensely sensual light.
He gave a deep sexy laugh. ‘You bad, bad girl,’ he said softly. ‘What are you up to?’
Encouraged, she slithered across the lid to him, making herself as sinuous as a serpent. A voluptuous serpent, with a longing to feel the contact of hard, muscled man against her skin.
Her ravenous, tingling skin.
He stared at her, eyes ablaze, his hands suspended over the keys.
She rested her chin on her hands and smiled. ‘Did you know I can do the splits?’
The piercing hot gleam in his eyes could have set her aflame. ‘I’d really like to see that.’
The challenge in his husky voice revealed such a depth of wolfish excitement a laugh of pure exhilaration bubbled out of her. Amber O’Neill was flying high, as energised as if she’d just pirouetted right across the stage on points.
Loving her power to galvanise such warm admiration—very warm, judging by the bulge in Guy’s jeans—she ordered him to keep playing.
Guy was happy to accommodate. Eager, one might say. He did his best to comply, continuing to thump the keys while staring, mesmerised. At first she sat up, straight-backed, and tucked up her skirt into her pants’ elastic.
Then, before his hypnotised gaze, she folded her supple self into the lotus position. Each time his fingers faltered on the keys she nodded at him to play on. He started into something—though who knew what? His hands were on an erratic auto-pilot, since every other part of him, from his fascinated gaze to his painful, throbbing erection, was riveted on her.
His brows lifted in disbelief as she smoothly stretched first her right leg, way out to ninety degrees at one side, then her left to the other. All the impossible way. Until both gorgeous legs made a perfect one-eighty. His gaze was riveted to the tender, crucial little bridge touching the piano lid in the middle. His jeans tightened unbearably.
She gazed down upon him like some oriental goddess, her eyes shadowed and mysterious. ‘We call this the straddle position.’
Inside his constricting jeans, the skin of his engorged penis felt ready to burst.
Then, before his lustful gaze, she stretched her right arm over her head and with graceful ease laid her head down on her leg while she touched her left foot with her fingers, the long switch of her hair falling away from her neck.
Then she straightened her taut back and did the reverse, her left arm over her head, fingers touching her right foot. The graceful line of her body, the agonising beauty of her lithe form, her vulnerable neck, dragged at his heart.
It was too much for a guy two years on the sexual wagon.
He sprang up and seized her. With fire thundering in his blood, he lifted her off the piano and set her down on the floor.
Like a wild man, he took her sweet mouth in possession while somehow stripping off his clothes and fumbling with hers.
‘Hurry, hurry,’ she was trying to say through his frenzied kisses, as though he wasn’t rushing as fast as any painfully aroused guy was humanly able.
When she stood naked before him, the beauty of her nude body made his insides tremble. Her breasts small and so achingly perfect. The areolae around the rosy, pouting nipples flushed with arousal. Her waist so slender his hands could have spanned it. The smooth curve of her hips and the pretty triangle of curls sent what was left of his sanity flying out of the window.
Free at last, his rampant erection reached the zenith of rock-hard demand. He stooped gingerly for his jeans and dug for the condom in his wallet, grateful to have one on hand.
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