“I have dirty dreams about you,” I whisper.
He swallows. “You do?” The words come out like gravel.
I’ve surprised him again. Caught him off guard. And I like it.
Based on the pulsing shaft pressing into me, he likes it, too.
I nod. “I dream about stripping your clothes off.” I’m not going to bother with finesse. But I like speaking my dirty mind with him. A dirty mind I always knew I had but was never able to put to good use until him.
He spreads his arms out wide on the bed, an invitation. “Then explore me, CJ. Take my clothes off like it’s your dirty dream.”
“Is this lesson three?”
A grin tells me he likes my impromptu plan. “Yes, it’s lesson three. You’re such a fast learner you deserve another session tonight.”
He parks his hands behind his head.
Part of me can’t believe this confident, cocky man wants a virgin to take his clothes off. But the look in his eyes says that’s precisely what he wants.
Me.
I’ve turned him on.
I’ve aroused him.
I’m going to undress him.
Sparks race over my skin, and it’s hard to imagine I can want him this much after coming twice.
But I’m learning all sorts of things are possible now that I’m visiting a country I’ve never traveled to before. One I very much want to spend a lot more time exploring.
I scoot back and tug his white dress shirt from his pants.
Graham has always looked good enough to eat, even clothed. I’ve feasted my eyes on him hundreds of times, but as my fingers open the small buttons of his crisp white shirt and spread it open, baring his chest, he literally takes my breath away.
He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
He has abs for days, and I trace the grooves of them with my fingertips. He shudders as I explore his flat belly, then again as I travel higher, my eager hands spreading over his firm, strong pecs. I sigh happily, certain now that I’m going to want to visit Graham Country many more times.
I let my fingers skim the line of hair from his navel to the smattering of darker, curlier hair across his chest, and murmur, “You’re lovely.”
“Like a butterfly?” he teases even as an almost pained expression crosses his face.
“Yes,” I agree, laughing lightly. “Like a butterfly. A very manly butterfly.”
I lean down to kiss him and end up nibbling on the skin of his abdomen the way he did mine. When I reach the close of his pants, I don’t hesitate to pop open the top button, unzip his zipper, and pull them down over his hips. The movement draws his boxer briefs down, too, but I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I keep drawing the fabric lower until his erection springs free and the tips of my fingers go numb.
He’s long and thick and just the right amount of veiny. His shaft pulses as I stare at him, my throat going dry. I gulp. It’s beautiful, but huge, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Slowly, I reach out to touch the head, but my confidence drains away in a heartbeat. I don’t know how to touch a man.
Graham, of course, notices. “You can stop,” he says, through a clenched jaw. “It’s okay.”
Briefly, I consider stopping, letting that possibility play out. But that’s an abhorrent thought. I don’t want to stop. I want to know.
I raise my chin, calling on my inner tough girl, and my most honest self. “No. Just . . . show me how to touch you.” My tongue slips out to wet my lips. “Teach me.”
His eyes blaze with desire as he takes my hand and wraps it lightly around his thick shaft.
He groans at the same time that I gasp.