Free 10 Ways to Handle the Best Man by Heidi Rice Page A

corner of the mansion’s east wing and had two sitting rooms.
    All the better to accommodate those enormous shoulders.
    Hysteria bubbled as she studied Connor’s tall frame relaxing into one of the armchairs.
    ‘That’s a bit rude.’
    Wrapping her arms around her waist, she swallowed heavily, but it didn’t do a thing for the parched sensations scraping her throat raw. Or the heady pulsing in her sex, which had gained momentum as he led her into his suite.
    Leaning back, he pulled the string for the standing lamp. The wide pool of diffused light illuminated his harsh features. She watched mesmerised as he undid the cuffs on his shirt and rolled the sleeves up forearms roped with muscle.
    ‘Lose the gown,’ he said, in exactly the same demanding tone as before. ‘Please.’
    Crossing his ankle over his knee, his gaze dipped to her toes and then took its own sweet time rising up her body.
    ‘Do you need me to undo it?’ he asked.
    She shook her head. The weight in her abdomen had heated under that penetrating gaze, as if he and not the egg were caressing her insides with that steady, focused stroke.
    ‘Could you turn off the egg?’ she murmured, positive there was no way she could stay upright if she had to strip under that all-seeing gaze with the egg driving her to the edge, too.
    He chuckled, the sound deep and husky. Pulling the remote out of his pocket, he held it up, then slipped the button down. The humming subsided, but that low, insistent throbbing in her clitoris continued as if it were so swollen now it would never stop vibrating.
    ‘Now lose the gown. No more delaying tactics.’
    Busted. Bugger.
    The gown felt tight and confining as he waited. One eyebrow quirked.
    She wanted to be naked in front of him, she realised. She wanted to feel those rough hands on her bare flesh. But she’d never performed a striptease before—and she was suffering from an unfortunate dose of performance anxiety.
    His blue eyes sharpened watching her like a hawk tracking a mouse—but then her gaze snagged on the impressive bulge in his lap.
    Courage, Bree. He’s in no condition to grade you.
    Unhooking the straps, her heavy breasts swayed, no longer held in place by the gown’s internal bra. Gripping the tab of the zip under her arm, she drew it down, the rasp of the teeth releasing loud enough to be heard above her own breathing. Her nipples hardened into tight buds, the silky fabric scraping over them like sandpaper as the bodice fell to her waist.
    Those intense blue eyes fixed on her breasts. Her nipples pinched tighter, hard and pouting, his gaze like a physical caress.
    ‘You have beautiful breasts, Sabrina. Have you ever had your nipples clamped?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ His lips quirked. Was he playing with her again? ‘That’s a shame. Clamps would look amazing on those nipples.’
    Just the thought of the clamps sent a renewed shaft of heat to her sex. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ Had he brought some with him, like the egg? And did she have the will to object? ‘My nipples are very sensitive—clamps might hurt.’
    ‘The pain is supposed to enhance the pleasure. It’s just a question of knowing how to use them correctly. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of practice.’
    ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling stupidly gauche again. So he hadn’t been messing with her? Why had she thought he would be? He was obviously way, way more adventurous about this stuff than she was. And why did the thought of all his practice make her feel a little inadequate? This was in no way a romantic liaison, so why should she care how many women had benefitted from his nipple clamp expertise?
    ‘But your nipples are safe. I wasn’t expecting to get laid while I was here, so I don’t have any other toys with me.’
    Her breath scythed out, her heart pummelling harder at the blunt, impersonal reference to ‘getting laid’.
    Holding a finger up, he flicked it down in indication. ‘Lose the rest.