Jamaican Temptation - NAUGHTY Excerpt
Copyright © Afton Locke, 2014 (unedited)
“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered.
His hungry gaze bathed her with warmth. Clearly, he wanted her more than he ever had. Telling him she’d experienced poverty earlier must have been the magic words. Ever since, he’d looked at her as if they were on the same team…and they could have a relationship. But why? What difference did her background make?
Her thighs trembled in response to his heated stare, anticipating the sensation of his tongue on her folds. Instead of lowering his head, though, he shook it.
“Am I really doing the right thing?” he asked. “I can justify it by saying I’m giving you pleasure, but I can’t help getting pleasure out of it as well.”
Kyra’s jaw tightened as she cupped a palm over her cleft to hide it. “Justin, this back-and-forth business is driving me crazy. A little pleasure isn’t going to make the world end.”
“The Rasta way of life is important to me,” he said. “I have to stay true to my faith every minute of every day, not only when I feel like it.”
She sighed. “I respect that. Hand me my pants, so I can get dressed.”
Instead, he lowered his head. His blue gaze, clear with his decision, sought hers on the way down. Apparently, he planned to continue. A shiver of anticipation she couldn’t have suppressed if she’d wanted to coursed through her.
“Yes, Justin, yes,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”
He kissed the insides of her thighs first, as gently as he’d massaged her feet earlier. His slight beard brushed her tender skin, igniting icy-hot flames everywhere it touched. Devon used to take her fast and hard. Foreplay was usually as compressed as his busy schedule. Closing her eyelids and surrendering to the titillating sensations, she wished Justin had been her first lover.
Maybe her only lover.
He gripped the undersides of her thighs and the bed squeaked as he shifted position. He must mean business. Perspiration broke out across her forehead and she opened her eyes. If he changed his mind, she swore she’d scream.
“I want to feel your hair…on me,” she demanded.
Where had that come from?
Without questioning her strange request, he gripped one of his locks and held it in front of his face with reverence. “Do you know what the dreadlocks signify, Kyra?”
They signify something hot and sexy I want on my body. Now!
“They stand for everything natural and good. No scissors, combs, styling gadgets, or dye touches them. According to the Rasta faith, those things are the work of Babylon.”
Babylon must be the name of her hairdresser because her hair was cut, straightened, and highlighted. Before she could reply, he grasped the end of one lock and brushed it across her mound. It probably went without saying that her bikini wax was also up Babylon’s alley. She watched, breathless, as his hair mingled with the scanty tuft of hers.
Then he lowered the tantalizing lock, brushing it across her clit. She cried out as each of his silky hairs brushed her nerve endings. How could the man be so spiritual one minute and scorching hot the next? The combination was more potent than fire and gasoline.