Page 53 of Making Over Maris

A flush rose on his cheeks, his lashes fluttered. And then, slowly, he took her foot in his hands. Gaped at it. Gulped.

“Rub my foot, Jack,” she said. “And you’d better do a good job.”

“I… O-ok-k-ay,” he stuttered, like a high school kid on his first date.

He stroked her instep and all thoughts skittered away. Because it was a tender massage, sweet and gentle and absolutely exquisite. She couldn’t help it. She moaned. She leaned her head back against the cushy arm of the couch and closed her eyes and let him work. Up and down, around and over and back. Oh. Heaven. It was heaven.

She yanked her foot away and thrust the other at him. His magic fingers drew delight there as well. She groaned and shifted restlessly. It was delicious. It was delightful. It was divine—

“Sara…”

Her eyes flew open. He’d stopped. Why had he stopped? “What?”

“Could you please not…”

“Not what?” Okay. She didn’t mean to snap. But seriously. Why had he stopped?

“Could you please not make those noises?”

Annoyance nudged her and with it a hint of anticipation. He dared tell her to be quiet? Oh. He’d pay for that. “Was I making noises?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of noises?”

“Moany kinds of noises. They’re very distracting.”

“Really?” She nestled her toe into his crotch, stroked. She lowered her voice a notch and purred, “But it feels so good, Jack.”

He flinched and held her still. “D-does it?”

“It feels very good. But do you know what would feel better?”

“Um. W-what?”

Now he was the one shifting restlessly. God, yes. Oh, how she would make him suffer. Because she knew. She knew what he liked.

“If you could lick it.” A whisper.

He froze, her foot clasped in his grip. His mouth fell open. His eyes glazed over. His tongue peeped out.

“Lick it, Jack.”

He made a sound that could have been a whimper and then slipped off the couch onto his knees. And brought her foot to his lips.

She hissed as his mouth grazed her sensitive flesh then she jerked as his tongue danced between her toes—it tickled. A lot. But she forced herself not to wrench away.

Because, damn, she liked it.

Her body, already aching and thrumming with lust, went into overdrive. She felt a gush of warmth between her legs.

Jack worked her, licking and laving and worshipping her foot, exploring her arch, sucking on her toes, kissing the delicate bone at her ankle. And when he finished with one foot, he turned to the other. And then came back. Over and over.

As though he couldn’t get enough.

But she could get enough.

She’d had enough.