Hero: Clay Walker. Architect extraordinaire, looks good without a shirt on, likes to say the word, ‘darlin.’

Heroine: Lacey Armstrong. Single mom who has a dream to build a resort. Has dirty thoughts about the younger architect who won’t leave her alone.

“Clay…” She could barely speak, her legs and arms splayed against the wall, her fingers digging in so hard she could peel the paint. “Kiss me there.”

“I plan on it.” He used one finger to tug the silk away from her, inhaling deeply, appreciatively, making her feel so ridiculously feminine she wanted to sob.

He kissed the swollen spot and she closed her eyes, focused on the incredible sweetness of his mouth. Then he licked, very slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue over her until she thought her legs would buckle and her head would explode and the breath she held would come whooshing out when she cried for mercy.

“Clay,” she cried. “Don’t stop. Please, please.”

“Not a chance.” He tugged at the panties, pulling them down, helping her step out of them. As soon as they were gone he kissed his way back up her thighs, back to where she wanted him most. There.

Curling his tongue like a ribbon around her skin, he sucked her juices, and she reveled in every sensation and sound, in the blood coursing through her with each powerful slide of his tongue. Lights exploded behind her eyes and her pulse hammered and she felt like she was floating through air, utterly lost. Nothing in the world mattered but the need to roll against his mouth and feel each sensation ripple through her, closer and closer to release.

“Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, oh… my… there.” She writhed against the wall, his name on her lips, completely surrendering to his tongue and fingers. A sharp twist of pressure, a sweet twinge of tension, then a peak of delicious pain and pleasure so powerful it was almost unbearable.

She rocked into an orgasm, abandoned and wild, her breath nothing but shallow desperation as she moved against his mouth.

Then there were just tender aftershocks and ragged breaths, and the impossible heavy ache in her legs that made them wobble as she started to slide down the wall.

“Now I know,” she whispered.

“Now you know what?” “Why this is so much fun.” She hit the floor with a soft thud, her head hanging to the side like a drunk.

“We just got started having fun, darlin’.”

Barefoot in the Sand by Roxanne St. Claire. Amazon l B&N l Goodreads

My review will be up this week.