Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

She swallowed hard. “That’s better.” So much better.

Marc caught her staring and faked a stretch to show off the inside curves of his biceps, then turned it up a notch, flexing them so they strained the hem of his T-shirt sleeves. A hint of dark ink peeked at her from beneath the fabric.

Oh, heavens. Allie loved a good tattoo, especially on a properly muscled body. She wanted to see all of it . . . and hunt for more.

“You’re not distracted, are you?” he asked with a smirk.

“Not one bit,” she lied. “Prepare to lose your other shirt, Captain.”

“Got any fives?”

“Go fish,” Allie said, twirling her hand in a take it off motion. She hoped Marc would remove his T-shirt this time. When she’d rejected his request for threes, he’d simply shrugged and kicked off his shoes, mirroring her first move. Shoes and socks were always the first things to go in stripping games.

“Whatever.” He set down his cards and reached below the table to peel off his socks. “Now we’re both barefoot.”

Allie’s mouth pulled into a frown, but she reminded herself that he didn’t have any more barriers left. By default, it would be the shirt or the pants next. “Got any twos?”

His teeth flashed white in the darkness, a wicked grin providing his answer. “You get a line; I’ll get a pole. We’ll go fishin’ at the crawdad hole.” He waggled his brows at her shirt. “Lose that top, sugar.”

She reached for the deck to draw a card and accidentally knocked the pile askew. Maybe she’d overdone it with that last tequila shot, especially on an empty stomach. After drawing a ten, she placed her cards on the table and pushed to standing. “I’ll keep the shirt for now.”

“The skirt, then?” he asked, his voice thick with teasing. “You think you’re safe because we’re sitting down, but I can always peek under the table.”

With great deliberation, Allie unbuttoned her denim skirt and lowered the zipper. She didn’t intend to play it seductive; the tequila had simply clumsied her fingers. But when she glanced up to find Marc transfixed by her labored movements, his neglected Coke poised at his lips, she took extra care to roll down the waistband and smooth the fabric over her hips inch by meticulous inch. By the time the skirt dropped to the floor and revealed her black satin panties, Marc looked ready to choke on an ice cube.

Even though she’d lost an article of clothing, she felt victorious. She ran her hands over the tops of her thighs and let him get an eyeful before lowering herself to her seat and telling him, “Go ahead and peek, baby. I’m not shy.”

Marc kept his gaze above the table’s oak rim, but he seemed to have trouble swallowing his cola. “Nah. I’ll wait for the full monty.” He fanned out his cards and studied them for far too long before asking, “Nines?”

Allie sat straighter and smiled. “Nope! Say good-bye to that T-shirt.”

He muttered a curse under his breath. “Lucky for you, I’m not bashful either.”

Marc reached behind his head to grab hold of his collar and pulled off the thin garment with one brisk motion. He shook back his hair and followed with some more trash talk, but his words faded into obscurity as Allie stared at his naked chest.

God bless, he was a sight to behold.

She’d seen him shirtless a time or two, back in high school when he’d run track and played on the soccer team. He’d turned her head then, all lean and solid and tanned. But gorgeous as he’d been, there was no comparison between that boy and the man sitting before her now.

Marc’s shoulders had broadened with time and hard work, rounded with muscles that made her want to hold on tight for a wild ride. She could almost feel the heat of his smooth, hard chest against her own, the ripple of his abs pressed to her flesh.

It was suddenly too hot inside the casino. Allie fanned herself with her cards.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a grin, clearly pleased with himself. When he leaned back in his chair, the tattoo on the inside curve of his tight biceps winked at her—a fleur-de-lis symbol. Allie’s gaze traveled across his torso to another tattoo directly over his heart. This one was burgundy and poorly formed, like a splash of wine staining his skin.

She pointed at it, ignoring his teasing. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at himself and chaffed a thumb over the spot. “This right here?”

Allie nodded.

“A birthmark,” he said. “Must be hereditary, because my daddy and brothers all have it. Pawpaw, too.”

Allie tipped her head and studied the mark, finding it odd that the Dumont men would share the same skin irregularity. Allie didn’t remember much from her high school genetics lessons, but she didn’t think birthmarks ran in families. “All in the same place?”

“Yep.” He shrugged. “Same shape, same color, same location.”

She didn’t recall seeing it when they were kids. “Has it always been there?”

“Since the day I was born.” Marc leaned forward as if to get down to business. “Now quit stalling and move it along. I want that top on the floor.”

“Fine,” she said. “Got any queens?”

Grumbling, he handed over the queen of hearts, but when Allie asked for an ace, he released a low chuckle and pointed at her polo shirt. “Go fish.”

“Don’t get too excited,” she told him while unfastening the buttons below her collar. “I have bikinis that show off more goods than this bra.”

She pulled the polo carefully over her head so as not to snag a curl and placed it in the chair beside her. True to her word, two stretchy panels of black satin covered her breasts, displaying nothing but a deep line of cleavage.

Apparently, that was enough to render Marc speechless. He held up three fingers in a wordless request for cards while shamelessly eyeballing her boobs.

A few moments later, it was Allie’s turn to gape at the sight of Marc in a pair of tight gray boxer briefs that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. They hugged the tops of his strong thighs and drew her gaze upward to the trail of dark hair encircling his navel and dipping below a waistband of cotton so thin it should be a crime. Allie caught herself biting her lip in disappointment when he sat down, something that didn’t escape Marc’s notice.

He teased her until the time came for Allie to remove her bra. Then his words died as he watched her slide each strap down the length of her shoulders with deliberate care. She held his gaze while unfastening the back, then flashed an impish grin and shook her hair in front to conceal both breasts when she pulled off her bra and let it fall onto the next chair.

Marc glared at her. “That’s evil, right there. Pure evil.”

“Quit whining and give me your queens,” she said on her next turn, right before remembering she’d already asked for that card.

Marc’s glare transformed into a triumphant glow that enlivened his entire face. He sat back in his seat and tossed his cards onto the table, mouthing the words Go fish.

Allie closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself for being so careless. This was it—the game was over. He’d won.

If only she hadn’t been so distracted by Marc in his underwear . . .

“Want some help?” Marc asked, his voice thick with anticipation. “I’m an expert panty remover with years of dedicated experience. I can have them around your ankles, lickety-split.”

Allie took a deep breath and stood from her seat. After taking a moment to fortify herself, she let her lids drift open. But when she glimpsed Marc again, something in him had shifted.

He wasn’t bragging now, instead watching her with a wolfish hunger that tightened her stomach and sent it dipping south. Clearly this was no childish game to him—not anymore. He wanted her, and her body responded to him at once, flushing with warmth despite the fact that she was practically naked in an air-conditioned room.

“Why don’t you come on over here,” he murmured, dark and husky, “and let me do the rest?”

Allie didn’t have to tell her feet to take a step forward. They moved toward Marc of their own volition and didn’t stop until she reached his chair. For a pregnant beat, he used his eyes to take her in, scanning her legs while holding his breath in a charged anticipation she felt as tangibly as static electricity.

He let out a lungful of air and brought both palms to the outside swell of her hips, then simply held her like a man savoring a moment he’d waited a lifetime to experience. Allie knew that wasn’t the case—Marc could have any woman he wanted—but it made her feel special all the same.

He used his work-roughened hands to skim the length of her thighs, all the way down to her knees and back up again until he reached her backside. There, he tucked his fingers beneath the satin fabric of her panties and took two handfuls of flesh, groaning appreciatively at the weight of her in his palms.

“Goddamn, Allie,” he swore and moved in to kiss her navel. “You’re a walking wet dream.”

While he nuzzled and tickled her with the fine whiskers peppering his jaw, she tangled her fingers in his chestnut waves and held him nearer to her core, pulling him in as close as they could get. They stayed like that for a while, touching and stroking, savoring the quiet intimacy until Marc hooked his thumbs around her panties and tugged them down over her hips and to the floor. She stepped free and kicked them aside, standing before him completely nude for the first time.

Marc’s gaze didn’t linger. In the span of two heartbeats, he placed a gentle kiss between her thighs. Allie felt a ghost of warm breath, and the next thing she knew, Marc had run his tongue fully up the length of her femininity.