“Uh-huh. But, see, I’d have to turn on the light for that. Just a little one. Let it shine on you, so I can see.”
“What would I tattoo there?” she asked. “Which I didn’t.”
“Oh.” She could feel the disappointment in him even in the dark. “It’s on your ankle or something. Your hip, if I’m lucky. And you’d do a flower every time. Nothing wrong with a flower, though. Or maybe a tiny little heart. In that sweet spot right above your hipbone? Yeah, that works.”
“Because I’m so sweet. So conservative.”
“Conservative’s good.” He still wasn’t touching her, but now, he reached out and twined a curl around his finger. Just the faintest tug against her scalp, and she was heating up. Some more of his warm, dark voice, of temptation in the night as he said, “Nothing sexier than a good girl letting you take her over to the dark side.”
She opened her mouth to say, “Which I’m not going to do.” She wasn’t Harlan’s comfort object. They were both clear on that. All she had to do was get up and go back to her own bed. Alone. She didn’t need any more complication.
Instead, what came out of her mouth was, “Maybe you should …” She drew her hand down his chest. The barest brush of fingertips, but she felt his body go rigid. “Turn the light on,” she suggested with the last of her breath, “and find out for yourself.”
It had been one hell of a dirty dream. It had involved her ass.
It had really involved her ass.
He reached for the light on the bedside table, then thought, Whoops, and stopped with his hand halfway there. “Have you, uh, been with anybody since me? Because I don’t have a condom with me.”
Not good enough. A half-assed attempt at safety measures, and he knew it.
He heard her soft exhalation of breath, felt her hand brushing over his chest again, lingering at the nipple. He could feel her wanting to put her mouth there, too, like he was in her mind. “I didn’t mention to you,” she asked, like a woman made of softness, “that I found you weren’t … replicable?”
“That’s quite a vocabulary you’ve got,” he said. “I like that. I’m not replicable.” He had his whole hand in her hair now. Her hair was baby-fine, and if you twisted your hand, you could … “And same here,” he said as he did it. “Because it turns out you’re not replicable, either.” He took her mouth again and kissed her, dark and dirty and deep, his hair wrapped around his hand, the brush of thin, cool cotton against his skin.
By the time he was done kissing her, she was sighing. And he was flicking that little switch by the bed.
She said “Ahh… bright,” and put an arm across her eyes.
He said, “Come on. Come over here.” His heart pounding like a drum, his blood pulsing hot in his veins. He had his arms around her, was pulling him toward him, away from the pool of light and into the shadows.
“Better?” he asked, and she smiled at him, warm and secret, put her hand around the back of his head, pulled his head down, and whispered against his mouth, “Better.” And now, she was the one kissing him. The one pushing him down onto his back and straddling him. Which surprised the hell out of him, and gave him just that much of a thrill, too.
He’d been right. The nightgown was white. It was thin, too. He could see right through it, backlit as she was. The shadow between her breasts, the faint swell of her belly. He put a hand there, cupping it, felt that hard little rounding for himself, and said, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He could see her swallow, and he could see her smile. “I know,” she told him, and the words felt like a blessing, and hot as hell at the same time. She got her hands on that white cotton and pulled it straight over her head, and he sighed.
Well, yeah. That was the body he’d been thinking about ever since he’d first set eyes on it. Ripe. That was the word. He ran his hands over the fullness of her white breasts, brushed his fingers over the swollen pink nipples, and asked, “Should I be careful here?”
“Yes,” she said, with that little hitch in her breath that told you she loved it. “There.” Another secret smile, dirtier this time. “But nowhere else. If you want to get a little rough again …” And he got a kick of lust straight to his groin.
She was over him again, her hands in his hair, her tongue in his mouth. Sliding her way down his body, and he was hauling in a breath.
Greedy hands. Hungry mouth. Strong legs gripping him tight. No shyness in her at all. And he was running his hands over the smooth skin of her shoulders, down her back. Closing around the thrilling curve of her waist, and finally sending them over the fullness of her ass. Running his hands over her there, again and again, feeling her squirm against him, her mouth getting even more avid.
And then he trailed his hand around and found her. Wet and warm and …
Whoa.
He grabbed another pillow and shoved it under his head. He had to see.
He said, “Holy shit. Sit up.”
His voice was hoarse. Well, yeah.
She didn’t quite sit up. She sort of … slithered up, dragging her body over him like it felt good. Which, oh, yeah, it did.
He got his hand there again. “I’m guessing …” It was a little hard to breathe. “It wasn’t a tattoo.”
A slow smile. “No. I did this instead.” And she sat up. Kneeling over him, leaning back on her palms. Showing him everything.
She’d waxed. Yes, she had. She’d also pierced the hood of her clitoris.
All the blood was leaving his head. She had a little silver ring in there. Positioned vertically, so the tiny black bead at the bottom would rub against her with every touch. Maybe with every movement.
He’d heard of it. He’d just never seen it. And the contrast between the frank barbarity of that ring and the memory of her white cotton nightgown was doing bad things to him. The gentleness of her smile, and the dirty-sweet shock of that nasty piercing.
She lowered herself over him and kissed his mouth again, and he kept his hand right there and rubbed that bead into her. And she squirmed hard.
He said, “Tell me why.” It came out demanding. He didn’t care.
“Because …” She sighed into his mouth, then kissed him some more. Her hand in his hair, her mouth wandering over to his ear, down to his neck. Exploring him. Tasting him. “Because I wanted to be a different kind of woman. I thought, if I don’t do it now, when will I? Why shouldn’t I feel as good as I can, even if I’m feeling it, uh …” She’d gotten a little breathless, because he was rubbing some more now. Sliding that ring through the hole. Experimenting. “By … myself,” she got out.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Is it healed enough to play?” And tested it out some more. Felt great to him.
“Feels …” she said. “So hot. And I want to have sex like this.”
Well, yeah. He could probably help her out with that.
First, though …
He got a leg around her hip and flipped her. His palms on either side of her shoulders, and now, he was the one doing the kissing.
No slow, sweet teasing this time. He was moving right down her body. He was going right there.