Chapter Ten #2
tattoo. And I want to sit you down on that couch over there and spread your legs, get on my knees and feast on you.”
Okay. At this point, resisting was just being petulant. She was not going to deny herself everything that he had just promised,
so she unzipped her dress without thinking, and let it fall away from her curves. She stepped out of it, and out of her shoes,
and looked at him.
“Like this?”
“Bra next,” he said.
She reached behind her back and unhooked it, stripping it away from her before pushing her panties down and wiggling them
away. She wasn’t going to wait for a command for that.
He growled. And then he made a circular gesture with his finger. Wordlessly commanding her to turn in a circle for him.
She took a breath, and she did. Even when she was facing away from him she could feel his gaze on her body.
“Damn,” he said.
She looked down, following the line of his eyes. Her tattoo started at her wrist and twined up her shoulder, down her side,
with vines spanning part of her midsection, just beneath her breasts. It also continued down her hip, all the way down her
side.
It had been a huge project. A strange reclamation of her when she had turned twenty-one. She had felt compelled to do something, to leave her own mark on her skin.
And she had chosen the vines and flowers, which were actually based on vinca, which was a damned tough plant, impossible to
kill. Popped up everywhere, and just couldn’t be strangled out. It had felt symbolic. For her. For her life.
So she had inked it all over. A reminder that much like a stubborn, beautiful plant, she was going to thrive. Insistently,
angrily. Defiantly.
And people would be mistaken thinking all she was, was pretty.
Denver, however, did not seem lost in the symbolism at the moment. She knew the tattoo was hot. It wasn’t like she had chosen
it thinking that it wouldn’t be sexy. She had known that it would be.
She sauntered over to the couch, and sat down, never taking her gaze away from his as she spread her legs, and then as he
made his way over to her, she knew a moment of panic.
Because this was not something that she normally . . . did really. She had been sort of halfheartedly tempted. But she’d never
had a man look at her like Denver was at the moment.
That was the thing about casual hookups. Usually, both parties were in it for themselves.
But he had the look of a man starving. For her.
And when he got to his knees in front of her, he draped her legs over his shoulders and went in, hard and deep, his tongue
zeroing in on the center of her pleasure without error.
She flexed her hips up off the couch, her hand automatically going to his hair. She couldn’t breathe. She was mindless. And
he was eating her like she was a delicacy.
She had never . . . None of her past experiences could even . . .
She tried to move her hips, tried to find her own rhythm, but he denied her, holding her hips still as he forced her to submit to his touch. To his movements. This was entirely foreign to her. Her pleasure being entirely in her partner’s control.
When her first climax broke over her, it was like a wave. A horse cry exited her body, like an exorcism. Like something that
was beyond her control.
And she found herself shattering, her release so intense she wasn’t even sure what all she said, what all she did. Except
that when she came to, her thighs were squeezing either side of his head and her fingers forked in his hair.
“Oh,” she said.
He lifted his head and looked at her, and everything in her rippled. Like she could come again just from seeing that satisfied,
smug look on his face.
She felt like she was standing in front of the door that led into a room of self-knowledge she had not especially ever wanted
to walk into.
And she still didn’t. But she was pretty sure the sign on the door said You Sleep with the Wrong Kind of Man.
Maybe.
But the kind of man she had slept with historically allowed her to keep control, and while the pleasure wasn’t like this,
it also wasn’t . . . altering.
She had told herself she didn’t like men like this. Men who were too big. Too tall. Too strong.
Men who wanted to take control.
All she wanted to do now was melt. Like she was girlish. Like she was inexperienced.
All she wanted to do was get on her knees and beg him to give her more. Whatever he wanted.
It terrified her.
But she was too aroused to stop.
Because he had given her a hit of something she had never experienced before, and she wanted it. More. Again.
So she let him scoop her up off the couch, his arm around her waist, let him carry her, like she weighed nothing, right out
of the room, unerringly down the hall to find her bedroom.
“How did you know which one was my . . . ?”
“I know how houses work,” he said. He deposited her down onto the center of the bed, and stood back. “I know how a lot of
things work.”
“Okay,” she said. Which was maybe the dumbest thing she could have said. But she felt dumb. Exceptionally.
“Now I give you what you want,” he said.
He reached out and wrenched his T-shirt up over his head, and her mouth went dry. Instantly, the pleasure that she had just
experienced wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. She wanted to throw herself at him. She wanted to lick him. Everywhere.
Everything that he had promised to do to her, she wanted to do to him.
She got up onto her knees, and moved to the edge of the bed. Reached out and put her hands on his ab muscles. “Shit,” she
said.
She moved her fingertips over all those bronze, perfectly defined muscles. His dark chest hair. He was so hot. She had never
seen a man that hot in person.
“I thought abs like this were a myth,” she said, leaning in and running the flat of her tongue from his hipbone up to the
divot just beneath his pec muscles.
“Shit,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Perfect,” she said, grabbing his belt and undoing it. She felt more herself now. A little more in control right then as she
freed him of his jeans, and gave herself a real, full look at his body.
Her internal muscles clenched tight as she took in the sight of him. His cock was big and thick. Bigger than she’d ever seen in person. That was for sure. His thighs were muscular and glorious. And yes, she wanted to lick him.
So she did. She leaned in and tasted him from base to tip before taking him deep in her mouth. He growled, pushing his fingers
through her hair and gripping the back of her head. “Sheena,” he said.
And she had a feeling that it was weird for him to say a woman’s name in the throes of pleasure too. As weird as it was for
her.
She had a feeling that there were more ways that they were alike than she had even identified.
She luxuriated in him. His strength. His size. The taste of him, his scent.
Until she found herself being propelled away from him, pushed back into the mattress. And he was with her like lightning,
and when he had retrieved condoms, she didn’t know, but there were two blue packets up by her head all of a sudden, and she
grabbed hold of one of them eagerly. “Just a second,” he said. He kissed her mouth, deep and long, and for the first time
in her memory, she got lost in a kiss.
They were pressed, bare chest to bare chest. The hard column of his arousal burning into her hip.
She was desperate. Needy and greedy for him to be inside of her, but at the same time, she could happily live in this moment
forever.
It was incredible. And so was he.
She never wanted it to end.
It was somehow the most raw, sexual experience of her life, and it was just kissing. Except it could never really be called
just kissing, could it?
He moved his hands down to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples.
And then he kissed down her collarbone, moved to take one nipple into his mouth and sucked deep.
She gasped, arching up off the bed. And then he made good on his earlier promise.
He started at her shoulder, and quite literally traced the leaves and blossoms of her tattoo all the way down her body.
She was trembling as he moved his mouth beneath her breasts, staying clear of the sensitive flesh there.
And then moving down her hips, her thigh.
When he stopped, he moved between her legs again, gripped her and opened her to him, as he tasted her again.
“You already did—”
He growled, not listening to her, working her up into another frenzy, her orgasm crashing over her more like a rockslide than
a wave.
Tumbling down over the top of her and leaving her feeling bruised.
“I’m going to . . . I need to be on . . .”
She was going to tell him she wanted to be on top. She was going to tear open the condom with her teeth and make a show of
rolling it over his thick length. But he was too fast. He grabbed the condom; he took care of the protection. And then he
was kissing her again, lifting her leg up over his hip and thrusting deep, hard, in one smooth stroke that left her gasping.
She was overly full, in the very best way.
And she might have said his name. Or she might have called out to God. At the moment, she wasn’t sure if those two things
were very different from each other.
She could feel him. Every inch, as he slid in and out, his thrusts hard, her body being pushed up against the headboard with
each stroke.
She wrapped her arms around him, forced her fingers in his hair, kissed him, bit him, just like she had fantasized about doing
earlier. He growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. Sweat beading on his back. She ran her fingertips down his slick
skin, her nails digging into him. Wrapped her legs around his waist as he claimed her, over and over again.
She had never simply enjoyed this part before. What she usually liked was to be on top, to control the rhythm, to control the depth.
But this was just wild, and she had surrendered to it. To him.
She let him take her to the heights, let him shatter her completely as his own orgasm overtook him.