Chapter 10 #2
Since he’d learned when he was young how sacred a Native American’s hair was to them, he asked for permission to touch it first. “Gonna undo your hair, yeah?” She might only be a quarter Lakota, but she still valued her father’s heritage.
Nodding, she released a long, shaky breath.
He slipped the elastic band from the bottom of her braid and handed it to her so she could tuck it into her pocket for later.
He then slowly unraveled the long strands, pulling his fingers through to free them.
Normally, her hair was as straight as her father’s, but the French braid caused it to fall in soft waves.
And now that it wasn’t bound, the length almost reached her waist.
He couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair loose. When they were kids, possibly. Normally, she wore it like today or in double braids to keep it from becoming knotted or damaged.
He lifted the soft curtain, shoved his nose in it, and inhaled deeply. It was difficult to pick up the light floral scent because of the fucking shitty perfume that splattered him last night.
Lyric really deserved better than a man stinking like a cheap corner whore. She deserved a date, some flowers, and a really nice fucking dinner first.
Only, with him, that wasn’t what she was going to get. The best he could do would be to take his time and treat her with respect.
She shuddered when he announced, “Gonna touch the rest of you now.”
Taking it slow might kill him. If so, taking that last breath would be worth it.
“Need me to stop, you fuckin’ speak up, yeah?”
Again, she nodded.
He continued to stand behind her and peeled her shirt over her head. He had no idea what kind of top it was and he really didn’t give a fuck since it was about to land on the floor. He cared more about what was underneath it.
She lifted her arms so he could finish removing it and immediately pulled off whatever was containing her tits. It didn’t have the hooks like most bras did, and he’d seen plenty of them. It could be some kind of sports bra.
Again, what the fabric contained was more important than the contraption itself.
Hooking his thumbs in the elastic waistband of her pants, he worked them down her legs, along with her panties, exposing her ass, knowing all he had to do was circle around to the front of her and he’d see her in all her fucking glory.
But he was taking his time. He reminded himself not to be in a fucking rush. Especially since this would probably be a one-and-done thing and he didn’t want to waste a damn minute of it.
His gaze skimmed over her slender back, the indent of her spine, and the two dimples right above the ass he wanted to sink his teeth into.
He paused in surprise since he had no idea her back was fully tatted.
Unlike the full tattoo sleeves on her arms, her back had always been hidden by her clothes.
Unlike his own, her tattoos were feminine and full of color. Delicate green vines swirled around the canvas of her back, peppered with the colorful blooms of flowers made up of purple, pink, red, and blue.
Of course, her father had done every damn one of them.
Before him was true art. Both her and her ink.
He circled her slowly, visually taking in every damn inch of her.
Her arm sleeves were made up of more flowers, with the occasional honey bee, hummingbird, or some other creature peeking out between them.
The reality before him blew his fantasies about her right out of the water. Every curve and line, the detailed body art, her heated, dark eyes, and her long, dark hair, now free, spread behind her like a cape.
Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was breakable, but he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.
He locked gazes with her, but only for a second before focusing on the small patch of black hair where her thighs met.
She’d seen most of his body already. He hadn’t seen all of hers.
Until now.
What he imagined wasn’t even close. It was so much fucking better.
She was fucking perfect.
Delicate, but strong.
Leaner than what he normally went for, but definitely not skin and bones.
She had her mother’s petite structure, but her father’s coloring when it came to her eyes, skin, and hair. Though, all three on Crow were slightly darker.
Her skin—in the areas free of ink—was the color of warm caramel, and her peaked nipples were a dusky pink due to her heritage.
He couldn’t wait to put his hands and mouth on both.
When his balls started screaming at him to hurry, he told them to shut the fuck up. That she would be worth the wait.
His dick also filed a formal complaint.
His brow dropped low. “Why you shakin’?”
She extended out her arms. “I’m naked.”
No shit.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “That’s usually the result after I take off a…” He quickly changed course. She knew his past, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it when they were about to fuck. “When a woman takes off her clothes.”
He’d never known Lyric to be shy. Why now? She had to have been naked in front of other men before, right?
“Gonna follow my orders?”
“Orders?”
“Yeah. Like when I tell you to touch yourself. Or if I tell you to get on your knees. When I order you to show me your pussy, you spread your lips and show me your pretty, pink pussy.”
Her breath hitched.
Did that make her excited or more nervous? “Can always say no.” He wanted to make sure she was always aware of that option.
“And if I don’t want to say no?”
“Then you do what the fuck I ask without givin’ me lip. Just wanna make sure you understand what you’re gettin’ into here. But also wanna give you an out.”
“I don’t want an out,” she whispered.
Thank fuck for that. But he was getting the feeling that she wasn’t as experienced as he originally thought.
In one way, he was damn happy about that, in another…he worried.
He was a lot to take, especially when falling into slick pussy, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her.
If he did his normal thing, he could easily dominate her and not be aware he was doing so. Most of the women he’d been with—and there’d been a fuckload of them—could handle him, but he was starting to doubt Lyric could, despite his plan to take it slow and careful.
He cupped her tits and drew the pads of his thumbs over the pebbled tips. They were small, like her, but fit her frame perfectly, like they did his palms. They’d also fit perfectly in his mouth.
He needed her on the bed so he could wrap his lips around her nipples.
At least to start.
Goosebumps marred her smooth skin as he traced along both collarbones. Musical notes were tattooed along each side.
He remembered when she got them but couldn’t recall what they meant.
“What song?”
“It’s a musical cryptogram.”
He had no fucking clue what that was and he wasn’t about to ask and sound like an idiot. Luckily, he didn’t have to.
“It’s a message, not a song,” she clarified.
“What’s the message?”
“It would take some decoding, but it says, ‘If you want something said, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman.’”
What the fuck? “No fuckin’ way it says all that.”
Her lips curved up slightly. “You’re right. That’s not what it says. It says, ‘When someone says you can’t, prove them wrong.’”
“Who the fuck told you can’t do somethin’?” he growled.
“You’d be surprised.”
If all his damn blood wasn’t pooled in his dick right now, his blood pressure would be spiking.
Good thing touching Lyric always kept him steady. He wondered if she was even aware of the effect she had on him. She’d witnessed him spiraling plenty of times in the past and wasn’t afraid to come over and plant a hand on his arm or his gut.
Her touch had the same effect as a tanker plane dumping water on a wildfire.
He sure as fuck hoped his touch was sparking a wildfire in her as he skimmed a hand down her quivering stomach and caressed the colorful butterfly above her right hip.
Of course it was above her bikini line. He could only imagine it would have been uncomfortable to ask her father to tattoo her any lower.
When his dick made another formal complaint, he knew it was time to stop lingering and move shit along. “Here’s your first order: get on the bed.”
She turned to stare at where he slept. “Did Moose die there?”
“No.”
“I thought he died while…”
This was the last conversation he wanted to have right now, but he also wanted to relieve her worry. “Fuckin’? Yeah, he did. If you’re gonna die before your time, that’s the way to do it.”
“Then—”
“In my office…his office. On the desk.”
The man’s road name had been Moose for a reason, but despite being fat as fuck, he still attracted the ladies. And a lot of them. It didn’t surprise anyone when his heart quit mid-pump while plowing one of the strippers.
“So no, he didn’t fuckin’ die in this bed. But if I do shit right, you may feel like you fuckin’ died when I’m done.”
Both of her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Somebody’s full of himself.”
“You’re gonna be full of me soon. So, baby, you can get on the bed yourself, or I can put you there.”