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Down there.
“I’ll tell you a little about what we’re going to do,” he starts as he gently wraps his fingers around both of my wrists. I loosen my grip on the sheet. “I want you to relax. Enjoy it, Summer.” He lifts my hands above my head as Lana Del Rey croons sex with her sultry voice. He strokes a fingertip down the underside of my arm. Tremors rock my insides. “I’m going to start here,” my breath catches. “I won’t speak.” He lifts the sheet off one of my legs and leaves it exposed. His eyes find mine. “I’ll be right here,” that same finger glides up the length of my leg and it makes my toes curl.
He’s barely touched me and I’m ready to self-combust!
He picks up one of the things he brought with him.
It’s a marker.
He’s going to write all over my body.
My nipples pucker tightly again.
Why is that soooooooo damn sexy?
He lowers himself onto the stool at the side of the bed. I watch his body move, every nuance, each shift, every ripple of skin and muscle and ink, all of it is like a perfect symphony for the eyes.
“Summer,” my name is quiet on his lips, like a soft warm kiss. My eyes meet his riveting gaze. “I need to touch you.”
Fuckfuckfuck!
I don’t speak, I can’t anymore. I’ve lost all sense of control, and I’m on the verge of becoming completely incoherent. When his hand does finally make contact with me, I’ll be gone.
Begin countdown, here it comes, three…two…one…
He closes his hand around my arm.
My eyelids slowly dip as I take a deep breath and the heat of his palm burns me in the most intimate way.
The tip of the marker strokes my skin. From that moment, nothing exists except him, his touch, and what he’s doing to me.
Every glide of felt, every time his skin touches mine, I get higher and higher. His touch sears me, his mark brands me.
Seduction.
Desire.
Lust.
Sensuality.
Want.
Hunger.
He glides the tip of the marker along the underside of my upper arm, the strokes are fluid, looping and curving, curling and swooping, covering the flesh with flourishment.
It’s seduction.
Moving his hand from my arm, he captures my chin. My lips part instinctually, but my eyes stay closed. Heartbeats pass as both of us remain still, the sound of each thump of my heart echoes in my brain. I can feel the burn of his stare on my face and it makes me flush hotter. Finally, he moves his thumb to capture my lower lip. He glides it along the plumpness before he pulls it down, then slips his thumb into my mouth. My lips close around it, my tongue wraps around it, and sucks it deeper.
God, he tastes good.
Through the fog of my building hunger, I hear him moan.
With his thumb still in my mouth and his palm cradling my jaw, he turns my face to the side and tilts my head down. Just below the hairline behind my ear, he leaves another branding with the marker.
It feels like a small kiss.
