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Can dicks be beautiful?
Whatever. His is.
I don’t want him to pull out. I want time to freeze and this moment to last forever.
He’s puffing, his heart no doubt thundering the same way mine is. I shift my foot, resting it against his perfect left pec, and there it is—his rapid heartbeat. I’m sure it’ll slow down any second now. He’s fast and fit and cut—oh, so freaking cut!
But the fact that his heart is racing makes mine soar. Because I was part of making that happen. My V-jay, my body, made him orgasm, and if that doesn’t make me feel like a queen, nothing will.
My personal visit to Orgasm City happened twice throughout that encounter, which I guess makes him my King of Hearts.
Holy shit, that was so good. My insides are shimmering, the odd spasm still glitching my muscles as I float back down from the heavenly stars I’ve been reveling in.
I’m pretty sure we orbited the sun just now, and no one can convince me otherwise.
That was fucking amazing!
“Wow,” Casey finally snickers, leaning back and starting to pull out. “That was hot.”
“Yeah.” My voice is all breathy, and I can’t take my eyes off his back when he turns away to get rid of the condom.
The tattooed dragon swirls from the top of his shoulders to just above his butt. It’s a whole Chinese-looking scene, and I can’t help running my fingers over the scales of the long, twisting dragon.
“Tatsu,” he murmurs.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a Japanese dragon. I got it designed just after starting at Nolan U. Cost a fuckin’ bomb, but it was worth it. I used all of the money I’d earned from my summer jobs.” He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “My mom was so pissed.”
My lips quirk into a smile as I picture how that conversation went down. “You did what with your money?”
“How long did it take?” My voice is soft as I keep trailing my fingertips across the artwork.
“Thirty-six hours.”
“Wow. Did it hurt?”
“Fuck yeah.” He turns around with a laugh this time.
“So, why do you get so many, then?” I scan his arm, following the trail of interlinking designs—mostly black ink with splashes of color. The tattoos are a cacophony of pictures, some completely random, like the daisy sitting on top of an arched doorway with this iron handle that has a devil’s face on it. And then there’s this string of musical notes, floating up from his wrist and curling around an ice cream sundae.
So weird, but it makes me smile.
“I bet each one has a story.”
He grins, running his fingers over the various tattoos covering his arms. He lingers on the inner wrist of his left arm for a second, then glances at me, his pale brown eyes warming with a smile. “Pretty much. It’s my way of telling the world who I am, what’s important to me.”
“I like that. Which one was your first?”
He stretches out his right arm, showing me the hockey sticks just below his inner elbow.
“Of course.” I laugh.
“I’d just found out I won a full scholarship to Nolan U. I had to celebrate.”
“That’s the perfect way to do it.” I grin up at him, then for some reason feel compelled to kiss those hockey sticks like they mean something to me too.
He cups the back of my head, running his fingers over my curls before lightly fisting the back of them. With a soft tug, he pulls me back so I’m forced to look at him. I love how he’s just the right amount of rough. A little playful and a whole lot of thrilling.
