“Your breasts? You kind of did.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I thought you meant my tattoos.”
He winked. “I did. But in this case, it’s the medium that makes the art.” He licked a flower stem that climbed up my rib cage.
My pulse hammered at my throat. To be completely exposed. To have him see every inch. I was equal parts terrified and aroused. Could he feel that?
“I don’t know. I just associate them with a totally different life.”
His hand went to my chest. He had to feel how my heart pounded against his palm. He had to. “This person,” he said. “Dressed up. Dressed down. Young … old.” He swallowed. My blush grew. “Nothing else matters but this. Who you are. It’s you I—”
I kissed him. I wanted to hear the words but we weren’t ready. It was too soon.
We finally stopped to breathe. Panting in the soft music.
“This one?” he asked.
His finger gently touched the edge of a tattoo that started at my throat just above my collarbone. Most shirts covered it. But totally exposed like this, he saw it all.
“That was a long session. Five hours. I barely made it.”
“Jesus. Your pain threshold is insane.”
He had no idea. “It only really smarts at the end. Most of the time I can play on my phone through them. One time I started falling asleep. I find the sounds soothing.”
“Insane.” He leaned closer looking over every detail. A soft puff of his breath tickled the hair at my neck.
His hands moved all over my body. When he reached the ones on my hips, he tugged my shorts down.
“They’re beautiful. All of them.”
“It’s no butterfly tattoo,” I teased.
I was sprawled out on the seat, completely naked in front of him.
“You’re the most wonderful thing I have ever seen.”
I felt so vulnerable lying there in front of him. He was completely dressed and I was in a position I once promised myself I would never be in, and I was okay. I was more than okay. I was terribly aroused and happy.
And then it got worse. Better?
He began to slowly explore my entire body. His face following his finger, hot breaths caressing all over my skin. Every touch was agony and ecstasy. When I was near the brink of orgasm just by his touch alone, when he lay on top of me. Our bodies folded to fit in the car. The scratch of his clothes against my exposed flesh was almost too much. I felt wicked and sexy. I loved every second of it.
He swallowed with effort. “I love this.”
“Me too,” I said.
I was so lost in the moment I couldn’t stop him if I tried. His fingers explored me more. Goose bumps rose in his wake. He lowered his head and blew on my nipple.
It pulled tight, almost painful, with the desire for more contact.
I looked down to find him studying my body’s reaction to his touch. I let out a long breath and looked up to the roof. I would let myself have this.
“So sexy.” He moved to my hip to examine another flower that wrapped around my waist. “So responsive.”
He kissed lower and lower. Neck to collarbone to breast. Then rib cage and belly. He reached the point where my hips arched off the seat, closer to his mouth. His mouth was on me in that instant. Licking, sucking, coaxing toward a peak I was desperate to reach.
He paused to kiss my inner thighs and the sensitive skin all around. Delaying the inevitable climax I was so close to.
