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His laugh is deep and gritty just like his voice when he sings.
I give a little—okay a big—internal swoon and pull his T-shirt the rest of the way up his body. He dips his head and lifts his arms so I can finish the job.
The second he’s free his lips find mine with such force that my head collides with the wall. The fingers of one hand dig into the soft flesh of my ass, the other goes to cradle the back of my head against the concrete before he thrusts hard, his, still shorts-covered bulge dragging against the lace of my panties.
He’s good. His teeth graze my lips. I thread my fingers through his hair and tug him closer to nip his tongue with my teeth. He squeezes my ass so hard I know it’ll leave a mark and thrusts again. Real good.
Pressure builds with every rough drag of his hips. My mind swims with how good this feels. I roll my hips and I’m once again rewarded with another growl so seriously hot, it sets off a tremor from where he’s rubbing between my thighs to the tips of my toes.
If there’s not some nakedness soon, there’s a very real danger I’m going to implode. Or explode. Or something equally dramatic.
We both reach for his shorts at the same time.
They hit the floor with a dull thud. His eyes meet mine, his question in his brief hesitation.
I link my thumbs beneath the waistband of my skirt and wiggle it, and my panties down over my hips in answer.
His jaw clenches and his lips curve sinfully as he covers my hands with his and steps back to guide them down my legs.
His stare doesn’t stray from my face, even as he sinks to his knees and lifts one foot at a time to undo the buckles of my sandals and slip them off.
My chest lifts with sharp pants. His big hands trail up my calves, spreading my legs when they arrive at my knees. The base of my skull buzzes with anticipation, my tummy clenching when he grazes his teeth up the inside of my thigh. His gaze still hasn’t left mine.
His breath is hot. My hips give a desperate little roll, but I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything to ruin the best build-up I’ve ever experienced.
Another hot breath and the tips of my fingers go numb from the almost painful grip they have on the edge of the dresser. He pushes my legs further apart and the vibrating inside me intensifies in the best kind of crescendo. I’ll come before he even touches me at this rate. I let out an odd sort of whine of frustration.
The skin around his eyes crinkles and he finally shifts his attention from my face.
His tongue is warm and wet when it finally slips over its mark then up to the bundle of nerves my body is currently driven by. He sucks and licks then thrusts his tongue right where I need it. I pulse my hips. He goes back to the suck and lick, but this time slides a finger into my wetness.
I grab a fist-full of hair and roll my hips, the first flush of pleasure swelling and building and rushing through my veins. There’s nothing better than a man who knows what he’s doing. My movements grow jerky and erratic. I can’t control it ... I really don’t care. He sucks and I rock. Simple. Real ... fucking mind-blowing. My thighs tremble. My head cracks against the wall without the cushion of his hand behind it. I writhe shamelessly against his tongue, his fingers, his face until I’m tumbling and falling and arching with every contraction, every quiver of the most intense release I’ve had in a long time.
“That was ... I...” I sag back against the cool stone wall, barely able to catch my ... anything. “Bravo.”
The smirk I’m beginning to like way too much flashes his dimples when he lifts himself to his feet, hands on my thighs, his very naked, and very hard cock trapped between us.
I join my feet behind his back, immediately up for an encore. I’m not sure there’s a woman on the planet who wouldn’t be if faced by this kind of hot.
His teeth find my earlobe. The sting of the nip he gives it enough to make me groan and adjust my pelvis so that his length rubs temptingly against me.
“Condoms.” He leans back to look me in the eye, disappointment clear in their glazed-out depths. “I’m out.”
“Guitar case.” My voice cracks with the intense aftershock the slow rock of his hips elicits.
He stops moving and pins me with a you-carry-condoms-in-your-guitar-case smirk and pushes from between my legs to stalk over to where he must have dumped my guitar when we arrived.
Good job—I’d forgotten all about it. That would have sucked in the morning.
I hop from the dresser and pad over to the open leather box on the table by the side of his bed. His tattoo gun. I trace my fingers along the edges of the velvet lining. “I want to show you the design I want.”
“After.” His breath tickles the nape of my neck where I’ve pulled my hair over my shoulder.
“After?” I curve back against the heat of his body like a stretching cat and cover his hands on my waist to guide them around me. The feel of his smooth skin against mine sets off a wave of tingles right up my spine. I like it. I could get used to it ... like for more than one night. That thought alone should probably, most definitely be enough to make me bolt, but when his big palms brush up my torso to cup my breasts, I don’t even remember what it was that was worth bolting over.
“After I find out if you were lying about being a screamer.”
“Tattoo me.” I sit up and straddle my very, very successful distraction, trailing my fingers down the middle of his abs until they reach the soft white sheet crumpled around his waist. Even in the dim light of the bedside lamp, the designs that cover him make my eyes happy and my mouth water.
