AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Aren’t we all?
I reach for the towel and I tug it until the fabric falls open and slips to the ground. Her naked body is pressed hard against me and I slide my hands down her back, delighting in her smooth skin and the pert, round curve of her butt. When I pull her toward me, she sighs into my kiss. My tongue is dancing with hers, lips firm and willing.
“Hmm, smooth,” she whispers. “What is that?”
“Cognac.”
“I like it.”
I pull back to take her all in. My God, she’s magnificent. Pale as anything, but her breasts are tipped with dark pink nipples and there’s a small black tattoo on her hip. I drop to my knees and trace it with my finger, pressing my lips to the delicate yet intricate design.
“My sister and I have matching ones,” she says, her fingers playing with my hair. “It’s a wattle flower, because we had a huge tree in our backyard growing up and my mother would always find the yellow flowers in our hair.”
I think this might be the only truth she’s told me so far.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drew
SOMUCHFORnot letting Mr. Suit see the real me. I’d been doing so well, keeping the truth of who I am locked away and letting my alter ego take the wheel. But the way he’d lowered to his knees, touching me in a place that’s so personal, and doing it with such reverence... I’m slayed.
Vas had teased me about the tattoo—calling it “tacky”—saying he liked it because it made me look a little bit slutty. I’d almost walked out on him then. Ishouldhave walked out on him because that one comment said more about his opinion of me than anything else. To me, my tattoo is art, a representation of something I care about deeply. I’d drawn the image on a napkin before dragging a nervous Presley into the tattoo shop on our eighteenth birthday, and we’d gotten them in exactly the same spot on our hips.
It was a symbol of our bond, of the life we’d shared and the thing that mattered to us most: family.
There wasn’t anything slutty about it.
“It’s beautiful.” Mr. Suit presses his lips to my skin, peppering my hip with kisses as his hands slide up my thighs. “Did you draw it?”
“Why would you guess that?” My voice is shaky because it’s like he can see me clearly and that’s not what I want—yet it feels like sunshine on my face. To be seen. Understood. Isn’t that all anyone craves deep down?
“You seem creative.”
“Goes with my rule-breaker tendencies, I guess.” I rake my fingernails along his scalp, and he growls, burring his face against my leg and nipping my skin. The sharp flash of pain is instantly soothed by a swipe of his tongue and I almost melt. His hands are working my muscles, thumbs kneading circles into my skin. “I’m not going to be able to stand up much longer if this is going where I think it is.”
“It isdefinitelygoing where you think it is.” He gets up and reaches for the hem of his jumper, tearing it and the layer beneath it over his head.
I back up and sit on the edge of the bed, determined to enjoy the show. Mr. Suit moves with the sleekness of a tiger, his body fit for a museum. He’s muscular, but the thing I love most is the dusting of fire-tinged hair on his chest. Just a smattering. I curl my hands over the edge of the bed as he pulls his jeans down past his hips.
“Black boxer briefs, huh? That’s a little boring,” I tease. He’s straight as an arrow, right down to his underwear.
He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?Looney Tunesboxer shorts?”
I snort. “That would be a sight.”
“Well, this will have to do.” His shoes and socks and jeans and belt lay in a pile on the floor. When he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and slides the stretchy fabric down, I find it hard to breathe.
“It’ll more than do.” I’m in sensory overload, barely able to vocalise the words dancing in my head.
His cock is long and hard, and it curves up toward his stomach. There’s no hesitation in Mr. Suit’s step as he comes toward me; he’s a man totally confident and comfortable in his body. And why wouldn’t he be? The guy could put the statue of David to shame.
“Like what you see?” He asks it in that self-assured way of a man who’s never been turned down. He kneels at the foot of the bed, spreading my legs and planting a soft kiss to the inside of my knee.
I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious—his confidence is overwhelming. I’ve always wished I could be like that, but I’ve only ever managed to fake it. But as his lips work over my skin, getting higher and higher, the thought slips from my mind. Hell,allthoughts slip from my mind. Soon there’s only teeth and tongue and lips and warm breath drifting over my skin.
“Lie back,” he says, gently pushing me down.
I let my eyes shut, my body cradled by the silky-soft bed covers. He draws my thighs over his shoulders and slides his hands under my butt—lifting me to his mouth. The sensation is so intense, so sharply beautiful, that I cry out. He’s an expert on me already—finding my sweet spots with ease. Playing me like a musical instrument.
