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He flinched under her touch. “Tickles,” he mumbled. He was trying to sound grumpy. But he wasn’t, she could tell. She went back over the outline again with a firmer touch.
“We need to get this tattoo covered up. If they do catch up with us... it would be better if they don’t take it off you by some gory method...”
“They’d have to catch us first,” he said.
She murmured, “I’ll hit up Instagram, see if I can find someone good...”
“We’d need them to keep quiet-”
Her hands danced over his back and went to his right shoulder. She didn’t know massage, had no training or particular skill. She’d just wanted an excuse to get her hands on him. She pushed her thumbs into the hard flesh over his right shoulder blade. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Sorry, did that hurt?”
“Yes, but that’s the right spot.”
She used less pressure, rubbing her thumbs upwards and he groaned into the pillow. He mumbled something.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He arched his back, she shamelessly watched his lower back dimple up as he shifted momentarily. His hand disappeared under him.
She frowned, what was he doing? Then it clicked. He had to adjust himself. She smiled. He must have been lying with his dick at an awkward angle. And it must be getting hard. And he had felt the need to touch it. She felt a proud sense of ownership. She had done that.
He groaned again now but it was unmistakably a groan of pleasure. His butt cheeks squeezed as he shifted his hips. Thrusting the mattress, oh so subtly. Did he think she didn’t know what he was doing? He was dry humping the mattress under him. The friction of the bed and his weight must be getting him off. She was shocked. And yet, not shocked at all. She lowered her face down, closer to his back, her hands still massaging his shoulder, though less deliberately.
She couldn’t resist, she opened her mouth and sunk her teeth into the flesh on his back.
He bridled. “April! Fuck, I-”
“Keep going, Colt,” she interrupted him with a hiss, and immediately licked the skin that had been between her teeth moments before. She was shocked at her aggression. She felt dizzy with it.
His thrusts became more overt, more wild. She needed more contact to hold on. She sunk her body down onto his. Her front plastered to his back.
He tried to turn his head to see. Maybe he caught a glimpse of her boobs pressed up against him.
“Kiss me,” he demanded. She leaned forward and sideways and their lips locked. He almost bit her with urgency.
She felt it now, too. A runaway train, carriage-less and free and careening downhill. Getting faster and faster. She pressed her pussy into his hip bone, rubbing herself against him. He must have felt what she was doing, as he let out a guttural sound from deep within him. Yes, they were both running wild and free now, together.
He put his arm back over his head now, as if he were reaching behind himself to scratch an itch. Except he grabbed onto her forearm, pinning her in place above him, tugging her slightly to force her to ride his backside.
“Use me, Kitten,” he growled from within the pillows. “I’m yours, use me.”
His utterance had her mind spiraling out, the sense of urgency, of desperation was pulling at her veins, clawing in her core. She wanted him deep inside her, chasing away that feeling, hounding it until it ceased. But she would take this opportunity to get whatever satisfaction she could. She had seen he was bothered by his own feelings of inadequacy, of insecurity, how it was crippling him, how it was whirling around in his mind, over and over again, on repeat. She thrust against him, and in the same rhythm he was thrusting himself against the mattress. She wouldn’t let him get stuck in his head tonight.
“We’re backwards,” she managed to huff.
She was his, dammit. She surprised herself with how true it was. And he was hers. Her heart was getting caught up in this. She felt it with each of their joint thrusts. She was drilling herself and him together. Hammering their souls together. Tight.
She wanted it, she loved it, feeling her heart and soul again in the first place. Wanting. Yearning. Feeling. Loving. In whatever capacity this was. Yes, loving. Loving him. Wanting him. He’d spent years watching her and wanting her, and she’d been oblivious. And now she wanted him.
“Kitten, this is how fucking much I fucking want you. You make me do fucked up things…” He made a violent noise in his throat. “Show me how much you want me,” he demanded, pounding his hips.
She ran her hand down her body, she had to let go and let them both tumble. She pressed her whole self into him. Her breasts against his writhing back, her pussy into his butt. Within her, she felt shuddering darkness and a howl she barely heard.
Animal.
Savage.
