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He laughs and shakes his head.
“Then I’ll have to tie you up,” he says.
I laugh. I can’t imagine what that would be like.
He starts tracing a pattern on my shoulder. “I want to draw on you,” he mumbles, pulling back and moving off the bed. “Stay here.” And he walks out of the room. I roll onto my back, listening to kitchen cupboards opening and closing and a few curses, and I grin to myself.
A couple of minutes later, Fabian appears in the doorway with something containing golden liquid. It looks like … God … honey? And he grins as he straddles me on the mattress, walks up on his knees, stops at my hips and holds the plastic bottle over my torso. I raise my hand, and he lifts an eyebrow. He’s so cute right now I want to lean up and kiss him, so I start to sit up, but he puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back down.
“We’re not at the kissing stage of the night yet,” he says.
With a roll of my eyes, I say, “You’re only doing this to me if I can do it back to you.”
“You don’t get to make the rules.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, then not agreeing or disagreeing I say, “Just think how hot it would be for me to trace every tattoo you have with my tongue.”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “You’re an impressive saleslady.”
He squeezes the bottle over my tummy, and a large warm blob lands right on top of a mole.He warmed it up in the microwave?I am not going to think about how he knew the right temperature. I stare down at the honey on my skin, but he draws a line through it and up … reaches my bra and stops.
“Take it off,” he growls.
Sitting, I unhook the strap, and he swallows when the pale green lace falls to one side, eyes skipping over my nipples, his hand unsteady when I lie back down. He pours the honey up the center of my body and out across my shoulder blades; down one arm then the other, putting the cap back on the bottle and placing it on the nightstand before coming back to me.
He spreads and smears, licks his fingers and pushes them into my mouth, nodding. So I suck. I feel liquid and loose as he inspects me, judging his handiwork, eyelashes a dark fan against the slight pink tinge sitting high on his cheekbones. By the time he comes down on the first mole and sucks, I’m damp between my legs, but by God, it tickles. As I squirm away, he locks his hands onto my hips and twists me back down, not stopping. I gasp and blink at the ceiling, trying to relax into the wet and the warmth of his tongue and his teeth.
Tension drains away like water down a plughole. Does he feel like this when he parkours, all sensation focused on his body? I want to be in his bed forever with his intense dark eyes and his mouth on me.
He works his way up from my stomach to my chest, and I arch my back, but he follows the golden line straight up the middle, shaking his head.
“Quiet,” he says, looking up at me. “We’re taking our time, remember? What’s the rush?”
His hand shifts up my ribs to under my breasts, and I lift my fingers to rest them on his torso. He’s warm and damp under the pads, and my bones turn liquid as I trace one of his tattoos. “The rush is you’re turning me on,” I say, and he laughs, his erection a hard line behind the faded denim of his jeans where he’s straddling me.
“This will get much more torturous before I’ve finished,” he mutters, and I groan.
Leaning down, he works me over with teeth and wet licks, sucking the sweetness off my skin, nuzzling and inhaling.
“You smell like summer,” he says. “I want to lick every last bit of this off you.”
He sucks as he says this, tongue circling, eyes closed, and I close mine, sinking into the quiet, the pressure, the cool wetness on my collarbone.How does this feel for him?
“I want to put honey all over your cock,” I say, and he groans, pressing his nose in deep with a sharp inhale.
His voice is a warning growl. “Kate.”
“What?” I say, keeping my face straight and reaching up to remove the tie from his man bun. Curls cascade around his face. “I’m thinking about how slowly I’d be sucking it off, especially around the tip,” I whisper, a smile on my lips as he slides his mouth over my left arm. He lifts up and grabs my wrists, pinning them on either side of my head, shifting forward to trap my hips under his.
“You don’t get to dictate this,” he growls, erection suddenly right where I want it, and I wiggle my pelvis beneath his, giggling as his eyes widen in mock outrage.
“Do you like being a bad girl, Kate? Do you want me to punish you?”
“Yes, please,” I say, grinning.
What am I saying? I have no idea what form punishment from him would take but I would trust him with whatever he wanted to do to me. Fabian’s emotions are right there—explosive, calm—he doesn’t hide any of it. But I’m used to being the one who makesthe decisions, not putting everything into someone else’s hands.
I lift my head and kiss him, and he lets go of my hands, cradling my face as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue tangling with mine. I wrap my legs and arms around him like an octopus, taking his weight as his body pins me to the bed.
