Page 51 of Love at First Ink

Marisol tilted her head to the side, one brow arched in curiosity. Then, realization dawned, and she gasped, her full lips forming a perfect “O.” A rosy flush spread across her cheeks, the sight of her flustered expression impossibly endearing.

“Oh. I see. What are you hungry for?” she asked coyly, biting her bottom lip.

She already knew the answer, but he decided to humor her anyway. “You.”

Heat flashed in her eyes, a hunger that matched his own. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear. Every hair on his body stood up on end. “I’m right here, Cisco. Come take me,” she murmured.

“Sit on my face, Princesa,” he said. “And give me my breakfast.”

Marisol’s confidence wavered as her body tensed. “Sit on your face? Wouldn’t that…uhm, like hurt? Could you breathe?”

“Breathing is overrated.” If she only knew, moments ago, he had been prepared to drown himself in her tits.

“Cisco, I don’t want to hurt you?—”

He reached up, cradling her head in his hands before pulling her down to him. His lips met hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. His tongue flicked out, forcing her open for him. She obeyed willingly, allowing him to explore her mouth. Morning breath be damned, she was still the best thing he had ever tasted.

He pulled back after a moment, and she gasped, chest heaving. “Let’s make one thing very clear, Princesa. When I say sit on my face, I need you to sit on my fucking face and let me eat.”

She took in another shuddering breath but this time didn’targue. She nodded once and pushed herself up until she was straddling his waist. He motioned her forward with a crook of his finger. She was slow to listen but cautiously began to scoot up his body. She stopped just shy of his face. Her pretty pussy was close but still unattainable.

“More. Hands on the headboard,” he encouraged but didn’t push. She needed to be the one to make the decision. Even if that left him turned on and waiting.

“If you die, it’s not my fault,” she said at last, moving up the last few inches until she was finally straddling his head.

“It’s very much your fault, but I consent.” He smiled wickedly, his hands coming to grip her thigh. He could see her arousal glistening between her legs. The first lick of his tongue had them both moaning out in ecstasy.

He dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling her down so she was no longer hovering over him but fully seated on his face, just like he wanted. Marisol gasped, grinding down on him. “Cisco…” she whimpered.

Dragging his tongue up the seam of her pussy lips, he found her clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. “Ride me,” he growled, voice muffled.

But he knew she heard because she lifted her ass slightly, grinding herself back down on his face.

He had died and gone to heaven.

“Cisco…baby.” The moan left Marisol’s lips. Something about her calling him baby drove him fucking crazy. He liked it. Liked it too damn much. It was something he wanted to hear days, weeks…hell,yearsfrom now. It would never get old. Waking up next to her, pulling her onto his face, and indulging in his own personal paradise.

Already, Marisol’s thighs shook. He knew she was still sore from last night, which made him far cockier than he deserved.He brought his hands up to grip her ass, squeezing. Her bounces became more frenzied, and he helped guide her movements.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathed into her pussy, not knowing if Marisol heard him, or if she was too close to the edge to pay any attention to him. The thought of her using him to take her own pleasure was fucking hot. He’d be her toy if she wanted.

A few moments later, Marisol clenched around his head and came on his tongue with a needy moan. His face and chest were wet with her desire, as if leaving her scent on him to deter others.

He was a claimed man.

He washerman.

They hadn’t said it in so many words, but they didn’t need to. He knew where he stood.

Marisol was slow to move off him, her chest still heaving. He expected to see her blushing, but he only saw a sense of immense satisfaction on her face. Good. Confidence looked great on her.

Marisol took one look at him and laughed. “I think we need to shower.”

“We’re showering together,” he said.

There was no protest on her end. She slid off the bed, her glorious naked body on full display for him. Part of him wondered if he’d be able to tattoo her again, wanting to add to her story. And it would be him to tattoo her again because no other man would ever get the pleasure.

Marisol washiscanvas.Hismuse.

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