Page 48 of For a Goode Time Call…
“This, being what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”
I rested a hand on his chest. Roamed the broad expanse of his chest, tracing the myriad tattoos. Bent over him, touched my lips to his skin. Flicked my tongue against his flesh, over a tattoo of a salmon. Let my hands explore his waist and stomach, and my lips descend in tripping kisses from chest to belly.
I glanced at him—his eyes were closed, but his face was twisted in an expression that seemed equal parts rapture and distress.
Resting my face on his diaphragm, I touched one leg. Just above the knee. Tugged the leg of his shorts up, baring his thigh. So many tattoos, mostly animals, nature scenes, or abstract lines, glyphs, and runic shapes. All tangled and jumbled and woven together into a tapestry on his skin. I ran my hands over his thigh, feeling the muscles at rest there. Rumpled the leg of the shorts up around his upper thigh, on both sides, tracing and touching each thigh, the tattoos, and the muscles.
Then I let my fingers walk up to his belly. A sunburst was done in wavy lines radiating out from his belly button, a piece that was clearly older than most of the others, done in either thread or poke-and-stick, which I wasn’t sure. The wavy lines of the sun merged with other curves and angles and dots and lines, all disappearing under the waistband of his shorts. I was curious, if nothing else, how extensive the tattoos were, between thighs and belly button. I looked up at Ink again, gauging him; brows furrowed, jaw clenched. Breathing hard. Utterly still.
“Try to relax,” I murmured.
He drew in a deep breath, his enormous chest filling and then his belly going taut. He held the breath. Let it out slowly, and some of the tension bled out of his features.
At least until I tucked three fingers under the waist of his shorts and drew them downward. The tension returned then, with interest. But yet, his belly drew in, and his butt lifted, letting me tug the shorts down past his buttocks.
He was bare underneath.
Not exactly slack, but not aroused yet, either.
And fuckingenormous. Even at rest.
I bit my lip, hard. Ohhh god. Oh god.
So big.
Curled in a comma shape against his belly and hip. Lighter in shade than the rest of him. A close-trimmed thatch of curly black hair around it. Tattoos, runic and tribal, around the pubic area, down each thigh—his manhood was unmarked, however.
“Everyone’s question is if I have tats on my dick.” He laughed. “I like tats, but not that much. Hell no.”
I just huffed a small laugh, and traced the designs on his thigh and lower belly. His laugh faded quickly. I glanced at him again—eyes open, now. Watching me. I let my fingers dance around his belly button, thigh, back around, in a circuit. Avoiding what I wanted to touch. My finger ached to wrap around him, to feel him engorge under my touch. God, so beautiful. I wanted him. Wanted to climb onto him and see how much of him I could take, feel him split me open and drive me to screaming orgasm. It would take no time, even without any foreplay. I was so worked up right now, that a single touch to my center would make me come apart.
God I wanted to fuck him so badly.
But I held this all back, kept it relegated to the back of my head.
I wondered if he could see it on my face, if he could read me that well. I knew it showed. I wasn’t very good at hiding my emotions—as a dancer and performer I was trained to let my emotions show, to emote. And as a person, I just couldn’t hide my emotions—they boiled too strong, too close to the surface.
Palm gliding over his thigh, up to his belly, I paused in my avoidant circuit, hand coming to rest just below his belly button. Preparing to touch him.
His eyes flicked open, and his hand rested on mine, stopping me. “Gotta tell you something, Cass. Gotta admit it.”
I met his eyes. “Okay?”
“I…that drawing of you.” A long hesitation. “The story I told, of you in the waterfall…I’ve got that image in my head. Can’t get it out. I’ve been thinking about you for days, can’t get you off of my mind. Drew that sketch of you naked, and…I just couldn’t stop myself from thinking about you. Picturing you naked. In that waterfall. Looking at me. Wanting me. Touching me.” His eyes met mine. “I was in the bathroom when you came over.”
“Yeah?” I had a feeling I knew where he was going with this. Had suspected as much.
“I was…touching myself. Thinking about you.” He closed his eyes. Seemed embarrassed. Upset about it. “Couldn’t help myself. Felt dirty for it. Like I was using you.”
I slid upward, toward his face. Bent over him. Gazed down at him. “Look at me, Ink.”
His eyes opened. “Thought you oughta know.”
“You jacked off, thinking about me, naked, touching you?”
He nodded. Pained. Upset, still. “First time I done that in…years. Since before Elise.”
