Page 80 of Single Girl in the City
“Lucky guy.”
“Lucky indeed.” She walked him back into the tattooing chair and nudged him down, then went about climbing on him like he was her new pleasure seat. And if he moaned when she straddled him, he out-and-out groaned when she wrapped her legs around him. He lent a hand, placing them both on her bottom and tugging her fully onto his lap.
“Now, where did we leave off?” She unbuttoned the first button of his shirt revealing a tattoo at the base of his collarbone. “Oh, that’s right, we were here.” She undid another, revealing a second tattoo, and another until his shirt parted right up the middle showing all the tattoos. And what an impressive display it was.
So was the bulge in his pants.
She hummed in approval as her hands roamed over his upper torso. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of looking at him. “Nice.”
“I hope it’s better than nice.”
“It is. I just don’t want to give you a big head.”
“Then we have a problem,” he teased, and she laughed. They both did and, man, he was handsome when he smiled.
“You should do that more often.”
“Get a big head?”
“No.” She ran a finger down his abs to the little treasure line that was a map to the promised land. “Smile.”
“You keep doing that and you’ll get more than a smile” He went serious, so serious. “You make me smile, Angel. Being around you, talking with you, dancing with you, spending my mornings with you. Notice a theme there? It’s you.”
She swallowed past the rising sadness. “Then my job here is done.” Even though her tone was light, she felt anything but because he’d become so much more than a name on a good deed to be granted. He’d become a part of her life—some of the best parts—and tomorrow, after the party, her job was indeed done.
Biting back the tidal wave of emotions, she focused on her hands as they made a journey up his body, from belly button to his neck, then over his shoulders and down his arms until she reached his biceps. She went for the shirt, but it was too tight to budge. She tried again to push the sleeves down his arms, but he was flexing—on purpose.
“Off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said in his best Texan impersonation, then in a move so manly he tugged it from behind with one arm and it went sailing over his head.
“That’s better. Except for …” She rocked against him, pressing hard against his erection and making him moan. Groan really.
“That a pretty great except,” he said huskily, his breath cut short when she did it again.
“How about a pretty great one.” This time instead of rocking, she leaned back enough to unbutton his jeans, and slid him to freedom.
“I guess I’m not the only one going commando around here.”
He picked her up by the waist, adjusted himself slightly, then sat her back down. They were skin to skin and she felt her breath catch.
Lowering his head, he took one breast into his mouth, then the other, teasing her with his tongue, his teeth, nipping and sucking until her body was quaking. Needing an outlet for the building pleasure, she squeezed her legs and he released a giant rush of air. She met his gaze and grinned, then moved up the outside of his length and slid back down.
“That’s not playing fair,” he said.
“Where does fair factor in?” She squeezed, pushing up with her thighs, and by the time she slid back down, her body was trembling with sweet, sweet pleasure even though he wasn’t yet inside her. She did it again. Squeeze, push up, slide.
Squeeze, push up, slide.
Owen’s head rolled back on a threadbare groan, but not so far that he broke eye contact, which he held the entire time. It was hot as hell.
He ran his hands down her back, urging her chest to chest, then took charge, lifting her by her hips and back down.
Squeeze, up, slide.
Squeeze, up, slide.
She’d never been so turned on in her life. Her head dropped to his shoulder and by the next round his face was pressed into the curve of her neck. She got the squeeze and up, but before she could slide, he held her in place.
