Page 113 of Resurrection
Then she grabs my left arm and lifts it above my head, pinning it to the mattress.
I freeze, watch her watch me. She’s reading the faded letters on my skin, letters hidden among the fresher designs.
"What are you doing?" I ask, knowing the answer.
"Checking if you’re telling the truth, Tyler Brady," she whispers back, then kisses the exact spot on my inner bicep where I inked her name at eighteen. It was my first tat. It's still there, untouched.
"And?"
"You stated you never stopped thinking about me," she recites my own words to me. "I wanted to make sure."
"I wouldn’t have lied to you about that, Nomes." I cradle the back of her head, pull her to me, kiss her again hungrily with tongue and heat.
I’ve waited for this for so long that it feels unreal, like a dream I’m afraid to wake from.
Her hands are everywhere, soft and fierce, mapping my body. It's like she can't stop touching me. We’re breathing heavily, our chests heaving, our pulses going haywire. She’s beautiful in the moonlight. Her sun-touched skin, her hair the color of midnight, her big, intense eyes, her plump lips. I’ve been with plenty of women in the past seventeen years. None compare to Naomi Medina. Not even close.
"Ty?" she murmurs my name, her mouth grazing my ear. "We forgot something very important last time."
"What?"
"Protection."
"I didn’t bring condoms," I confess. "If that’s a deal-breaker for you…"
She waits a moment, then shakes her head. "It’s not if you’re good."
"I’m good, I promise. I take this seriously and get tested all the time."
"Okay."
"Do I need to be concerned about you? Do you want me to do something specific?"
"I’m fine too. I’m on the pill, Ty."
I nod, feeling a bit better about doing this now. "I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful last time."
"We were both pretty drunk. And I'm partially to blame. But that’s your one and only pass."
"Got it."
She covers my mouth with hers, a sweet silencing that speaks more than I ever could.
My hands find her waist, the curve of her hips, the smooth expanse of her back where inked feathers fan out like a secret when I turn her around and kiss the line of her spine. I wonder when she got that tattoo. It’s beautiful, very fine work, very her. I remember when I saw it for the first time during our drunken night at the resort, I was stunned.
We roll on the bed, giggling and moaning and grinding against each other until we’re both a sweaty mess, until she’s on top of me, rubbing her pussy against my cock and making the most sensuous sounds I’ve ever heard from a woman.
She's already soaked and the mere thought that I made her like this has me on edge, has me internally screaming.
I palm her ass with both hands, pushing her against me for more friction. She shudders, and I feel her juices spread all over my erection. Fucking hell. This woman is primed and ready.
My own dick is leaking pre-cum from all the foreplay. "I need to be inside you," I rasp out.
"What’s stopping you?" she taunts.
I pivot and spin us around so that she’s on her back, staring up at me with those fiery eyes of hers. I slip my hand between her legs, tease her clit. She responds with a soft moan, bites her bottom lip, arches up into me, asking for more.
My balls tighten.
