“Art!” she gasped. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna fuck you hard on this table, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Oh!”
He tried to pull the cardigan she wore away from her shoulders but she grabbed it and pulled it back up again. “No, leave it. Someone might walk in.”
“Yeah, so we’ll be quick, baby.”
They fumbled frantically, him dragging up her skirt, her yanking at his fly. Their hands were everywhere, pulling at clothing, trying to expose skin. Art bent his head and sucked her nipple through the thin material of the dress, feeling it harden and pucker beneath his tongue. He wanted her so badly, desperately. Nothing else mattered.
Tess worked his zipper and the air hit his cock, moments before her hand wrapped around his length. Her small, slim fingers made his erection look huge, and he took pleasure in glancing down and seeing her work his shaft. She was watching, too, her dark hair falling over her face, her lips swollen from his kisses.
“Fuck, you’re so damned sexy.”
She did look insanely wanton, dishevelled and flushed.
His fingers slipped up the smooth length of her slender thigh, until he met with the silky material of her underwear. He pressed against the front, feeling the already damp material. She gave a moan and circled her hips, pressing against his fingertips. From her body language, he could tell she wanted more.
Art rolled her knickers down, Tess lifting herself up slightly so he could pull them over her bottom and thighs, and then he threw them to the side. He dragged her closer again, settling between her legs. Her calves wrapped back around his hips. He reached between them to position his cock at her entrance. Holding his hard length firm, he rubbed the head up and down her slit, over her clit, making her gasp, and smearing his pre-cum and her natural lubrication over them both.
Tess arched her hips forward, clinging to him, and urging him on. “Now, Art. I want you now.”
He didn’t need any further encouragement. With a slight angling of his hips and a push forward, he slid balls deep. Her inner muscles held him tight, her hot, wet channel encasing him, sending him dizzy with bliss.
His movements were short and fast, slamming into her. Her arms were around his neck, her sweet, hot mouth kissing his. He knew he wouldn’t last too long, aware they might have someone banging on the door at any moment. He reached down and his thumb found her clit. The result was instant, her gasping, breaking the kiss.
He fucked her, flicking her clit, driving deeper and harder. His orgasm built, tightening in his arse and rising up through his balls. The muscles in his backside and thighs bunched like rope, and he was coming, coming...
Tess cried out, and he felt her pussy clench tight around him. That was all he needed. He let himself go, hot cum surging up from his balls. Realising what he was about to do, he quickly pulled out. Streams of white ribbons landed on her flat stomach, and he groaned as his orgasm hit again.
Art caught his breath and looked down to see the mess he’d made on her skin.
“Shit, sorry.” He delved into the back pocket of his jeans for a tissue. “I suddenly realised we didn’t use protection.”
She looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. Her cheeks and chest were flushed, and her beauty made something in his chest contract. “Art, if you say sorry one more time after we have sex, it’s going to start becoming an issue.”
He laughed. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, I promise.” She took the tissue and wiped his cum from her stomach.
“Yeah, me, too.”
He pulled her back in and kissed her again. She smiled against his mouth and he matched it, their noses and foreheads pressed together.
“Come on.” He forced himself to break away. “We’d better get out of here before someone starts banging on the door. You still want that coffee?”
“Let’s forget the coffee and get something stronger.”
He grinned at her. “Sure.”
Hand in hand, they left the gallery together, both flushed and casting glances at each other that were somewhere between adoring, shy, and lustful. He could barely believe she’d allowed him to do that to her, taking her on the table while multiple tourists and art gallery staff walked past. They could have been caught at any moment and thrown out.
He’d taken Tess to be uptight and conservative, completely opposite to the type of person he was, but the more he looked past the smart clothes and salon-cut hair, the more he caught glimpses of the adventurous woman beneath.
He’d always chastised people for judging him the moment they saw him, but he was starting to wonder if he was guilty of doing the same.
Chapter Twelve
They left the gallery, her body still humming from the orgasm he’d given her. It had been a long time since she’d felt excited like this, as though the world had suddenly grown brighter around her, objects sharper, colours more vibrant.
Art’s arm hooked around her shoulders, pulling her in against his big body. She felt stupidly happy—teenage girl with her first crush happy—and even the normal guilt that surrounded her couldn’t dampen its edges, though it tried. The moment she thought of back home, the guilt attempted to push its way in, but now this little bubble Art had created around her held back the emotion. She found herself grinning at complete strangers as she passed them by, no longer caring about the looks she was getting by being on Art’s arm.
“You know,” he said, “one thing about living in London is that you never come to any of the tourist areas. It’s kinda cool coming into central London for once to show you around.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m not a tourist either anymore, remember? I live here, too.”
“How’s that work, with visas and stuff?”
“My dad was English, so I get to stay as long as I like.”
He grinned at her. “So I won’t have to worry about you running back to the States any time soon then?”
“Nope, I’m here to stay.”
At least, she thought she was. Truthfully, Tess didn’t have anywhere else to go. She couldn’t go back home, she knew that much. She was banking on this huge, faceless city to save her. She hoped Art was asking because he didn’t want to see her go, rather than that he was fishing to see if he might get the building back to himself sometime soon.
They were in Trafalgar Square. Multitudes of pigeons swarmed the paving. Two huge fountains, ordained with mermaids, dolphins and tritons, were positioned either side of the towering monument of Nelson’s Column. People milled around everywhere, taking photographs with the spurting fountains behind them, or throwing crumbs of their sandwiches to the pigeons. Between the tourists marched suited men and women—city workers who were just trying to get where they needed to be.
“How about there?” Art asked, gesturing to a bar with outside seating.
She grinned. It would be nice to sit and watch her new city go by. “Perfect.”
They chose a table, and Art vanished inside to grab them a couple of beers. She didn’t miss the way plenty of women’s eyes followed him as he weaved his way between the tables, but he didn’t seem to notice any of them, or if he did, he didn’t show it, and she was thankful for that.
He returned with their drinks, condensation dribbling down the sides of the bottles. He’d brought them both a couple of glasses as well, but he took a swig from the neck of the bottle, and she did the same. This was the new Tess. The carefree, easy going Tess, who drank beer straight from the bottle with sexy tattooed men. She thought she could get to like this version of herself.
Art reached over the table, and took her hand, his fingers entwining with hers. “So what was your real reason for coming over here, Tess? You didn’t really tell me the last time I asked. I can’t help but think there’s more to it than just wanting a change.”
She sought for the right words. She didn’t want to lie to him, but couldn’t tell hi
m the whole truth. Not yet, anyway. “I wanted to see the country my father came from. Get back to my roots.”
“What about your friends back home? Don’t you miss them?”
She nodded. “Sure.” She motioned to the cell phone, which she’d placed onto the table in front of her. “But we still call and text. It’s not as though the world is so big anymore. You look at London and just see home. You don’t see how beautiful and exciting it seems to someone from small town America. It was always on my bucket list to visit, and then this place just landed in my lap, so I thought why the hell not.”
He was looking at her in amusement. “Your bucket list? What else is on your bucket list?”
“Umm,” she pressed her lips together as she thought. There were plenty of things she wanted to do in her lifetime. She counted them off on her fingers as she mentioned each one. “Swimming with dolphins, visiting the pyramids, oh, seeing the aurora borealis, and maybe paying a call on Santa at the same time.”
He laughed. “You know Santa isn’t real, don’t you.”
She smacked his hand. “Don’t say things like that. Of course he’s real.” She thought again, and had to suppress her smile. “Oh, and getting a tattoo.”
His eyebrows lifted. “So I was right. You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Nope, not one.”
“Flawless skin.”
She bit her lower lip, and glanced away. “What about you?” she asked, turning the topic around. “What’s on your bucket list?”
“I don’t have one.”
“What? Everyone has a bucket list!”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I guess I just want to live in the moment. I want to be happy with what I have now instead of looking forward to the next thing all the time.” He lifted a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, all those things you described sound amazing, and of course I’d do them, too, if the opportunity came up. I just don’t want to spend my life looking forward to doing things, and not appreciating them when they happen.”
Tess nodded, understanding what he meant. She took another long drink from her beer.
“So you’re happy with what you have?” she asked him. “The business and everything?”
He nodded, but she didn’t miss the way his gaze slipped from hers. “Sure. I’m doing what I dreamed of. How could I ask for anything more.”
Art sounded confident in what he was saying, but there was something about the way he said it that made her think there was something more. She wasn’t about to start prying, however.
They finished their drinks. The alcohol fortified her, giving her courage she didn’t usually possess.
“You’re going to think this is really lame,” she blurted, “but can we get a photo by the fountains. My friends would absolutely die to see it.”
He grinned. “Yeah, sure.”
Joining the rest of the tourists, they sat on the edge of the fountain, the water directly behind them. People had thrown coins of multiple currencies into the bottom, perhaps hoping a wish or two would come true. She held her cell phone out on selfie-mode, trying to get both their faces and the beautiful fountain behind them in the picture. She was struggling to get both them and the scenery in, however.
“Squeeze in a little,” she told Art. He did as she instructed, but she still couldn’t fit everything in. She wanted her friends back home to see where she was. “Lean back a bit more.”
Art leaned back a little too far, and she felt him tip as he lost his balance. His arms pin-wheeled, and she turned and reached out to grab him, using the hand not holding the phone.
She snagged the front of his t-shirt just as he toppled back. The bulk of him was too much for her to hold, but she kept hold of the front of his shirt. It wasn’t enough. The shirt gave way, the front tearing in her hands while the rest of Art’s big body fell backward into the water with a splash.
Tess held the piece of torn t-shirt in her hand, and then clamped the hand to her mouth to try to hold back her laughter. Art emerged from the fountain, water dripping down his body. His torn shirt flapped open from top to bottom, exposing the squared blocks of his abs and the muscles of his chest. Twin glints of light came from each nipple, and her laughter faded as she realized both nipples were pierced. Whenever they’d had sex, they’d always managed to stay mostly clothed, so she had never seen his bare chest before.
Art was half naked and dripping wet in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Everyone was looking, and she imagined husbands would be clamping their hands over their wife’s eyes, and mothers would be hiding the faces of small children. Art looked like sex personified, with his tattoos, and piercings, the remainder of his shirt dripping wet, and almost see through as it clung to the muscles of his arms and back.
His eyebrows lifted as he set his sights on Tess. “You think that’s funny, huh?” Water dripped off his dark hair, running down his face, clinging to his eyelashes. There was teasing behind his tone, and she clamped her mouth shut, trying to hold back the grin threatening to break across her face.
“I think you’re looking a little hot yourself, Tess. Maybe you need cooling off, too?”
With every word, he took a step closer, his powerful thighs pushing through the water. He climbed out of the fountain and approached her, his arms outstretched. She let out a squeal, feeling like a kid again. She turned, only pretending to get away. She was more than happy to let Art catch her. His big arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his wet torso pressing into her back, dampening her shirt. He lifted her off her feet, and she screamed with laughter. She felt a momentary burst of panic, as he swung her around, back toward the fountain, ready to throw her in as well.
But a shout from nearby made Art pause. “What’s going on over here?”
The voice was authoritative, and they both turned in its direction to see two uniformed policemen watching them.
“People aren’t supposed to swim in the fountains,” the older of the policemen said, pointing to a sign attached to the wall.
“Sorry,” Art said. “We weren’t exactly swimming.”
“He fell,” she tried to explain. “We were trying to take a photo.”
The two policemen frowned between them, not looking impressed. They were probably bored with turfing half drunk tourists out of the fountain on a sunny day.
“Hmm that wasn’t how it looked to me.” The older officer’s frown deepened as he took in the sight of Art’s naked chest. “And you really should wear a shirt in public places.”
Tess held up the remainder of his shirt and waved it like a white flag. The officer gave a tusk of disapproval and rolled his eyes, before moving on to the next offender.
Art and Tess fell together laughing, half holding each other up as they ran away from the fountain and the cops who’d given them a warning. Hand in hand, they hurried through the busy London streets, Art’s half naked body getting more than enough attention. Tess had never been one to like people noticing her, but she couldn’t help the swell of pride that rose inside her that Art was the one holding her hand. She still didn’t understand why he’d chosen her to be with, when they were clearly so very different. But you’d have to be either stupid or blind to not notice that Art was both ridiculously hot, and half dressed, as they walked through the streets, back to where he’d left his bike.
“I guess we’re going to need to go back to your place.” She motioned at his bare chest.
He caught up her hand and pulled her in closer. Her palms met with the warm skin of his pectoral muscles and a thrill went through her. She tilted her face up to his and his lips found hers, so they stood kissing like a couple of teenagers in the street. Tess had never touched a man with pierced nipples before, and she ran her fingers down over them, her breath catching as she felt the hard pieces of metal embedded into the tight nubs of his nipples.
Holy shit, he was sexy. Heat pulsed between her thighs, and she pressed herself up closer, wanting him again. But t
hey were out in the open, and she was sure they were already drawing disapproving glances from people walking by.
She broke the kiss, breathing hard, her cheeks flushed with heart. “Your place,” she gasped again.
But he shook his head. “No, we can’t.”
She frowned. “Why not? Don’t you want a change of clothes?”
“I’ve got a spare shirt back at the shop.”
“Oooh.. kay,” she said slowly, trying to piece together what was happening. Why wouldn’t he want to go back to his own apartment? She tried again. “But wouldn’t it be easier to go back to yours? I don’t even know where your place is.”
Art’s face hardened and he stepped back from her, putting space between them that she missed instantly. “I’ve got a real dickhead of a flatmate. He works shifts, and the slightest bit of noise makes him kick-off.”
“Seriously? It’s only about five. He won’t let you have a friend back?”
“I said no, didn’t I, Tess?” He snapped out the words, and she jerked back.
“That’s fine.” Something in her chest turned cold and solidified to ice. “I think I just want to go home anyway.”
The tension had returned between them, like a screen going down, dividing them.
What the hell had just happened?
Chapter Thirteen
After Art dropped her home, Tess went to bed early, confused and despondent. What the hell was going on with him? One minute he was acting all loved up and tearing off her clothes, and the next minute he was pushing her away. His reaction when she’d mentioned going to his place sent alarm bells warning. Why didn’t he want her there? The thing about the flatmate not liking him bringing people back didn’t ring true. Was there a chance there was no flatmate? Was Art actually a married man, and he couldn’t take her home because his family was there? He didn’t seem like the marrying type, and she was sure there’d have been hints at him already being in a relationship—what was to stop his wife or girlfriend coming into the shop to see him? Surely he wouldn’t have had sex with her on the stairs if he’d thought there was any chance whatsoever of being caught.
Carved by Ink (London Inked Boys, #1) Page 6
