What am I doing? part of her wondered. And in the back of her mind, it was clear that she was an idiot, because no matter how hard she worked to convince herself otherwise, this couldn’t be just about sex. She wasn’t supposed to be liking a new guy. She was supposed to be avoiding men, not falling right back into bed with the first one to come along, especially not in this temporary town.
I can’t stay. Can I?
“That bad, huh?” he said, kneeling again in front of Uma.
“What?”
“Get my pants off, and everything screeches to a halt. Guess you don’t like what you see this time. Was hopin’ I’d convince you to take yours off too.” He grinned.
“Oh.”
He touched the blindfold. “Got this on, after all.”
She couldn’t do it. Not because of what he might see, but because of what she’d see. Her arm against his skin would look filthy. Like shit on a Monet. Nothing would kill her desire or her confidence faster.
She collapsed in on herself, a bundle of stupid insecurity. Suddenly, she had to get out of this place, this town. It had sucked her in, made her feel like she could stay and be…what?
“Look, Ivan, you’ve been really nice, but I’m not…” She made as if to pull away, but Ivan’s hand circled her calf, tight enough to remind her exactly who was top dog around here, if he chose. He could crush Uma like an ant. Not something she could afford to forget.
“Stay.”
“I have to go.”
“Stay here.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Please.”
“I’m not one of your strays, okay?” She tested her leg, tried to subtly pull away. His hand loosened.
“Strays?”
“Yeah, your dog. And all those cats outside. And all the others. You feed a damned skunk, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a baby.”
“Exactly! And there’s Ms. Lloyd. You take care of every broken soul for miles around, me included.”
“You’re not broken. Don’t you—”
“You think I’m not broken?” Her laugh came out harsh, humorless. “I’m a mess, Ivan. I’m a freak. A fucking freak! I don’t want you to look at me. I can’t even stand to see myself.”
“Oh, baby.” He reached out, and she shifted back.
“No. No pity. Please.”
“I just want to make it better, Uma.”
The prickle of tears pressed hard to her eyes, shockingly unfamiliar after so many dry months. “You can’t, Ivan.”
“At least let me try.”
And she wanted to. She wanted him to make everything okay.
“You trust me, Uma?”
Yes.
She took a breath in. She’d known him, what, less than two weeks? But the answer was obvious.
“Yes,” she whispered, releasing the air from her lungs. “Yes. I trust you.”
“All right, then close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Let me make you feel good, Uma. Trust me. Please.”
With eyes squeezed shut, she waited while he got up, stumbled around the room, and returned to wind something around her head. The tie? Had he taken it off?
“See anything?”
“No.” She reached up. Not the tie. This was thick and rough. Cotton.
“Good. Stand up.”
She stood, disoriented and a little seasick and not at all sure she was ready to take orders rather than give them. He moved her back a few steps to the bed. She settled on top, cross-legged, listening to her own heart and the popping of the fire, breathing in smoke and metal. Waiting.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and he was there, close beside her.
Her hand reached out blindly to land on his forearm, stilling him. “Will you stop if I ask you to?” She sounded wretched. Scared and tiny.
“I’ll do anything you ask me to. Anything. Always.”
Oh shit. Those words were like a spark to Uma’s tinder. “Then come ’ere,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his flesh and enjoying how he obeyed—instantly.
A shift of mattress and his breath. His nose found her cheek, lingered, skimmed along her skin to her ear, before trailing farther down to graze her neck and back up—a circuitous route to her mouth. Once he reached her lips, tongues twined, teeth clashed, and he wound around her.
“Ouch!” His knee sank into the back of her hand, and she pulled it away, holding it to her chest. “What are—”
“I’ve still got mine on. The blindfold.”
“Are you serious?” Uma giggled when he moved in and jostled her again. She tilted precariously before he gripped her hand and brought her back against his body. Her giggles turned to squeals when his hands moved to her waist and poked her, just enough to tickle.
Her screeched “Stop that!” stilled him immediately.
“You want to stop?”
“No. I meant the tickling. Actually, I…I haven’t laughed in a while.” And she’d never laughed in bed with a man.
“If that’s the case, then—”
Ivan’s thick hands were surprisingly precise as they made their way up her body, manhandling her into a prone position, head on the pillows and legs curled in protectively. He explored her with half tickles, half caresses that gradually lost their sense of humor. She went from howling laughter to groans and finally quieted entirely.
Uma opened like a blossom under his attentions, limbs heavy and relaxed.
As her cries died down, other things took center stage: the rough rasp of his fingers against her skin as he slowly pulled down her pants, followed by the soft, soft slide of his lips against her belly. Perhaps sexiest of all was Ivan’s breathing, surprisingly erratic and shaky, peppered with manly little grunts and groans. Animal sounds. Sounds of discovery…and satisfaction. Like an explorer happy to have his theories confirmed. I did this to him, she thought with a sense of pride she’d never thought she’d have in bed, of all places. I made this big man shudder.
Underwear followed pants. When he grasped her shirt, she stopped him. “I…I don’t think I can do this.”
“Here.” He took her hand and held it to his face, showing her his blindfold. “I can’t see you. I won’t look.”
She swallowed her anxiety down. “Okay. Okay, but—”
“Just say stop. That’s all you’ve gotta do, baby.”
Finally, with difficulty, her shirt was pulled up and over her head, careful not to disturb the blindfold.
For a few silent moments, Ivan settled beside Uma, trailing one hand, exploring her body by touch alone. Lightly, so lightly, mapping her shape.
“You’re soft,” Ivan whispered as his fingers found surprisingly tender spots, like the round underside of her breast or the outside of her knee. Places she hadn’t known were beautiful. For ages, he learned her, probably better than she’d been known by anyone, and yet…
“Stop, Ivan.”
He stopped.
“I want to touch you now.”
“I’m right here, baby.”
Ivan’s body was so different from hers. Not soft and pliant, but firm and rough. And unlike his lazy, reclining progress, she was all business, sitting up to reach the other side of him.
Uma’s scars had been invisible beneath his touch, but his were textured, immediately obvious. She lingered on each one, enjoying the variations she found there. There and elsewhere: the rough patches at his knees and elbows, the crisp hair on his chest and farther south. His cock stood in her way. It lay stiff and hot against his belly, barring passage south and demanding further attention.
She grasped it in her hand, loving how heavy it was, how it needed more than one hand to do it justice. The desire to own him took over, and she threw one leg over his wide thighs, hefty with muscle and slightly scratchy b
eneath her.
“Ooh, yeah. So good,” he groaned, arching off the bed into her hands. He was silky along the shaft and wet at the tip, like he’d been the first time she’d seen him. Only this was entirely different. Their bodies were more important than they’d been; touch was essential and smell elemental. When Uma dipped her head, she took in the scent of him, along with the taste on her tongue, and it overwhelmed her with desire.
“My breasts,” she ordered. “Touch them.”
It was so good how he obeyed like that. Rough hands flew to her breasts, palming them and rubbing them along his length, up and down, with her mouth at the tip.
“I’m gonna come like this, Uma. I want to make you come first.”
“You’ll come when I tell you to come, Ivan.”
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, out of control. “Let me do you first. Please. Come on. Please, Uma, baby.” And Jesus, did she like the sound of him begging.
“Say it again.”
“What?”
“Beg me some more.”
“Uma, you’ve got to let me touch. I want to taste you. Please.”
Amazing how the blindfold made her hungrier. She let go of his cock and moved up to bury her nose in his neck. She bit and sucked, reached her hands up to grasp his head, and found the tie covering his eyes.
“I love that you kept this on. Now all we can do is feel.” It was a strange sentiment from someone who’d used sight as a crutch for so long. A blind voyeur.
His palms landed hot on her breasts, his aim impressively precise.
“You done this blindfold thing before?” she asked, breathless.
He chuckled. “No. Just been thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ you naked. A lot.”
He planted his hands on her ass and pulled them up to sitting, leaving her momentarily disoriented.
Soft, wet licks were followed by tight, intense pulls on her nipples.
“Your teeth,” she said, almost grunting the words. “I want your teeth.”
Immediately, he bit, thrilling her with the pain and the pleasure and the way he followed her orders.
She succumbed, lost in it as he nibbled and licked with endless patience. What would he feel like down there? she wondered.
“Kiss me,” she whispered after what seemed like hours, nudging his jaw. But instead of moving to her mouth, as she’d expected, he kissed her right where he was, taking her demands literally, with a loud, slurpy, sexy french kiss right on her nipple. He took orders well. Too well.
It was heady and sweet and sexy as hell, being in charge. She could get used to this if he let her.
In that moment, she had so much tenderness for Ivan, treating her with such care. Slowly taming her. So calm, you could almost forget how strong and scary he was.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be one of his strays.
I don’t want to leave Blackwood. The thought rose up from nowhere, scaring the hell out of her. I want to stay here, with this sexy, scary, sweet man.
* * *
Man, his woman was bossy. And he fucking loved it. The way her voice got meaner as things progressed.
First, it was her tits. They’d been perfect. Her nipples, like little cherries, answering one of the questions he’d been asking himself since the first time he’d seen her. He couldn’t get enough of the way they felt in his mouth, against the new scruff on his cheek, pressing into his cock.
Then her belly, as he made his way down her body, all soft and pliant, the way a woman was supposed to be. He let his fingers continue to learn her, wanting to memorize the shapes and wondering if maybe he’d buy some clay and sculpt her. It was something he’d always wanted to take up, just never had a reason to before.
He wished he could see her. The skin under his fingers was perfectly smooth, and he wondered, for a brief second, what she could possibly be hiding from him.
“Fuck, you feel good.”
She huffed out a skeptical sound, which would have made him smile if it didn’t annoy him so much. She truly thought there was something wrong with her. What the hell had that stupid ex of hers done to make her so insecure? Maybe he’d called her names, told her she was ugly. He remembered the way Frank used to talk to Jessie and didn’t doubt the power of words.
A sharp nudge from her hands, another command rather than a suggestion, brought him back to the room, and he moved farther down the bed, grasping her by the hips and settling her hard over his face.
“Oh!” The exclamation sounded like it was wrenched from Uma’s lungs, and her hands clenched his head. For a second, he thought she intended to push him away, teetering on the brink of refusal above him. He waited, holding back with difficulty. He wanted this, so badly. Wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone in his life. Something about this woman made him more than horny—she made him…hungry. For her, for sex, for life.
Fuck it. He turned and nipped her along the crease of her thigh, then dove face-first into her.
* * *
All the shit Uma had worried about disappeared with each swipe of his tongue, each rough, whiskery scrape of his jaw and slick slide of his nose between her lips. Ivan’s hands were magic—sometimes keeping her firmly anchored to him, and at others, when it all got to be too much, fluttering over her, doling out touches of reassurance.
After a while, she lifted up slightly and pulled at his hair, yanking his head out from under her. It was hard to convince him to move. When he finally did, it was to say, “Come on, babe. Been dyin’ to do this,” before dipping down again to lick right up her center.
“You’ve got to stop,” she whispered, letting her fingers slide over the blindfold. “I can’t come this way.”
“What do you need?”
“I don’t…” Uma swallowed over the weird bout of panic suddenly trying to push its way out. “I don’t know. The other night was good.”
With a gentle grunt, he pulled away from her hands, moved his enormous shoulder up to spread her thighs wider, and slipped a finger into her. It was big, and from the dark confines of the blindfold, the sensation was overwhelming.
Another finger added to the first, to plunge in hard and tight and a third slid in, bringing with it a twinge of pain. The pain was good, though. It made it all feel real.
“Is this good?” After a moment, he went on. “I can’t see you. You gotta tell me.”
It felt good, yes, but… Could she tell him? Should she dare? Joey would have—
Fuck Joey. Just fucking fuck him.
“I need you to touch my…my clitoris. My clit.”
His thumb pressed her there, giving her a little jolt, but—
“Can you lick me again? Like before, except with your fingers inside too?”
He groaned a pained sounding “fuuuck” in the best way, before shimmying back down and carrying on.
“It’s good. It’s so… Wait, wait, I’m—”
She twisted above him, tried nudging his head away with a palm. Nothing, no reaction. He just pulled tighter against her and continued to fuck her with his hand, licking her harder with his tongue.
The fingers and the tongue and the steely arm around her thigh were too much and yet so very right. Not too tender or nice, which was exactly what she wanted. Uma didn’t fucking deserve to be coddled or loved. She deserved pulled hair, bruises, and harsh orgasms forced from her body.
She deserved it. Oh God, she’d deserved everything that had happened to her. Everything. The pain, the shame.
Fuck, oh fuck. The tattoos, even. She deserved to drown in all that ink.
She clawed and pulled, unclear on whether she wanted to get away or if she needed him to hurt her. Maybe both. Twisting and pushing, digging her toes into his side, tugging at his hair, none of it made him turn on her the way Joey would have. It only served to make him work harder. The man was an evil genius, giving her what she didn’t t
hink she deserved.
His fingers bent and prodded, tweaking her just right, even as she yanked hard enough to sting his scalp. With a moan, he stopped, and she could imagine his expression—the one that she wanted to see there: wet mouth, flushed cheeks, his eyes buzzing with want. For several seconds they paused like that, her fist holding him up by the hair, suspended. It had to hurt, but he was either too out of it or too into it to care.
The hand disappeared from around her leg. Slicing through the silence came the sound of skin rubbing skin, and with a start, she realized he was touching himself. Masturbating. Right there, beneath her.
“Go on,” he said, sounding even needier than she felt, “do it. Use me. Come on me.”
Oh God, he likes it.
Picturing how it must look, his fist pumping himself with short, tight, violent pulls, made her clumsy and desperate. She was hurting him, and he liked it. So fucking wrong. Weird and wrong and shameless, but it flipped a switch in her, and she lost it completely. The image obliterated her tenuous control, and she shoved his face back at her body with more force than she would ever have dared with a weaker man. He can take it. She knew, with absolute certainty. He can take whatever I give him.
Her hands pressed his face to her body, drowning him, and all the while, he groaned and muttered things against her flesh, pulling so hard at himself that he rocked beneath her. It had to hurt.
Oh, the noises the man made: these harsh, hungry little grunts, wild and uncontrollable and absolutely the sexiest thing she’d ever heard in her life. The best part was the words, a diatribe she’d never imagined would be sexy like this. He muttered things that made no sense: Make me and Fuck you, baby. Words that should have made her cringe. Nonsensical filth that had her digging her nails into him.
Telling her he was hers. All hers.
Somehow, the orgasm snuck up on Uma. She tightened around his fingers, to his surprised grunt. All the straining and clenching brought it on too fast. One minute she was listening to him, tense with the fury or the want or something, and suddenly the nervy twinge blossomed at her clit, deeper tremors radiating out from the solid pressure of his penetration, and finally, through the almost palpable mirage of his hungry gaze on hers, she came.
Under Her Skin Page 19
