by Cari Quinn
He kissed his way under the hem of my shirt to my belly.
I couldn’t see him, or those spooky sea-colored eyes that haunted me.
I wasn’t sure it made it better as he lightly trailed his way up my rib cage to the underside of my breasts. I didn’t know where he would hit next.
And his hair kept tickling me, making me shift against his freaking cock. Oh, I could shift against it. I didn’t just have to lie there and take whatever he was dishing out.
Though it was supposed to be all about me. I could starfish here if I wanted to, but the low hum of frustration was driving me crazy. If I could just have one more little orgasm, I could think again. I needed a little more friction.
He nipped at the skin just under my nipple before his head popped out from the neck of my shirt. I wasn’t sure if I was more horrified at that or the fact he could fit under my shirt with me.
He scraped his scruffy chin along my neck before tugging on my ear. He rose up enough to stretch my shirt to its limit. “Excuse you. I’m dishing out the orgasms here. I’m not your personal scratching post, woman.”
He disappeared again and grabbed onto my hips, holding me still as he took a lazy trip around each breast. We were skin to skin, since he didn’t know shirt buttons were meant to be used.
But I couldn’t really complain. This man, who barely knew me, knew just how much pressure to exert to make every atom in my body sing out like God’s own personal choir.
Finally, he inched out from under my shirt and hooked my legs around his hips. “This floor is as unforgiving as you are.” He stood with me wrapped around him. “I think we need a change of scenery.”
“We do? I believe you’ve set out to do what you said you were here for. You can go now.”
His eyebrow rose haughtily. “Is that right?”
I laced my fingers behind his neck, under his glorious hair. His lips were red from just how hard he’d worked to complete his mission. “That’s right.”
“Sweet Zoe, one orgasm isn’t enough.”
Had it only been one? It felt more like my whole body had been put through the wringer. “Enough for me. I can sleep just fine now. I thank you for your contribution to the Zoe orgasm fund. I’ll make sure to send you a handwritten note.”
He barked out a laugh. “I think I’d like to go for top contributor.”
“You couldn’t get there in one night, pal.”
“Try me.” He curled his hands around my ass. “Jesus, you have the smoothest skin.” He shifted me more securely against his belly. My muslin shirt was gaping at the neck thanks to his fat head. The direction of his gaze told me he wasn’t exactly sorry about it, either.
But then he surprised me and hummed out a few bars of a song that teased my memory banks. Maybe it was his hypnotic eyes, or the fact that he was dancing with me in his arms. Whatever it was, the flush of orgasm faded, leaving a sweet man in front of me.
Holding me.
This wasn’t supposed to be what we were about tonight. It was about getting him out of my system. Instead, I was terrified he was becoming more entrenched.
His eyes were clear now. Not the sleepy drunk boy who had landed on my doorstep. Nope, he was in that weird second-wind space I knew all too well. He sashayed his way over to my bed and dropped me in the center of it.
I yelped in surprise and rolled to my knees. He grinned and hoisted up his jeans. “Be right back.”
I dropped back on my butt, crossing my legs. “Your seduction skills need some work, buddy.”
“If I was seducing you, I’d take that statement to heart.” He backed up and turned away from me. “However, you have lost a lot of fluids.”
“Oh my…you did not.” I crawled up to where my little switch was for the twinkle lights I used for the bedroom portion of my studio. I had shelves above me crammed with anatomy books beside romance novels and true crime. In between all of them were plants and succulents to combat the paint smell I lived with.
He glanced over his shoulder at me with a grin, then resumed rooting around in my fridge. “I plan on a few more rounds with you, Magic. I need sustenance, and so do you. Pity your fridgie looks similar to mine. Only thing is, mine is a mini in a motel. What’s your excuse?”
“Bent cooks.”
“Bent?” He leaned back. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
“Little late to be asking.” He’d only asked me if I was gay, not if I had a boyfriend.
“You don’t seem the type to two-time. I’m fairly sure. Besides, if you did have a bloke, I’d just have to kill him.”
“Nice.”
He shrugged and gathered up the cheese and grapes I’d gotten the day before. He was in luck, it was usually just sweet tea in there. Whoops, he’d found that too. He poured a big glass and took a chug, then spit it into my sink. “What the fuck is this?”
“Tea.”
“It is not. It’s brown sugar water.”
My lips twitched. “Sweet tea.”
“Gross. I’m assuming you want it?”
“Well I’m not going to waste it.” I padded over to him and hopped up onto the counter. I took the glass, downing it in one gulp. He was right, I was thirsty. Though I wouldn’t be telling him that.
He stepped between my legs again and held a grape up to my lips. “Hungry?”
I bit through the tight skin of the grape until the juices rolled down my chin. His eyes went dark before he popped the other half in his mouth. “Famished.”
He lowered his mouth to mine. Funny, we hadn’t kissed before he’d sealed that smirky mouth over my other bits. And said bits were a little overly sensitive right now, thanks to that very talented mouth.
But something wouldn’t let me kiss him.
It felt too big—too intimate. Which was completely ridiculous. Hello, he’d done the most intimate thing a man could do to a woman. Well, other than shave them. But still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to let it happen.
Instead, I splayed my fingers over the expanse of his chest. He leaned back with a head tilt. “Problem?”
I shrugged. “A cross. Hmm, that seems uncharacteristic.”
“That I have faith?” He tilted his chin down to look at it. “I’ve had it since I was a boy.”
“Because you’re so old.” I dropped it back against his skin and focused on the bloom of flowers that peeked from the silky black shirt. I traced my fingers along the varying dark lines. He arched away from me. “Ticklish?”
“No.” But he backed up and reached for the block of cheese, breaking off a piece.
“That would be a yes, you liar. You know, I have a knife in that drawer.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.”
I dug a toe into his belly. “Don’t pout.”
“Why would I be pouting?” He backed out of reach to open doors until he found a glass.
“I’m just feeling a little weird is all.”
“You let me put my mouth on your pussy, but not your lips. I get it.”
I hopped down with a huff. “I don’t know why.”
“I get it. You got off. Maybe I should leave.”
“No.” I grabbed his shoulder. “No, I don’t want that, either.”
His face lost the sweetness I was growing accustomed to. Now it was angles and darkness. I shivered. “Funny, you just said you wanted that a moment ago.”
“I don’t know what I want. And I hate that.” It was a metaphor for my goddamn life. I didn’t know what I wanted in so many ways. But I liked how he felt in my space. That was new and different for me on a number of levels.
I came from a big family who got into each other’s business. One of the reasons why I came out to California was to get away from that. One of many reasons. He was beyond complicated and I didn’t have time for any of it.
But it didn’t stop me from leaping into his arms again. I threaded my fingers into his hair and pulled his face to mine.
He resisted for a moment. I almost stopped, but then he cr
ushed me to his chest and slanted his mouth over mine. He tasted of sharp cheddar, the cool grapes, and something separate. Smoke?
Ian.
Me and Ian.
I’d never kissed a guy after he’d gone down on me. It seemed unnecessary in so many ways, but now I wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe that was the worst part of this man. I had no answers about how he made me feel or react to the most basic things.
He backed me into the counter again, setting me on it so he could ravage my mouth while he buried his hands in my hair. He took my mouth with the single-minded attention he’d used between my thighs. Not one corner of my mouth was left untasted. It was dirty and real and overwhelming enough that I lost my breath.
I lifted my legs to wrap around his waist tighter. I scraped my nail around his nipple and he groaned into my mouth.
I was tempted to let him fuck me.
To fuck him.
Whichever, whatever—anything to crush this buildup that was making my head ache. Yeah, not my head. More like the crazy hormone-drunk place between my thighs that was already ready for more.
He hauled me up into his arms. The glass rolled and shattered into the sink. He paused for a second, but I tugged on his hair.
“Fuck the glass. I think you need to go for round two.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He practically flew over to my bed.
He dumped me again, and I lifted a foot to rest along his belly. “You gotta stop doing that. And lose the shirt.”
His eyebrow went up. But he dragged the shirt over his head. Buttons were beyond him, evidently.
I inched up to the top of my bed and settled into the stack of pillows against the wall. I tucked my shirt between my legs with a teasing grin of my own.
He crawled onto my bed and settled onto his belly. He twisted his fingers around mine and started kissing his way up the arch of my foot to my ankle. “Touch yourself for me.”
My breath stalled in my chest and I was pretty sure my heartbeat was located between my ears.
Not your ears, girl.
I swallowed. “What?”
He laced our fingers together, then stroked his thumb along my skin. “Show me what you like. I promised to make sure my contribution exceeded all others, remember?”
Sweet Jesus, what was I going to do with this man?
“Lift that pretty shirt, Magic.” His voice was rough.
I bit my lip. Instead of following his directive, I rested my hand on my belly and slowly inched it up until the edge of the hem teased the little triangle of hair on my mound.
His eyes were hooded as I peeled away the deep vee of the shirt to tug at my nipple. He’d told me to play with myself, but I’d never been good at taking orders. I rolled it between my fingers, my eyes closing as the sizzle of pain made my hips rock lightly.
He bit the skin along the inside of my thigh. “Eyes on me.”
“I don’t take orders from you.” I kept my eyes closed and plucked at my nipple as if I was alone. When the night was too intense and the dreams were too much. As if he wasn’t right between my damn thighs.
His grip tightened on my fingers and a steady cool puff of air floated over my pussy. I dragged in a sudden breath. But I didn’t open my eyes.
If I did, I’d give him anything—everything.
Instead, I focused on the night sounds drifting in from the window over us. Music from one of the clubs a few buildings down, the murmur of people walking by, the hiss of surf under it all.
My hips slowly moved in time to the tide that always seemed to be a low hum in my periphery. And still his breath teased me. Everything seemed heavier and closer between us. We were trapped in a vortex of stubborn pride and discovery.
I was dripping.
I knew if I slipped my hand down between my thighs, it would only take a few strokes to give me relief.
But then this thing between us would change again. I’d have to face the fact that I wanted more than just an orgasm.
And maybe he wanted more than just to watch me come.
Then what?
I opened my eyes and my thighs shook. I reached for him because I couldn’t do anything else. The curls framing his face twisted around my fingers and urged me closer. He leaned into my hand then bit the meaty part of my palm, then sucked my thumb into his mouth.
The strong draw seemed to tether straight to my breast and down to my pussy. He brought my hand back between my thighs and he used my thumb to trace down the seam, then up and around my clit.
I let out a shaky breath as my whole body tightened. Then he leaned in and closed his mouth over my swollen lips.
He was relentless. The gentleness that had bloomed between us was ash. Instead, there was only the bonfire of pleasure reaching higher and higher into the vaulted ceiling of my studio.
He gripped my legs as my knees came up to clamp around him. I arched off the bed and tried to climb away from his mouth.
But he wouldn’t let me go.
He was determined to make me fly.
I must have screamed, because suddenly, he was up and over me, his mouth on mine to swallow the last of my sobs. He curled around me, holding me tight as the release rolled into something bigger.
Into everything I was afraid to face.
I curled onto my side and he spooned around me, murmuring sweet things that I couldn’t comprehend just then.
“Don’t go.” I hated that my voice sounded so small and unsure.
“I won’t.”
“Okay.” With that, I let the exhaustion of the last few weeks drag me under.
Sixteen
“No. You gotta give me a break here. I haven’t had—”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Ian was sitting on the edge of my bed, his hair a wild halo of curls in the sun streaming through my huge window. He was curled forward with his phone at his ear.
I hadn’t exactly been in my right mind when I’d fallen asleep last night. For way more reasons than I wanted to actually entertain.
If I had been, I would have drawn my blinds and black-out curtains to get a bit more sleep. As it was, I still felt like my brain had been replaced with cotton batting. Whether it was from a very busy night with my own personal rockstar, or the two-day painting binge I’d just come off of, I wasn’t sure.
Regardless, a handful of hours wasn’t enough.
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “I understand. No, I know what an opportunity it is.” His shoulders tightened and his back muscles rippled.
I reached over my head for the sketchbook I kept on the shelf above me. A nub of a pencil rolled down with it as if it was meant to be. I quickly sketched a swirl of messy hair, swept down to the lean lines of his hips, his ridiculously wide shoulders…all of it came together in a few lines.
Because he was beautiful to draw?
Because I was very familiar with the subject matter was probably more like it. I didn’t care. A few real-life character studies were too tempting to resist.
I couldn’t help a smile as I filled in a shadow at the crack of his perfect butt. His jeans were falling down, held on by the surprising junk in his trunk. Especially since I knew firsthand he was packing in the front as well. It was rare for a man to have both without having to work for it.
While he was definitely muscular, I didn’t think Ian would ever be labeled a gym rat. I also had to hand it to him, he’d left his jeans on all night. And he’d slept around me the entire time.
At least I was pretty sure he had.
I was as sore as if I hadn’t moved for hours. But at the same time, I felt lighter, which was also new for me. Normally, I’d be ashamed of the tears I’d shed, but he’d just held me. He didn’t ask for anything last night. Orgasms, comfort, laughter—I’d taken it all. I’d been stressing about my collection for so long, it seemed like it was always over my head like a guillotine.
Okay, so that was a little over the top, but considering one of my studio-mates was building one to chop her work in half during her show�
�well, let’s just say it was on my mind. That, and my advisor thought her work was awesome.
Mine, not so much.
The point of my pencil crumbled under the pressure of my fingers.
It also made a pretty sprinkle of ebony charcoal across his shoulders in my drawing. I used it to smudge in the hint of his tattoo.
I pushed away thoughts of my collection and focused on my flesh-and-blood model sitting in my studio. Gosh, he was pretty. Couldn’t deny that.
Suddenly, he glanced over his shoulder at me and the sharp line of his nose struck me. He narrowed his eyes at me before tossing his phone on my bed.
I did a quick study of his face with a few swipes of the barely there pieces left of my pencil.
“Are you drawing me?”
“Maybe.”
“Let me see.” He crawled toward me.
Suddenly shy, I folded my arms over my sketch pad and held it against my chest. “No.”
He grabbed my ankle and dragged me down under him. “Let me see.”
I laughed and bucked under him. I was still naked from the waist down and the hard line of his cock against my thigh made my blood rush and my skin tingle. But he didn’t seem to notice his…problem. I flung the pencil piece over my shoulder into the box I kept on the sill of the window, then managed to flip the page before he could pry it out of my hold.
“Oh, is that how it is?” He pinned me to the bed by straddling my thighs and grabbing my wrists.
“Yup.” I tried not to stare at the hard-on he was sporting, but it was seriously difficult to concentrate.
He gathered my wrists together with one of his hands. God, his fingers were long. And I so remembered just how talented they were last night.
He glanced above us and snatched one of my cameras off a shelf.
“Hey! You have enough of my cameras.” I wiggled under him and tried desperately not to drool over the sheer artistry of his chest and abs. Outrage was far easier to manage. “I’d like Matilda back, by the way.”
“Matilda?”
“Yes. That’s my camera’s name.”
His laugh was delighted and carefree. “Only you.” He pointed the camera down at me. “It seems fitting that I get a picture since you took quite a few of me. And painted even more.”
