“Yes,” I said, unnerved at his insight. “Exactly right.”
“Wow,” he said, lifting me in his arms. “One hundred percent accuracy. Perhaps I should think of taking that talent on the road.”
I smiled and slanted my mouth over his. He kissed me deeply, his tongue sweeping insistently into my mouth, I softened against him, yielding, and then returned his passion ten-fold. Holding him to me fiercely, I claimed his mouth with my own, our tongues sparring for dominance. Breathless, he broke the kiss, fisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head back. His eyes locked on mine and a current of understanding crackled between us.
“Know that every part of that is returned, Jane. All of it.”
“I know,” I said, resting my forehead against his. “I told you, I see you and you see me.”
He moved to kiss me again and I dodged him, darting away to appraise him at a distance. I’d been dying for a good look at his body, a chance to soak in all that masculine beauty. If I couldn’t touch him as I wished, I was going to devour him with my eyes.
“Now then,” I said, “I believe it’s my turn to soliloquize….wait, is that even a word?”
“It is!” He laughed. “I promise.”
“Well…” I moved around him, pushing his muscled bulk in front of me and stood behind him, my breasts pressed to his back, my hands circling his torso to roam across the chiseled planes of his chest. Oh how good he felt under my hands, the strong lines of his body, smooth and hard. I had ached to touch him, and still I ached more, but I didn’t give in to temptation, instead honoring his request and limiting my exploration to his chest and arms.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said. “Like Italian sculpture, so honed I can hardly believe you’re real.” My hands crept down, tracing the angles of his hips as I circled around him, careful to avoid dipping any lower, although I wanted to—God, how I wanted to. “Let me look at you?” I asked.
“Alright,” he said, arching an eyebrow skeptically.
“I’ll keep my hands above the waist,” I said as I knelt to the tile floor.
“Thank you.”
“I can be a good girl,” I said, looking up at him, my mouth level with his cock. I smiled and licked my lips. “Although I prefer to be bad.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned.
I held him steady in my hands, my fingers denting the firm flesh of his hips, fixing my eyes on his cock and feasting.
Velvet steel, I thought, biting my lip to stop from laughing at my own cliché. But it was… Oh, it was magnificent. Heavy, thick and hard, his cock jutted high and straight, the shaft curving slightly towards the thick tip. I sighed, exhaling heavily, my breath fogging over his skin unintentionally. He groaned and I saw his cock sway and twitch in response, a drop of cum beading on the tip.
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, hooking his hands under my arms and lifting me upright.
“Oh boo.” I frowned, gripping his strong arms in my palms. “I was still making my appraisal.”
“Mmmhmm.” He smirked. “And what is that?”
“You,” I said, leaning in to kiss him softly, “have a beautiful cock. If Michelangelo had you for a model, they would’ve needed the whole tree to cover David’s junk, and not just a leaf.”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily.
“I love that,” I said. “You laugh so unabashedly. I love the sound.” I reached out and traced the line of his jaw with my finger. He smiled and those dimples winked into view.
“I love your dimples and, God, these lips, carved for sin,” I said, trailing my fingers over his mouth. He smiled again, and sucked my finger into his mouth, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“I love the way your smile reaches your eyes when you’re happy.” I moved my other hand to caress his cheek. “And, God, those eyes. They are the most haunting shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”
His eyes darkened and his expression grew solemn, arousal shadowing his gaze.
“You see into a girl’s soul with those eyes. Don’t you?”
He didn’t answer and I moved on, aware that I was getting a little serious when I’d intended to lighten the mood. I cleared my throat, and he released my finger. My hands wandered, traveling across his shoulders and down those finely muscled arms. I stopped halfway down, my thumbs caressing the dark bands that circled his muscles.
“I love your tattoos,” I said. “I don’t understand them, but I get the feeling there’s a lot of meaning there. It’s fascinating. They’re like hieroglyphics or a secret code.”
Great job, genius, I yelled at myself. Pretty sure that’s an off limits topic, right? Didn’t he say the tattoos had something to do with all the bad stuff?
“That’s exactly what they are.”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s okay,” he said softly. “The tattoos mark pivotal moments in my life,” he continued. “Both good and bad. Anything that I feel has left a mark on my soul, I mark my body in kind. As remembrance.”