“Let me see it again,” I say. Because I need to move out from under him. And because I truly do want to look at his little mark of shame again.
“No,” he whispers with a small smile. He leans in, the tip of his nose almost touching mine. I can see the individual lashes curling thick and dark around his eyes. His irises are polished amber and alight with amusement.
“Yes,” I say, breathless.
“No.” His lips brush my jaw, my chin. He’s too close to my mouth. Too close to me.
“Yes.” I push a thumb between his ribs, and he yelps.
“Jones,” he warns, skittering away when I do it again.
“Baylor,” I intone. “Let me see.”
“Easy with the thumbs of evil, woman.”
“Then let me see.”
“Okay, okay. The things I do for you,” he huffs, as he rolls over with a mutter.
Oh, God, but his body is a work of art. Long, lean, muscular. Perfect in proportion. His back is narrow and straight, the valley of his spine deep between slabs of tight muscle. The valley dips then sweeps up to the rounded globes of his fine ass. An ass so strong that his butt cheeks indent on the sides. His long legs are covered in a down of light brown hair and are as sculpted as the rest of him, with thick thighs and well-defined calves.
I want to lick him from neck to heel. And take my time about it in between. But he’s waiting for me. His butt is twitching as if he’s feeling my stare. Chin propped on his bent arms, he turns his head to give me a sidelong glare. “Well?”
“Just enjoying the view,” I say with a leer that makes him snort.
“Turnabout, Jones. Don’t forget it—Not the light. Gah!” He squints when I flick on the bedside light. “Are you trying to blind me?”
“The room was too dark, and I want to see this sucker proper…” My breath hitches. “Jesus, Drew, your side.”
“Hmmm?” He cocks a brow and then glances over his shoulder. “Oh, right.”
‘Right?’ I can’t hold back form leaning down and running a hand along his lower side. He’s covered in bruises. Big, ugly, bruises like berry stains over his golden skin. Blackberry, blueberry, raspberry. They’re a molted landscape of a pain. And I’d been poking him there. Jesus.
“I had a game yesterday,” he reminds me. Like it’s nothing that his body has been pummeled.
“Is it always like this?” I’m curled at his side, my hand slowly running over the smooth skin of his back and along his flank. He’s paler here, and on his upper thighs where his shorts have blocked the sun. He shivers a bit, his skin prickling.
“Some games are tougher than others. This one was a bitch.”
My throat hurts. There’s a black bruise just above his hipbone. I touch it with the very tip of my finger, and he shivers again.
Instantly, I draw back. “Does it hurt?” Of course it does. How can it not?
But Drew turns to look down at me, his hips lifting a bit and revealing the shadow of his cock against the bed. The extent of my distress is great, because I’m not even distracted. My palm comes to rest on the warm rise of his butt when he looks at me. “If I say yes,” he asks, “will you kiss it and make it better?”
He is teasing me, yet there is heat in his eyes. He doesn’t know it, but kissing his battered flesh is something I ache to do. I lean forward. And his breathing speeds up. He looks almost vulnerable, the way his body tightens and his eyes follow my movement.
Inches from him, I hover, waiting, my heart pounding as I look up.
“Yes,” he whispers.
My lips touch his skin and his breath catches.
“Yes,” he says again, more urgent.
Another kiss, soft, gentle. My lips map his pain with each yes, yes, yes, my hair sliding over his skin like a blood-red river.