Oh shit.
“Have you eaten?” She sidesteps me and glances into the dimness of the room. The light is fading. How long was I asleep?
I shake my head and suck on the barbell in my tongue. Why is she making me so nervous? It’s as if she can see inside my head, and I can’t have that. Not now.
“Well, I brought some sandwiches. You know, from the picnic you missed.” She winks, bites into her soft bottom lip, and my body starts to catch up, my dick stirring in my pants.
She is staring at me, probably expecting a reply of some sort, so I nod. Words have fled my head, which is still kinda foggy. I see her eyes go to the whiskey bottle on the table, and I brace for an outburst, or more questions, or even pity. Judgment.
But again she surprises me. “Kitchen that way?” She points and heads toward it without my input.
As if she’s at home.
I stand for a long moment like an idiot, watching her go, staring at her cute ass and pretty legs, until she disappears into the kitchen, and then I stand some more, listening to the clatter of dishes and silverware. It’s a soothing sound.
Then she’s back, carrying two plates with sandwiches. She places them on the coffee table and bends to switch on the lamp next to the sofa. The yellow light paints the curves of her body, makes the hollow between her breasts darker.
I lick my lips, caught in a fucking trance. Christ, I need a drink. Or a cigarette. Or both.
She walks to me and takes my hand, tugging me toward the sofa. “It’s chicken salad sandwiches. Erin said you like them.”
What’s happening? I let myself be pushed into the sofa and receive the plate. She’s gone for a minute, then returns with tall glasses of juice.
I feel as if I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. I can’t remember anyone ever taking care of me like that. Emma brought me to her home when I was practically an adult, and I took care of myself. Erin cooked for me sometimes, but this…
I put the plate back down. “What do you want?”
“A tattoo?” She smiles and shrugs.
“Fuck.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“Here.” She scoots closer to me, offering me something.
A pen.
“Are you serious?” My head is pounding, my dick is hard, my thoughts are a mess—and she wants me to draw on her?
Her smile is fainter now. Red colors her cheeks, and her eyes glitter.
I reach for the pen without another thought. Why is it so important to her that I ink her? I don’t get her. She has no need of dragons on her pretty, smooth skin—no scars to hide, no bad memories to fight. What’s on her mind?
She turns, offering me the golden expanse of her slender back. Her tattoo is nestled between her shoulder blades. I don’t know the artist, but the design…
“A butterfly of death,” I whisper. It has a skull on its body, and the sight disturbs me more than it should. I mean, damn, I’ve inked my fair share of skulls and zombies on skin. Dark lines entwine around it, like a crown of thorns. And now I see it—a faint, long scar, thin like a surgical cut.
“Actually, it’s a Death’s Head Hawkmoth.” She glances at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes sparkling, her smile widening. “Acherontia lachesis.”
I frown as I put the pen against her skin and start drawing. I have no picture in my mind, so I just let my hand guide me. “Why?”
She doesn’t immediately answer. She hunches over a little, and I put my hand on her arm to straighten her. She’s warm and smells of sun and grass. I suck in a deep breath.
“Do you know they squeak when you pester them?” she says.
“What?” What is she talking about?
“Death’s Head Hawkmoths.”
Laughter rises in my throat. “And that’s why you got one tattooed on your back? Because it can squeak?”
“Well, it likes honey, too.”
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. “So you like honey, too.” Another fact to file away.
My drawing is spreading over her ribs, curls and lines. I still don’t know what it is. As I draw, tension is leaving my body. How did she know this could help more than drinking myself stupid?
She shivers under my hands, and maybe it’s our discussion, but now I think I smell honey. My mouth waters. I bend closer and press my mouth to the top of her tattoo, on her spine.
The air leaves her lungs in a low moan, and the pen drops from my fingers. I wrap my arms around her, haul her back until she’s on my lap. She squirms, her sweet ass pressed against my hard-on, and I almost lose it. I reach up and place my hands over her breasts. Her nipples are tight, poking into my palms.
“Zane…” She whispers my name, and her hands cover mine. Together we cup her breasts and knead them. Her head rolls back, her eyes closing. Her body arches.
I hiss, my cock aching inside my still wet pants, and I bite lightly on her exposed neck. I need to mark her, leave hickeys all over her body.
Jesus.
She settles fully on me, and her hands fall away. I reach down, lifting her dress, and her legs part. I place my hand between them, over the fine lace of her panties. Swallowing hard, I slide a finger underneath.
Dammit. My whole body tightens. I feel as if I’ve never touched a woman before.
She’s smooth down there, and I wonder if she shaves. I part her folds, and she’s wet and hot. She makes a mewling noise when I rub my finger back and forth.
“Christ, Zane,” she whispers when I find her swollen clit and press down. Her hips lift, and she turns her face so that our lips almost touch.
I turn my face away and push my finger inside her. It’s so damn tight I can’t stand it. I fuck her like that slowly, and my dick throbs in time to my heartbeat. I push a second finger inside her.
She’s panting hard, making those sexy little noises that tell me she’s getting close, and I rub her clit with my thumb. I know how to make a chick feel good, how to get her off. Problem is, normally I’m not holding them close, feeling their every move, hearing their every breath. Normally I don’t feel like I’ll come just from touching them.
This time is different.
I close my eyes, count backward from ten, trying to come back from the brink. She pulses around my fingers, and I grit my teeth, feeling an answering pulse in my dick.
Her small hand rests over mine, between her legs, and her breath catches on a sob as she comes, writhing in my lap.
I bite into her shoulder to stifle a groan and keep stroking her, feeling the waves of pleasure rolling through her, making her shake. God, it’s never been so hot before, seeing a girl come. My cock weeps and twitches.
“Oh, God…” Her arms fall to her sides, limp, as she struggles to catch her breath.
I’m panting just as hard. As I pull my fingers out of her, she whimpers, and fuck, my cock doesn’t need any more encouragement. My balls draw tight, and I blow air through my nose, fighting for control.