“I totally agree. I don’t understand women who feel they have to pretend not to like sex, but do it anyway, usually using alcohol as an excuse. I feel like it’s nothing more than a way to get around having to admit they like it, God forbid, or a reason to be lazy.”
“Right?” he agreed. “Men, too. Like charts of the female anatomy aren’t readily available, never mind videos on how to make a woman come sixteen different ways. There’s too much information for men to rely on porn for lessons in how to please a woman.”
“Because we all know how accurate porn is.”
“Even I know, big lug that I am. No excuse for a really smart fellow not to know.”
She searched his face, unsure about how serious he was. Reaching up, she traced a finger over his collarbone. “You’re plenty smart, Duff.”
“Eh? Maybe. Not smart enough to be a good example to anyone, but smart enough to get by.”
“Who were you not a good example to?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t pressed him. “Never mind. You can tell me some other time, if you want.”
He nodded, then bent and brushed a quick kiss across her cheek. “Hey, how’re you doing?”
“From play, you mean? My thighs are sore as hell, but I’m good. Perfect.”
He smiled down at her, making her heart thump in her chest. “Yeah, you are.”
She smiled back at him, their gazes meeting, and she swore she saw sincerity in his beautifully gleaming eyes, in his face. It made her feel shy, suddenly, and she glanced away, looking instead at the tattoos that had been revealed when he’d taken his shirt off. She touched one of the seven ravens on his right shoulder, done in black silhouette.
“Tell me about these?” she asked him.
“The crows? They’re a symbol. They represent the darkness we all carry, except that mine is often worn on the outside. No, don’t try to argue it. I see it as many things, in many incarnations. The foolishness and violence of my youth. My kink. The sadness we all have somewhere in our personal history, yes? Yeah. And seven is my lucky number, so it’s sort of the battle between good and evil—mine, anyway—with a little luck on my side, if that makes any sense.”
“It does.” She ran her fingers over the tattoo, and as was sometimes the case with heavy black work, she felt where his skin was raised a bit by the ink, which was a huge turn-on for her. “And your back piece? I only glimpsed it. May I see?”
“Sure.”
He rolled onto his other side, and she gasped first at the finely cut muscles in his broad shoulders and back, then at the beauty of the tattoo, the fineness of the detail and shading. It covered most of his upper back, a Tree of Life in the most exquisite Celtic style, flanked by a pair of wolves and encircled by intricate knot work.
“It’s beautiful. May I . . . ?” But she couldn’t wait for him to answer before reaching out to touch it—and smiling when she felt his small shiver. “This is really incredible, Duff.”
“I had it done by a master artist in Edinburgh a few years ago.”
“It must have taken hours.”
“Aye, sixteen, as close as I can count it. Three sessions. The final one, when he did the shading, was a bitch.”
“So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” she teased.
He rolled back over to face her, wrapping her in one big arm and yanking her in close. “Oh, I can take it, mouthy girl. But as soon as you’re recovered, and we’ve had a moment to renegotiate, we’ll really see what you can take. And that’s three ticks on the ledger, by the way.”
“I figured.”
She couldn’t help but grin. He just made her feel so good. Some small part of her mind wanted to run screaming, but she was too comfortable with him. Comfortable, hot for him, needing to explore all he had to offer in terms of dominance.
“Duff?”
“Yeah?”
“I think there’s no doubt that my masochistic tendencies were—are—more than tendencies.”
He laughed. “You think?”
She nodded. “And I believe this needed to happen. That I needed to explore this part of me. I still don’t have to like it. I mean, I do, but I don’t.”
“Do you think maybe you’re flying a little higher than you thought, princess? Because you’re not entirely making sense.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, then, you tell me what you need to help you come back to earth.”
She wanted to ask him to simply stay with her and hold her all night. But she couldn’t get the words out. She felt far too vulnerable already—she wasn’t about to ask him for anything like that. It was too much like the things she’d said to Adrien. Marcel. Vincent. And fucking Jimmy. Things they’d used against her, ultimately—the words, her needs and desires.
He won’t do that.
Maybe he wouldn’t. But maybe he would.
The fear was back, like some ancient drumbeat in her belly. But she refused to give in to it. Not tonight. Not when he was holding her so tight for the moment, giving her exactly what she wanted, saying all the right things.
They’re all so damn smooth.
But maybe, just maybe, this man was for real. She’d like to believe there was at least one out there who was.
“Hey.”
She blinked, trying to clear her brain of the old shadows. “Hmm?”
“You falling asleep on me?” Duff asked.
“What? No.”
“You can, you know. I’m not going anywhere, if that’s all right with you. Actually, I’m staying unless you’re really opposed. This is the first time you’ve bottomed for some time, and I’d rather be here to make sure you’re okay.” He paused, then said, “Yeah, I’d really rather stay, either way.”
Some strange combination of shock and warm pleasure went through her, and it was several seconds before she could find her voice.
“Sure. It’s more than all right.”
“Good,” he said, as if that settled everything. Drawing her in closer, he snuggled into her, burying his face in her hair and taking a deep breath. “Lord, you smell good,” he murmured.
So do you.
It was impossible to say the words out loud. She barely wanted to think them. She knew she was getting her hopes up—about what, exactly, she wasn’t certain. All she knew was this felt so right to her. And simultaneously, as if she were on the edge of disaster.
Just bottoming out a little. Just subdrop.