Inked in the Steel City Series(65)

The mattress was softer against her back than he was against her front, and she relished being pressed down into it. When he slipped a hand beneath her sweater, the heat of his fingers against her belly made her nipples go hard, stiffening even more as he slid his hand higher.

She mentally cursed her bra when he caressed her breast, pressing his palm against the swell. Her nipple was aching inside the cup, and having her skin separated from his when he was so close made her want to sigh in frustration. Instead, she snaked a hand around his body, pressed it to the back of his head and buried her fingers in his hair, just like she’d imagined.

The feel of it between her fingers was surprisingly silky, and the solid curve of his skull beneath stood in tantalizing contrast. She curled her fingers, burying them deeper as she exerted pressure, pulling his mouth down to hers.

He came willingly – it wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t; he was so much stronger than her. When their lips met, they picked up right where they’d left off, with mouths open and tongues entwined. He flexed his hips against her and his hard cock slid up the inside of her thigh in a promising motion. Even through his jeans and her pants, the feel of it blazed a trail of heat that burned all the way to her core.

When he actually began to remove her clothing, she was reasonably sure she was red from head to toe as a combined result of excitement and blushing. As he stripped her bare, she tried to be helpful, twisting and turning in all the right ways, but was unable to keep her hands off him.

Instead, she pressed them against his shoulders, slid them up and down his chest and even explored the hard ridge straining the front of his jeans. That slowed his progress, but eventually she was naked on the bed.

His eyes glittered, somehow dark and light at once, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her skin. Still, she didn’t waste any time in slipping her hands beneath his shirt, skimming over the firm surface beneath as she leaned in and upward.

She’d been wondering about the ink hidden by his clothing ever since she’d first met him. Slowing for the barest fraction of a second, she savored one last moment of suspense.

He stole the moment away and set her heart racing when he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Karen sat frozen except for her hands, which she moved over his torso, tracing lines and spirals of ink with her fingertips, as if touching would help her take it all in faster.

Lots of ink had been hidden under his shirt, just like she’d imagined. The designs started beneath his collarbones, where two roses had been inked in permanent bloom on his chest, one on the inside of each shoulder. They were a vivid red that stood in contrast to his olive skin and the stark black ink that curled between each flower in a spiraling design, connecting them artfully. And below that…

She sucked in a breath as her gaze was drawn automatically to his abs, the ridges of which she’d previously felt, but never seen. Above the well-defined muscles was a line of looping black ink that cut across his ribs, forming script that said something in another language. Latin? She’d ask later, when she was capable of coherent thought beyond admiring his body.

He put an end to her silent study of his tattoos by unzipping his jeans. The sound of the metal teeth parting caused her core to tighten, and she stared as he stripped, tossing jeans and underwear aside.

He was fully hard, as had been obvious when he’d lain on top of her on the bed, driving her down into the mattress. He looked just as incredible as he’d felt then, and she couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch.

She let her fingers brush the smooth head of his cock before she wrapped them around his shaft, sighing as she slid her hand to the base and friction heated her hand.

He groaned and flexed his hips, sending his dick a little farther through her grip, so that her fingers rested in the almost-black hair that darkened his groin.

Every muscle inside Karen seemed to clench up, and an ache flared where she craved him, where he wasn’t – yet. She slid her hand up and down his shaft, the anticipation building with every stroke, with every hard rush of his breath.

He stopped her with a hand on her forearm, his fingers wrapped easily around her wrist. “I don’t—” he growled, cutting himself off with a sharp breath. “Fuck, Karen, I don’t have any protection.”

Even his grip on her wrist felt good. She let the pleasure of the simple touch flood through her as she considered his words and the scrape of frustration in his voice. “Oh.” Disappointment stole into her consciousness, and her heart slammed against her ribs in protest. Stop now? Every fiber of her being screamed in protest. “I forgot all about it, too.”