“Every line.” His voice was even, betraying nothing, and she imagined the shaking of his body as he held himself as still as a small boy could, the curt voice of Shisen as he held himself above his pupil, demanding the boy push through any pain as he worked on the next lesson, the next movement.
Her fingers curled over the lines on his arm, unable to stop stroking them.
He pulled her closer, bringing his nose into her hair and burying it there.
They stayed like that several moments until he pulled back, and now she looked up into honey eyes, which were warm and wet and so tender her heart ached.
He stroked her cheek, pushed the hair back from where it fell in her eyes. She was reminded a little bit of the blanket forts she and Nakoa had made when they were younger, the safe haven of the two of them so close together.
The warmth was there, but this was nowhere near as innocent. Instead every nerve ending stood on edge, was piling up.
She swallowed. “What answer do you want?”
But he shook his head. “No. I’m not going to be the mercenary with you. What you give me, I want it given freely. I want us to be free together.”
And her heart burst inside her chest, a bird flying under the sun in full freedom, with only light and warmth under its wings.
Here, now, him, this was what she wanted, what she always desired, freedom and safety and respect, all wrapped up in a gorgeous package.
She brought her lips to his, caressing him. “Roll onto your stomach.”
He did as she said, placing his hands under his head, and all that skin was now hers for the stroking. With light strokes she began to rub her hands up and down the black lines, learning the texture difference between the different parts.
She leaned down and, with the tip of her tongue, began tracing the outline, moving line by line as he must have been inked in those long ago days.
He rumbled under her, his body undulating with her slow movements above him, muffled groans meeting her actions.
Another stroke of her tongue over the black, another shudder of the body underneath her, and she worked her way down until she was at the waistband of his underwear, the tight white boxer-briefs covering the one area she’d been thinking on since she discovered just how much of his body was covered by tattoos, and the one area she was dying to know if it was marked as well.
With a kiss to the base of his spine, she grabbed the underwear and began to drag it down, Merc lifting his hips so there would be no impediment to her removing them. Unwilling to wait any longer, with a quick movement she pulled it all the way down, not looking up until they were off his legs and flung across the room.
Like his back, his butt was covered with a large swath of black, lines breaking off and radiating outward to curve over his hipbones. Her mouth watered with visions of what awaited her in front, but now she wanted to enjoy what was before her.
Her head lowered to cover every millimeter of black with her tongue, with kisses and caresses and liquid lines drawn on his skin, leaving him a moaning mess under her. She nibbled on the firm flesh, sinking her teeth into firm muscle hard enough to make him gasp, the scent of the sheen of sweat covering his skin mixing with the musk of him and making him a feast for all her senses.
She kept moving downward, leaving that amazing butt for the moment to continue to planes and vistas equally as appetizing, the lines of his thighs and calves, making sure they were as covered as the top half had been, all hers for the asking.
And now, after he had been covered, after she had marked everything, she said, “Turn over.”
His breathing was ragged, harsh in the otherwise quiet, but he did as she said without question, and she was confronted with his eyes shut tight, with his chest heaving in large breaths, and with his cock proud and straight, the tip glistening as she took him all in.
Amana had planned to tease him, had planned to cover every inch of his tattoos as she had his back before she took his cock in hand, but now faced with it, it brought a deep want, the tips of the tattoos leading her eyes to it, prompting her to take what she wanted.
And she did want it. Wanted him, for what felt like eternity. Now, finally able to take him, she was unable to resist.
There was no finesse, no tease. There was only pure want, and in a long motion, unhurried but not teasing, she brought her mouth over him and swallowed him down.
He yelped but held himself still, the little shivers suggesting how much he wanted to thrust up into her mouth.
He was on the shorter side but the perfect size to fit down her throat, and thick enough to stuff her full.
Her tongue worked on the vein that ran underneath, warm and inviting in her mouth.
His hand was in her hair, petting her, sometimes flexing and grabbing like he needed something to hold onto, but he never directed her, never forced her into something.