Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,151
to be with me.
Needing him to know the ugliness of his past didn’t deter me, that it was his future, our future that mattered, I lifted both my hands to cover his cheeks as I kissed him, simply at first. A gentle peck, before I edged him backward, pushing him so that he lay flat on the chair.
As I did so, I thrust my tongue into his mouth, surprised when he didn't really kiss me back, not at first. I wasn't used to him being passive, but I took advantage of it. Did what he would never allow me to do when I was tied up or cuffed to the bed.
I didn't know how long he'd allow me this level of control, of mastery, over him, but there was no way I wasn't going to let it play out.
I teased his tongue with the tip of my own, flickering it here and there, tempting him to play, taunting him into action. As his new beard tickled me, I sampled the roof of his mouth, fluttered around the root of his tongue, slid the two together, enticing him out of the cave he was hiding in.
He was slow to respond, deadly slow, but his hands moved to my hips, and gradually, the digits tightened about my ass. I could feel each one digging in, and I'd never been more grateful for the flirty miniskirt I was wearing.
The box pleats crumpled under his grip, but even they didn't protect me from the force of his clasp. And like that, I was tethered.
To him.
My nipples beaded, rubbing against the embroidered silk bra that covered them, and my pussy, that even though my skirt was a little too short for comfort, began to grow wet.
I loved that he’d ordered me not to wear panties, adored the mini rebellion.
In a society where people died, crimes were committed, homes were bombed, there were few rebellions remaining. A bare pussy was my way of flipping the finger to the world at large.
My own hands began to smooth down the rippled concoction that was his chest.
He'd said he was a wimp before, a weakling, well, that wasn't the truth anymore. He was stacked. His pecs so firm, they were as juicy as muscles could get. The need to bite them hit me, and I thanked God he was naked from the waist up, because I could ease my mouth from his, and kiss my way to them even as I was careful because we’d removed his banding so I could ink him.
Because he hadn't taken charge yet, with a final thrust of my tongue against his, I pulled back, and descended to his throat. The tendons there beckoned me like a siren song, and unable to help myself, I traced the hard lines before I found the scars with my lips.
His inked throat could be ugly to some, but never to me. His tattoos were beautiful, and I knew how hard negative ink could be so the technician in me appreciated the skill of his artist.
But what I appreciated even more was knowing the truth behind them.
Cruz thought he was a dead man walking.
A true Grim Reaper who cleaned up the messes other people made.
I found each scar, discovering them was easier with the sensitive pads of my lips, and each one, I bestowed with a kiss. Because they brought me to him. And brought him to me.
I could never be thankful for his past, but without it, we'd never be together.
He would be in an office in Manhattan like I'd mused earlier.
Either that, or stuck in a lecture hall, a geek I'd never have had the chance to meet.
My life was different now because of him. My brother knew the truth, and I was liberated from my own past because of him.
His history untangled my own, and even though I wished he’d never had to go through that, that those innocent people hadn’t died, I was grateful that we were together. So I kissed his scars, the physical representations of what tainted his soul, before I started down his chest.
His torso was relatively free of ink. On his side, toward the left, he had another negative tattoo, a massive one that showed his rib cage and between them, he had a black heart forever inked onto his skin. It was, I'd noticed the first time I'd seen it, slightly shriveled, but now I knew why.