of her amazing orgasm. He swiftly took her from behind, dominating her, as he leaned down and nibbled her ear.
“Now it’s my turn.” His voice left no room for argument. Not that she would.
“Yes,” she moaned. Whatever you want.
Then he took her harder, driving deeper, and she gasped with the force, the determination. The sheer will. God, he was strong. Her body molded to him, and he powered to his own end. She felt hers building once more. Was she going to come again? Her body said yes...her body might always tell him yes. She could feel him growing harder inside her, feel his want. And then, in a loud cry, he came in three deep thrusts inside her. At the same moment, she came, too, her mind blinded with pleasure. He fell on top of her, panting, his frantic heartbeat matching hers.
She had a thought then, as he lay breathing on top of her back: she might never in her life have sex this good again. She’d never given over control that completely before. Never felt so...turned on by the possibility. Sure, she like things a little rough. Liked a slap on the ass now and again, but this... This was different. This was him commanding. And her obeying.
The thought was frightening.
It’s just sex, she told herself. Nothing more. Role play. That’s it.
He rolled off her then, gently unraveling the condom from himself and disposing of it in the bagged trash near the nightstand. Then he rolled over and kissed her ever so slowly. The contact sent a quiver of want down her spine. Her body still felt spent. How could she even think about round two?
She rolled on her back, looking at the ceiling, heart still beating in her chest. He pulled her to him, noticing her secret tattoo—the one she’d done herself on her hipbone, the small, delicate zebra finch, bright orange beak open in song, his black-and-white tail feathers splayed out behind him. He trailed his fingers across it, glancing once up at her.
“This is a beautiful work of art,” he told her, and she wasn’t sure in that split second if he meant the tattoo or her body. The commanding voice was gone then. He was back to normal, back to friendly Gael.
“My first tattoo,” she admitted. She’d worked on it for years, honing, sculpting, making it better. She still wasn’t completely happy with the pattern on the bird’s tail. She was still fixing it. The tattoo had evolved with her skills: beginning as a shaky outline, and then becoming the lush, colored version she now wore. Her hands slid down his bandaged arm, and she remembered that she’d marked him, too. That they both carried her art, and the knowledge was tantalizing somehow. This wasn’t the first man she’d slept with that she’d tattooed. Hell, she’d tattooed most of them. But this was the first man she’d marked for the first time and slept with. He had miles of unmarked skin, a tattoo virgin. It made her feel almost...territorial.
He found another tattoo now, the two birds on her arm. He traced the line of her tattoo, and she felt goose bumps rising on her skin.
“What does it mean?” he asked her. “The two birds?”
She glanced down at the robins on her arm.
“The first bird, here, holding the branch in her claw, that’s my adoptive mother. I did this one after she died.” Mags realized at that moment that she’d never actually spoken these words out loud. Never voiced the intention behind the tattoo. That was because no one had ever asked.
“How’d she die?”
“Cancer.” Mags glanced up at him. “Breast cancer. Spread to her liver.”
“I’m sorry,” Gael said, as if he’d had anything to do with her mother’s death. Or the downward spiral of what was left of the family afterward.
“It’s not your fault. It’s cancer’s fault. You know that.”
Gael nodded. “What about the other bird?”
“The second bird is my adoptive father. He’s still alive, but...” She trailed off, not sure she could trust her voice.
“Not in the picture?”
“He remarried. Moved to California. Started over again.” Forgot Mom, she wanted to add, but didn’t. Showed me Mom was the one who wanted to adopt me. Not him. She’d already shared too much. Hell, she was practically blabbing about her feelings. She never did that. Especially not with men she slept with. “Anyway, we don’t talk much.”
She thought about the number of missed calls on her phone. Her dad had recently started calling again after a