us, you can tell them I’m your tattoo artist and you’re my canvas. Or maybe you can just show them.”
Then he smacks me right on the ass.
“Jesus Christ, Travis,” I say, and I am so mad and so fucking turned on right now I can’t even handle it.
“Hey,” he says. “You started it.”
“I just fired a shot. You went nuclear!”
“I did not go nuclear,” he argues. “You gave me a hickey on my neck for God and the entire human race to see. Your ass is our secret. That is, unless you’re planning to show your ass to anyone else.”
“Well I’m not now!”
“Damn right you’re not.”
When he takes a step back like that and smiles, I want to smack him.
But not nearly as much as I want to fuck him.
Chapter Five
If Travis is going to tattoo his name on my ass in Sharpie, he’s obligated to satisfy all my sexual needs until it wears off. I inform him of this and he nods thoughtfully, like he’s thinking it over. He’s taking it under consideration. I tell him he’d better be prepared to fuck me. And fuck me very, very well.
“You’d better impress me,” I say.
“It’ll be hard to live up to the Michael Bolton Fan Club president,” he says. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“Shut up. How do you know that’s the last guy I had sex with? You don’t know that.”
“I’m the last guy you had sex with,” he reminds me. “So I guess I’m in competition with myself. Now I really am worried.”
“Shut up, you dork.”
“Lay down,” he says, pulling his T-shirt off over his head.
I lie down on the bed, propped up on my elbows, and stare—no, no, I ogle him as he undoes his pants and pushes them with his boxers to the floor. This is the first time I have ever looked at him totally naked in front of me in broad daylight, and Christ in a Kinko’s, he is something to look at naked. To study. His shoulders are strong and broad like a swimmer’s, his chest is defined but not bulky. His arms flex as he leans over me. That sleek expanse of taut skin between his hip and his navel is where I plan to spend eternity after I die. And I’m not even going to describe the finely crafted specimen of male anatomy otherwise known as his cock, because fuck you, hands off, that’s why. But it’s gorgeous. Thick and straight and cut in a way that makes it a real standout. I’ve had just enough experience with dicks to know they all look a little different, and no dick I’ve ever seen in person or in print makes me salivate just looking at it. But his does.
I go to pull my tank off over my head but he tells me to leave it on. And the socks. But he slides my panties down and off and I never see them again, so I don’t even know what he does with them. Inhales them, probably. He’s a beast right now. A beautiful, starving beast who feeds on sex.
“Turn over,” he says. “So I can appreciate my handiwork.”
“Where’s the Sharpie?” I say. “You’re not appreciating anything back there until I’m safely in possession of it.”
He smirks but otherwise ignores this demand. He flips me over to my belly and pulls my hips up so I’m on my hands and knees and there’s something about needing my arms to support my weight that gives him this total-access pass to my body, and he’s enjoying the hell out of it as he feels me all over. He bites me on the shoulder as he reaches up and slides his hand up under my tank. He cups my breast in his hand, his fingers teasing, and then he spreads my legs apart with his knee and now I can’t talk because I’m breathing like it’s my job as he starts to stroke between my legs. He slides two fingers into me and my legs are shaking as I feel him hard against my thigh.
“Do you know how fucking sexy you are?” he breathes in my ear as he touches me. “Do you have any clue at all what you do to me?”
I really don’t until he puts me in this headspace with him and makes me feel this way, that’s the truth. And from him saying these sweet, sexy things and touching me, I am now begging him again, to please, please give it to