babe.” He sucks in a breath as I step to him again, slipping my hands under the hem of his shirt, the muscles of his abdominals jumping under my touch. I love when they do that.
“Never said I do.” I run my fingers along the edge of his boxer briefs, dipping under it. “Then again…” I pull my left hand free and hold it up close to his face. “Neither do you.” I wiggle my fingers, making the light bounce off the peridot birthstone band once again adorning my left ring finger.
Those damn dimples flash as he circles the band, ignoring the other two on the hand. The jerk knows exactly what it did to me when he was trying to win me back. Only he could be cocky enough to add in the significance of the particular finger he sized it to.
When I think he’s going to contradict me or offer another excuse for denying me, he instead surprises me by pulling his shirt over his head in that hot one-handed way guys do.
Inch by inch, warm olive skin is revealed to my hungry gaze. The black ink decorating his body only emphasizes each sinew of his forearm, each bulge of his biceps, the breadth of his chest, and each dip and cut of muscle down his side into his Adonis belt. Even in my concussed state, I can appreciate what a freaking work of art my man is.
He flings his hat to the side like a frisbee, rubbing a hand over his head and making his dark espresso-colored hair disheveled like after I’ve been grabbing on to it for dear life while he brings me to multiple orgasms.
Between that and the way he keeps his dilated eyes locked on mine as he pushes his joggers and briefs down his strong legs, my body flushes and I feel myself go wet.
Welp, I want him—concussion and injuries be damned.
Neither of us move, each staring at the other, both breathing heavily. The brick wall of his chest heaves with each inhalation, and my breasts jiggle with the force of my own.
I’ve long since lost any shyness I feel in my attraction to him, greedily taking in what’s displayed in front of me. There’s some slight bruising on his torso from the game, but nothing as prominent as what I’m sporting. I count each of the bumps of his eight-pack and follow the path of his happy trail to his already hard cock, those amazing V cuts bracketing it beautifully. It’s really unfair for him to have those and a perfect set of dimples in his cheeks. Damn them both and their ability to turn me stupid.
“Skittles,” he growls, and my nipples tighten to the point of pain. “Get your fine ass in the tub before I end up fucking you over the counter like I did in Kentucky.”
If I thought I was wet before, it has nothing on how soaked I am now.
“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?” I tilt my head to the side. “Because that was some of the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”
He points an aggressive finger at the jacuzzi. “Tub. Now.”
Air hisses through my teeth as my toes hit the water, the temperature just this side of scalding. Perfection.
Mase does the same as he lowers himself behind me. “Damn, Skit. You taking a bath or boiling lobsters?”
I giggle at his exaggeration, settling myself between his spread legs and resting my back to his chest. My head lolls to the side, my uninjured cheek resting on a hard pec. I could stay like this forever.
Fingertips glide up my left arm, droplets of water left behind in their wake as the gentle touch continues to trace the line of my collarbone. Mase’s large hand curls over the curve where my neck meets my shoulder before I feel the callouses on his thumb trace around the Peter Pan silhouettes tattoo behind my ear. “You never told me what these meant.”
No, I didn’t. The only time he asked about the tiny Disney characters inked on my body was when we first started hanging out. I was able to play it off then by claiming it was too personal to share. In reality, I wouldn’t have been able to explain it without having to reveal the truth about my mom.
All of that’s changed now.
“It’s a combination of a few things, but essentially it’s in memory of JT’s mom.”
“In memory?”
“She passed away when JT and I were in middle school. Breast cancer.”