Page 202 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I watch her throat move as she swallows. A note of nervousness touches her eyes, and as I’m about to call an end to everything, she nods slowly, bringing her fingers up to her buttons. “I can do it.”

Pushing her hands out of the way, I unfasten the first button. “I want to.” I lean in, press a kiss to her jaw near her ear, and whisper, “I want the pleasure of undressing you.”

She inhales a sharp breath but drops her hands to the table and leans back, pushing her tits out. I barely hold back a groan at her explicit invitation. I study her closely as I unfasten each button; it’s fucking torture not to drop my eyes to feast on her exposed breasts, but I do it—pretty sure I deserve an award for my restraint. When I undo the last button and slide the silky fabric from her shoulders, I allow myself to look at her and blow out a long stream of air at the vision before me. A lavender bra cups her perfect breasts, but it’s the inked design—that can only be her artwork—that begins between her breasts and sweeps beneath them that steals my attention. It’s beautifully delicate.

Releasing the front clasp of her bra, I push the fabric out of the way so I can trace the fine lines on her soft flesh, noting the raised tissue hidden within the design. “This is stunning. It has to be your artwork.” I flick my eyes up to hers in time to see her nod as I continue to trace her flesh, noting the length of the hidden scar. “Can I ask about this?”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods. “I was a passenger on a train that derailed.” Fuck! She raises and drops one shoulder, biting her bottom lip as her eyes slip away from mine and her chin dips a little. “My mom died and my dad lost the use of his legs. I got off lucky.”

Lucky? Fucking hell. “I’m so fucking sorry, Soph.” What else can I say?

“It’s been a long time. I was only two when it happened.”

“Still. You lost your mom. That’s a fucking tragedy.” She nods and I hate the melancholy that’s filled the space between us. It has no place here, so I lean in and kiss her.

I kiss her like I’ve wanted to kiss her for weeks.

I soak up her taste and steal her breaths for my own.

I kiss her to replace a shitty moment with a hopefully better one.

I kiss her because I can’t fucking stop.

I kiss my way across her jaw and down her slender throat. Further still, until my lips touch the delicate ink concealing her hurt and as I trace down one line of the Henna-inspired tattoo, an uncomfortable feeling rolls in my gut when I think about someone else touching her beautiful body. “Who did your tattoo?” I grit between my teeth.

“Barry at artWORX.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

I know Barry, and he’s a fucking perv. The number of times he’s bragged about banging a client during a tattoo appointment makes me sick. “Did he touch you inappropriately?” Look at me, asking such questions when I’ve had my hands all over her and my tongue in her mouth. Her face drops, and she shrugs. I grip her chin and bring her eyes back to mine. “Did. He. Touch. You?”

She traps her bottom lip behind her teeth, and I peel it free, my patience wearing thin. “Sorta.”

Fuck.

I snatch my hands from her and step away, almost knocking over my chair. Pushing my hands through my hair, I study the polished concrete at my feet. Anger causes my chest to heave, and if Barry were in front of me right now, I would lay his ass flat at Soph’s feet like a damn sacrifice. She drops from my desk and steps in front of me. Her small hand reaches out, and I’m reminded that I’m not alone and it’s not okay to lose my shit.

What is it with assholes taking what’s not theirs to take?

“I promise I’m okay. I stopped him immediately and made it clear I wasn’t interested … and in case you’re worried, you’re not doing the same.” I fucking know I’m not like Barry. She takes my hands and tentatively places them beneath her breasts. I look down at her, noticing the heat in her eyes and the quiet demand that I touch her. “Please keep touching me.”

Her words undo me, and I span my hands across her ribs beneath her breasts, then drop my mouth to hers. She presses up on her toes, sliding her hands around my neck and into my hair. Our kiss escalates quickly, and before I can think twice about it, I pick her up and carry her back to my desk, laying her flat. Her back arches against the cold, and she looks fucking spectacular. I drop my hands to the button on her jeans and check in with her. “Okay if I take these off?”

“Please.” I make quick work of the zipper, remove her shoes and socks, and slip the denim from her shapely legs, exposing more tattoos. This time, a delicate lace band around the top of her left thigh and more Henna-inspired work across her lower stomach and pelvis, sinking beneath the top of her matching panties. I try to push away the image of Barry working so close to her pussy, but it’s impossible to erase the image. Almost as if she can read my mind, she allays my distress. “Barry didn’t do those. After what happened the first time, I got Camryn to do the rest.”

My heart settles, and I bury my nose against her pussy, nudging her clit. Drawing a deep breath into my lungs, I murmur against her mound, “You smell perfect. Tell me I can taste you, Soph.” I trace my eyes up the length of her body until I capture her gaze as I dip my fingers in each side of her panties. God, she’s so beautiful. So perfect.

“If you don’t, I might die.”

I raise an eyebrow and smirk at her. “We can’t have that.” She raises her hips, and I make quick work of removing the final garment of clothing, leaving her completely exposed and at my mercy. I push her legs open and study her perfect pussy. Her outer lips glisten with arousal, and I use my fingers to separate them for my perusal. “So fucking pretty.” My breaths quicken, and my cock begs for release at the vision before me. “You’re so fucking perfect.” I blow a hot breath across her pussy lips, eliciting a moan.

“Lincoln?”

“Give me a moment, will you?”

She pushes up, resting on her elbows, and studies me intently. I work to temper my desperation to devour her—every single inch.

I want to mark her.

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