Page 213 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Her thumbs disappear and I hear a whisper of fabric moving and then her elbows dig into the top of my shoulders. “Fuck,” I grunt.

She reduces the pressure with a snicker. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound fucking sorry.

“Nah, that’s okay. Keep going. I was just surprised.” She digs in deep and I know when she stops, my muscles will feel so much better from the attention she’s giving them. “How did you feel about the tattoo tonight?”

Her elbows disappear and her body brushes mine as she moves around to the front of me, pushing me away from my desk and nudging her way between my thighs. My hands automatically move to her hips as hers lift to my shoulders again. She gives me a shaky smile. “I was proud I didn’t cry. I was so close, but I held it in.” She presses into the front of my shoulders with her thumbs, her eyes watching the movement, but I sense she’s trying to avoid eye contact with me. “Will I ever get used to seeing my art on someone’s skin?” she whispers.

I shrug. “I hope not. I still feel overwhelmed every time someone walks out of here with my art on their body. It’s fucking awesome that they’ll be carrying a little of me everywhere they go. I cherish it and I don’t see a problem with the way you feel.” I squeeze her soft hips in reassurance. “I think if we stop feeling that way, it means we don’t care like we should.”

Her lips part on a sigh—she’s so damn responsive. “Thanks, Linc.”

We fall into a comfortable silence and I drop my gaze from her face, down her sexy throat, and notice her pulse fluttering quickly. Flicking my eyes up to her face, her lips are parted slightly, and I know I shouldn’t, but I move forward slowly without overthinking it.

I’ve tried.

But nobody could fault me for what I’m about to do when she’s standing so close. Her coconut scent wafting around us, her hands on my body, and her obvious response to how close we are is making my brain misfire.

I wait for her to react; to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she watches with pupils blown wide, filled with lust as I close the distance. A hint of wariness creeps in the closer our mouths get, and I don’t blame her after the last time. There’s no denying I was a dick.

But this time … I’m not stopping.

“What’s changed?” she murmurs against my lips as I make the softest contact.

“Everything.”

Nothing.

I’m just tired of fighting.

And even though I renewed my promise to myself a few short hours ago, I won’t … can’t stop this time.

I press harder against her lips and her hands slide up the side of my neck into my hair. She holds me close, as if afraid I’ll come to my senses and push her away again. I don’t think I’ll survive if I stop this time. And I know she deserves better than this. Than me. But I can’t deny myself any longer.

I need her body surrounding mine.

I need to be wrapped in her tight heat.

I need her breath in my lungs and her essence on my tongue.

I need her.

Deepening the kiss, I demand entrance with my tongue and she doesn’t deny me.

She should.

But I’m going to take everything she’s willing to give me this time.

I’m not stopping.

I delve into her mouth and take my time to lick and stroke her, reacquainting myself with her taste, her sighs, her delicate moans. My blood rushes through my veins like a tsunami, straight to my dick, and my body heats to an almost unbearable level.

I need to get us naked.

Sliding my hands from her hips to the dip of her waist, I rub my thumbs along her ribs beneath her breasts, ensuring my nails scrape the fabric of her bra. Her flesh quivers beneath my touch and goosebumps cascade across her body. Her response boosts my need as she pushes into my touch. Moving higher, I slip my hands over her breasts, cupping them reverently as I circle each peak with my thumbs while her heart thunders beneath my touch.

I pull back just enough to ask, “Can I take this off?”

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