Page 2 of Skin Deep

She wasn’t wearing a bra. Through the translucent fabric, he could make out the dusky circles of her areolas, the tight pucker of her nipples, which were hard—hard for him?

He could also see that some kind of jewelry adorned each of those taut buds. He’d never seen anything like it, not in real life, and he felt a sharp, physical ache with the need to touch.

Silently, they each tossed back their shots. Fred’s eyes tracked the delicate lines of the woman’s throat as she swallowed, then the path of her tongue as she swiped it over her lips to catch the last drop.

“What’s your name?” He caught the shot glass from her hands, set it and his aside, using the gesture as an excuse to brush his fingers over hers. He tangled his own large hand in her small one, tugging her closer to him, close enough that the tips of those adorned breasts brushed against his wide chest. He felt fire in the wake of the touch.

“Why?” She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, looking up at him from beneath long, tangled lashes.

“What do you mean, why?” He frowned. “You know mine.”

“Yes.” She nodded to punctuate her point. “But what does knowing your name is Fred tell me? Does it tell me what your favorite color is? Does it tell me how your skin smells? Does it tell me what you’ll do when I touch you?”

With her free hand, she traced a finger down the center of his chest, awakening nerve endings as she went. He caught it just before she reached his belt, holding it in place.

“Right now, my favorite color is pink. This pink, right here.” He lifted his other hand to cup her face, traced his thumb over those pillowy lips. “I’d love to find out what other shades of pink you have.”

He felt her exhalation, the damp heat fanning out over his thumb as she spoke. “Pretty words, Boston boy.”

“Here are a few more.” He leaned forward, felt the heat radiating outward from her body. “Come with me. Somewhere, anywhere. Let me find out.”

“Mmm. Tempting.” She looked up at him, considering, then shook her head. Before he could feel the punch of disappointment, she pivoted. “Dance with me.”

Fred did not dance.

He’d actually never willingly joined a dance floor, not once...well, not unless he counted that time he and Frank had sneaked their father’s whiskey into a flask for their cousin Sarah’s wedding, which had turned out about as expected.

Still, he let this woman—damn, but he wished he knew her name—lead him onto the dance floor. There, she turned in his arms, her back to his front, and cast an utterly bewitching glance over her shoulder. Enticing him.

Daring him.

When she released his hand, he placed it on her shoulder, tracing the strong curve. He slid it down, following the graceful line of her arm, the swell of her hip, then back up. He grazed the bottom of her tank, then tucked his hand inside, his palm flat on her stomach. Her skin was soft, hot as silk as she pressed into the touch.

It was impossible to stay still with this woman rocking gently back against him, with the sea of people around them swaying. The music vibrated along his skin, through his body, driving the thoughts right out of his mind. Leaving room for him to just experience the moment.

She pressed that tight little body back against him, swaying sinuously. She was tall enough that his pelvis was flush with the curves of her ass, and he felt himself harden as a result of her movements. He felt rather than heard her purr with approval as she noticed, pressing herself back against his growing erection.

He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before. Dipping his head, he inhaled the aroma of her hair, something sweet and green and fresh, before pressing his lips to her temple.

Her skin was hot beneath his kiss.

“Come with me.” He nipped at the top of her ear, his teeth grazing the pink shell as he whispered hotly.

“Where would you take me?” Turning in his arms, she leaned forward and slowly, deliberately rubbed her breasts against his chest. His cock, already swollen, became rock-hard against the stiff denim of his jeans.

“Wherever you want to go.” He was serious. He and Frank had a room at a hotel nearby—his father had consented to this trip, but no way were his sons staying in some hostel like peons. He could take her there, but a woman might not want to go to a hotel alone with a strange man. A car, a tree in a park, right here, right now—it didn’t matter to him, not as long as he could taste her.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked up at him through that wild tangle of her long lashes. With one hand, she hooked two fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him close, then closer still, flush against his body.

With the other she slowly, tantalizingly, brushed the tips of her fingers over the rigid length of his erection. Stars exploded in his vision, and he exhaled hard, his warm breath misting over the long coils of her black hair.

“Stop.” He caught her hand, stilled it. “This should be about you.”

“It is.” She arched an eyebrow, expression flirtatious. “This is what I want.”

Far be it from him to argue with a determined woman. A groan caught in his throat as she repeated the gesture, brushing her knuckles over his rigid length again, this time more firmly. Without even glancing around to see who was watching, she danced her fingers up, then worked them past the waistband of his jeans, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock.

In the split second before his brain short-circuited, he thought that they couldn’t do this, not here in public. Then he realized that the only reason he cared was if she did, which she clearly did not.

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