Page 132 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I’m hard.

I hook a finger under the sheet and pull it down far enough to reveal her tattoo. I’m still in disbelief about that shit, but I can’t even lie. It’s cold. Whoever did that shit did it right. And it’s placed perfectly. That night I broke in her house, I stared at it while I fucked her from the back, knowing it was more than just a letter and a heart. It was her way of telling me she’s mine, and she didn’t need my permission for it, either.

Something about that is so sexy to me.

I trail a finger over it. It’s fully healed. Permanent.

She shifts slightly, pressing her face deeper into the pillow as a soft sigh leaves her lips. She looks so innocent and small below me. I look back at the door. The door she left open. And I realize.

She trusts me.

For all the shit she talks, for all the games she plays, she knows I’ll never hurt her. That I’ll take care of her.

And she's right.

She might be bad for me, but I’ll never be bad for her.

She shifts again, blinking up at me, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Ace?”

I stroke her back one time, nice and slow.

“Go back to sleep,” I murmur.

She watches me for a moment before her eyes flutter closed again, her body melting back into the mattress.

I stand over her for a while, just watching her breathe, intending to leave, unable to tear myself away. I’m still hard, still tense, but I can’t see a path to satisfaction tonight that doesn’t involve getting pulled back into her web.

Her lips part a little, but her eyes stay shut. In the quietest, laziest voice, she murmurs, “Do it.”

I freeze.

She has no earthly idea what I want. She just knowsI want, and she’s willing to give it to me, whatever it is, no matter the cost.

My dick pulses in my boxers, heat rushing through me so fast, it makes me lightheaded.

My breath shudders out of me as I slide a hand down my stomach, slipping past the waistband. I’m so hard, the first stroke hurts.

Maybe that’s a sign I shouldn’t be doing this.

But she’s laying there, ready to take whatever I give her. Shewantsto be used. I can see it in the subtle shift of her hips and the way she exhales.

I make a decision…if she’s wet, she means it, and I can use her with a clear conscience. I ease my hand beneath the covers, sliding my fingers through the easy path she makes as she arches for me.

Jesus. She’s so wet, it drips off my fingers when I pull them away.

I fist myself, slow and deliberate, my palm slick with her. I watch the rise and fall of her back as I stroke. It feels so good. It’s almosttoogood.

She turns her head away from me, breathing deep and controlled. I can almost hear her smirking, but she doesn’t say another word, she just lets me do me.

My eyes lock on the Ace of hearts on her spine. My grip tightens. My body tenses. Faster. Harder. My stomach clenches as the pleasure coils low, building and rising until the delicious tension snaps.

I cum with a harsh groan, my hips jerking forward, my nut spilling across the tattoo.

Fuck.

That shit looks so pretty.

And after a few seconds, I start to think…maybe I don’t give a fuck about all that other shit. Maybe this is it. Maybe I should stop fighting it and be fucking happy for once.

---