Page 132 of Cold Hard Truth

“What do you need, butterfly?” I drag my hand down to cup her pussy, and she lifts her hips to meet me.

“A tattoo.”

That takes me by surprise, and I pull back to look down at her. “Really?”

I might be covered in ink, but she still only has one. The butterfly I gave her when she turned eighteen. Still one of my favorite ways I’ve marked her.

I’ve tattooed so many people over the years it all blurs together. I remember the ink but not their faces. It’s art, nothing more. But I can still see Lyla’s eyes when she watched me ink her. I can still see the hole she ripped in her fishnets when she spread her legs.

A memory that makes me almost as hard as she does when she moans against my mouth.

Lyla pulls back, smiling at me. “You going to try and turn me down again?”

“Never.” I grab her neck and tip her chin up, slowly kissing a path down the center of her chest. Moving for her jeans, I undo the button and start to tug them down.

“It’s going on my side.” She squeals as I pull her jeans and panties over her hips and dive my mouth to her core.

“I don’t care.” I lick her pussy, and she wiggles as I trap her jeans around her ankles and part her thighs for me. “It’s break time first.”

I drive my tongue into her and play with her clit, dragging the prettiest scream from her chest. It fills the room like the scent of incense that follows her around.

Happiness.

Peace.

All good things when I don’t deserve them.

Her hands dig into my hair, and her hips lift as I flick my tongue back and forth over her clit. I play with her pussy and drown in the feel of her coming apart.

I worship her. Pouring myself out for this girl. Lyla has been through so much pain and loss that she deserves everything good. I give her all of me to make her shake and shiver.

I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshipping her body and soul. If that’s the comfort I can give her, she’ll have all of it. All of me.

She grips my hair and tips her head back in a scream as I go wild on her clit. It’s a good thing everyone else locked up the shop twenty minutes ago, or they’d definitely hear it.

And when she finally lets go, I thrust my tongue inside her pussy to feel her squeeze me. To taste how good I make her feel. It’s the only thing that actually means anything, and everything else I do is just to please her.

Pulling back, she moans.

“I’m so sensitive.”

“Good.” I lean in and kiss her pussy again, loving how she shivers.

Reaching for her jeans, I pull them up her legs.

“That’s it?” she grumbles. “You aren’t going to fuck me?”

“I’m going to fuck you all night long, butterfly.” I secure her button. “But you came here for a tattoo, so that’s going to have to wait.”

She hums, narrowing her eyes at me. “Is that how you start all of your sessions?”

“Just my wife’s.”

Her cheeks heat. The same way they do when I call her my old lady. She might hate that term, but she loves any reminder that she’s mine. And she is in every single way.

“Fine.” She reaches for the purse she slung over the arm of the chair when she walked in the room and pulls out a tarot card. “But I’m holding you to that, VP.”

It’s so fucking hot when she calls me that. I didn’t want the title until she started using it. It makes me want to bend her over and remind her of the power that title gives me.

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