Page 103 of Secondhand Smoke
She shook her head, resting her hand on Barrett’s cheek. He leaned into it.
“Don’t stop.”
Nell made the next move, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Barrett allowed her to lift his shirt up and over his head, his eyes staying on her.
He was a canvas of his own.
Tattoos of different sizes and varying designs—many she didn’t know existed—adorned his chest and arms.
He watched her study him. She lifted her hand and brushed her fingers over the biggest one: a guitar running up the bottom of his rib cage and over his heart.
As she leaned forward, her lips grazed behind the path of her fingers, up the neck of the guitar and over the strings.
Barrett shuddered, and a sigh echoed through his chest.
She didn’t stand a chance.
Her mouth didn’t reach the top frets before she was flipped onto her back with Barrett on top of her. He held his weight up with a single arm as the other hand slid up her rib cage and brushed the underside of her breast.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, searching her face for permission.
She arched into his touch. “Don’t stop,” she repeated.
With her approval, he kneeled and slipped her shirt off. Somehow, her bra left with it.
Her pants followed, with no resistance from her.
She found herself there, on the floor of Barrett’s van, completely naked as his eyes hungrily looked at her from head to toe and drank it in.
“I feel like I’m dreaming,” he said. Fingers brushed over her open palm then followed her arm up until he was at her chest.
Nell waited for his next move, desperate for it.
His hand finally came down, closing over her full breast and taking it in his palm. He hissed through his teeth as his other hand did the same.
“This is real, right?” He lowered himself, hovering over her face and pushed her arm away, his lips centimeters from hers.
She exhaled and nodded. “It’s real.”
His mouth crashed into hers once more, and she sealed her hands around his neck. Close was not close enough.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her entire bottom half was lifted up. He grabbed onto her bottom for support, but his mouth remained connected to her, too hungry to let go.
He moved his hips, and the denim rubbed against her, sending a shock up her spine. She gasped a sharp moan into Barrett’s mouth. He paused for a moment like he was contemplating something.
Then he did it again. And again. And again.
Nell was quickly dissolving into a quivering mess, the fabric between her legs turning wet. Her gasps became heated moans.
Barrett’s pace remained constant and unrelenting. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Nell tried to speak, but nothing coherent came out. So she did the next best thing.
She dug her nails into Barrett’s shoulders.
“Fuck,” he hissed and finally backed off.
But rather than being in pain, he’d reached his limit.
