Page 12 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
“I told you your nipples would be hard. Is your pussy wet, too?”
“Art!” My mind spins, unsure if I’m panicked or turned on. “We can’t do this!”
“Stop talking, Tess.”
I stand there, my hands by my side, as Art kisses my neck in a way I’ve never been kissed before. His fingers knot tight in my hair, forcing my head to one side to give him more room. My body responds to him, heat and wetness flooding between my thighs, my nipples hard, sensitized pebbles. His palm slips inside the lace of my bra, his hand hot against my flesh. I feel dizzy with desire, my body arching against him, wanting more of him.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy,” he growls.
Finally, he leaves my throat. His mouth crushes down hard against mine, and his tongue pushes into my mouth. My hands come to life and I reach for him, my palms slipping over his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles of his back. My mind flashes up images of him naked. How much of his body is tattooed, or pierced?
Art breaks the kiss and drags me out of the alley, half pushing me toward the back door of my building.
“In here,” he growls.
We bundle through the back door, and manage to make it to the stairs leading to the flat above. Art shoves me up against the wall once more.
He tries to tear the shirt from my arms, but panic shoots through me and I pull away. I distract him by undoing the button and zipper of my pants instead. His eyes are dark with lust, his expression hungry and fierce.
Art yanks down my pants and underwear in one go, and I do a strange hop and dance as I toe off my ankle boots, and he pulls the clothes from my feet. Then he drops to his knees and is between my legs. He leans in, his nose pressing against the small patch of curls on my mound, his mouth on my pussy. His tongue draws a line right from my base, across my slit, and up to my clit.
“Fuck, you taste like honey.”
I grip his shoulder hard. “Oh, God,” I gasp.
I never imagined ten minutes ago that things were going to take a turn in this direction.
It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like this. Things between my previous boyfriend and me hadn’t been physical in the end, and I’d been okay with that. It isn’t like I haven’t missed it—I have, but it simply hadn’t been there for reasons neither of us could do anything about. Now, with this big, tough guy’s head between my thighs, his fingers and tongue separating me and spearing inside me, I find myself growing heady. This is like the ride on the bike all over again. Art is opening me up, both mentally and physically, reminding me how it feels to really live.
Tension builds in my stomach and thighs as he feasts on me, eating me like a man half-starved. I think I’ll come, standing here in a stairwell, half-dressed, with a tattooed man’s face between my thighs, but then he pulls away.
He stares at me, his gaze filled with hunger, his mouth wet with my arousal.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
I whimper.
He pulls me down onto the stairs with him. He kisses my mouth, and I taste myself on his lips. I reach for him, wanting to feel him as well. His cock is hard beneath his jeans, a thick, rigid line. My fingers ache to hold him. How big will he be? Big enough to excite me and terrify me in equal measures. I tug at his belt, yanking it open, then pull down his zipper. His jeans drop from his hips, and his cock springs out toward me. He isn’t wearing underwear.
I wrap my fingers around his length and pump him a couple of times, watching his face for his reaction. His eyes slip shut, and his lower lip falls slack as I masturbate him.
“Fuck,” he growls. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
Art pulls back, dislodging my hold, then reaches into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out the square shape of a condom packet.
What guy carries condom packets around in the inside pocket of his jacket?
He’s clearly a player, though my mind goes to the drawings of the woman I found last night. Hell, I don’t care. I just want him, want to give into my primal needs for once. I already did something crazy by jumping on a plane and moving to a strange country, so why not continue the madness by getting fucked on the stairs by a guy who’s only ever going to be bad news.
He kneels back on the stairs and takes hold of my waist. He flips me around, so my knees are on one tread, my elbows on the one a couple of steps up. It occurs to me that we could climb the stairs and end up in a perfectly comfortable bed, but I don’t want to break whatever whirlwind of lust we’ve been caught up in. Someone from the shop might walk through at any moment—Rocco or Kane, or one of the clients looking for the bathroom—and catch us. They’d see everything with me in this position, my ass and pussy on display.
I don’t care.
I look over my shoulder to see him expertly rolling the rubber down the length of his erect cock. Just seeing him holding himself is enough to send desire coursing through my veins. He gets to his knees behind me, grabbing one hip as he positions himself, and nudging my legs apart.
I gasped as his cock presses against my opening.
“Your pussy is so pretty, so perfect, just like you. Now you’re going to take my cock like a good girl.”
