Page 13 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
He penetrates me then pushes deep.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.
I let out a moan and hang my head, squeezing my eyes shut. It feels blissful to be filled and stretched so perfectly. He reaches around my body, his fingers finding my clit. I’m already swollen and sensitized from when he’d been licking me, and I’m right on the brink of orgasm. He rubs my clit in little circles as he pulls out and slams into me again.
Pleasure has me in its grip, focusing every thought and feeling in my body on the sweet spot between my thighs. My breathing grows laboured. Art is panting behind me.
His fingers dig hard into my hips as he thrusts deep. His movements grow faster and faster, our skin slapping together. I’m climbing towards my peak, knowing he isn’t far either.
My orgasm hits me suddenly, tensing every muscle, my pussy contracting around him. My eyes squeeze shut, my body shuddering as pleasure rolls through me in wave after wave.
Over my shoulder, Art roars his release as he holds himself deep, his cock jerking inside me.
He slumps across my back, engulfing me with his large frame, his breathing laboured against me. The sex had been hard and fast, and insanely satisfying. A rush of relaxed euphoriasweeps through me. I don’t know how that happened, but I’m glad it did.
Art slips from my body, and gets to his feet, quickly knotting the end of the used condom and wrapping it in a tissue. I turn to him with a shy smile, but his brow is furrowed in a frown, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
“Fuck, sorry,” he says, not meeting my eye. “I don’t know what came over me.”
‘Sorry’ isn’t exactly the first thing I want to hear after I’ve just had sex with someone. What am I supposed to say to that?
“It’s fine,” I manage, feeling the two words are woefully inadequate. Telling him that’s the first time I’ve been properly fucked in over two years feels way too heavy, and so ‘it’s fine’ is what pops out.
“Yeah, course.”
He shakes his head slightly, as though trying to pull himself from a daydream. He reaches down and grabs my clothes. I’d managed to keep my shirt and bra on, thank goodness.
He offers the clothes to me, and I quickly pull on the bottom half of my outfit, before picking up my boots. Art has already put himself back together, so other than the slightly confused expression, he looks as though nothing happened.
“I’ve got a client arriving soon,” he mutters. “I should really get going.”
My cheeks burn hot with mortification, and I only want to escape upstairs and slam the door on the whole thing. What on earth was I thinking? How did a conversation about the rent end up with him screwing me senseless on the stairs?
“Yeah, of course,” I manage, clutching the rest of my things. “I’ve got to go and do.... stuff, too.”
He bobs in and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, before turning and fleeing into the shop.
I just about want to die. That kiss on the cheek is about the most awkward thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. It would’ve been better if he’d walked away without the kiss. It feels to me he did it because he thought that’s what’s expected after a man has sex with a woman.
Holding my boots in one hand, I run up the stairs and slam my way back into the apartment, shutting the door behind me. I wish he wasn’t right downstairs. I want to forget about him, not have him wandering around directly below me.
I put my hands over my face. What the hell was I thinking, allowing a guy I barely know to screw me on the stairs?
That was one huge mistake.
9
ART
Theresa Dawson does not have a good effect on me.
The taste and scent of her body has taken my mind hostage, and now I can’t think about anything else.
Damn. I hope she doesn’t think I only had sex with her in order to stop her talking about raising the rent again. Though even I have to admit, as far as diversion tactics go, it was a pretty good one.
I try to concentrate on my latest client—a quiet young woman in her mid-twenties, who walked in here with her head down and her hair falling over her face. I hope she’ll be leaving with more confidence in her step.
I need to figure out what I’m going to do about my own situation. I can’t couch surf for the rest of my life. I wish I had enough spare cash to rent somewhere, but everything is tied up in the shop. Each time I think I’m going to have something spare at the end of the month, another bill lands on the doormat, or a piece of equipment breaks. I don’t need much to live. I spent the previous night with a sleeping bag under the counter of the shop, and I figure I’ll be spending tonight in exactly the same way. It was torture knowing Tess was lying in a bed right aboveme—mybed—and it will be even worse now I’ve had a taste of what she’s really like. I’d considered her to be uptight, but the way she’d allowed me to turn her around and bend her over the stairs, she’d acted anything but.
