I nodded. “I’m sure.”
He was hesitant; I could feel it. I had to try to make the first move, to let him know that it was okay—thatIwas okay. Slowly, I eased my lips against his, barely touching, afraid to move too quickly. His scent, his touch, his every breath cloaked me, wrapping me in this bubble where the world outside no longer existed. It was just us. No past. No future. Just now.
Pulling back an inch, his eyes searched mine. “You need to promise me you’ll stop me when it’s too much.”
I nodded.
“Say it, Neon. I need you to say it.”
I licked my lips. “I promise.”
Pressing his lips slightly harder with a deepened kiss, I relaxed my body against his, keeping my eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge anything else. Just him. Just us. This moment.
While his tongue danced with mine, exploring and tasting, I reached out slipped my shoes off my feet. One by one, they fell to the floor, Ink’s hand moving down my side, across my hip, and settling on my thigh.
Taking his sweet time, he kept kissing me, allowing my body to relax and settle into the moment.
“You okay?” he whispered against my lips, and I nodded.
He shifted, wrapping an arm around my waist and gently laid me down on the bed, his lips not wavering from mine for a second. For the longest time, he sat beside me, just kissing me—slow, steady, his kiss silky and easy. There was nothing rushed about it, like he was trying to give me the time I needed, easing me into what was about to happen.
He tore his lips from mine as he sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. I remained still as I watched him, his naked skin beckoning to be touched. The art that covered his chest was mesmerizing, telling the story of his life—the secrets of his past which he willingly shared with me. Something no one else here knew. Just me. I felt connected to him in a way I’d never experienced before, like I was the only one who understood the ink on his flesh.
He laced his fingers at the seam of my shirt as he leaned over me, fingertips brushing against my skin. He paused, eyes scrutinizing me, searching for the tiniest sign that I might be hesitating. But I wasn’t. So far, all I felt was the need to have him touch me and kiss me more. I sat up, giving him the permission he needed to pull my shirt over my head.
Not wearing a bra after Red started on my tattoo, I lay on the bed half-naked and hyperaware of all the scars that covered my body. It couldn’t have been a pretty sight, especially to a man like him, who was used to bedding beautiful and adventurous women. Instinctively, I moved to wrap my arms around myself to hide my scars, and to cover the hideous marks that marred me with imperfections. But Ink reached out, grabbing my wrists, stopping me.
“Don’t.” Keeping my gaze, he placed a finger on a mark just below my breast, an angry piece of puckered flesh the snake burned, using me as a human goddamn ashtray. “Never hide these from me. To me, it’s battle-scars, reminders of how strong you are, and what you survived.”
With slow, leisurely strokes, his finger traveled from one scar to the other, exploring all the jagged edges and rough skin, my body covered in healed burns and cuts. It seemed like he was trying to memorize it all, making all my imperfections his. I had to chew on my bottom lip to keep myself from falling apart while I lay there, allowing him to see all the broken pieces of me.
He stood, and I watched as he slipped out of his pants. There was nothing but heated anticipation spreading through my core when I saw how hard he was—his body ready to claim mine.
“Remember,” he said softly, “you can stop me any time.”
I nodded, not taking my eyes off him as he undid the button of my jeans before slipping his fingers into the sides, slowly pulling the denim together with my panties over my hips and down my legs.
This time, I had to close my eyes, insecurity starting to break through, threatening to drown the excitement. The thought of him looking at my broken and flawed body had me swallowing hard, like shards of glass were stuck in my throat.
“Neon, look at me.”
I inhaled deeply, hoping some air would calm the storm that was starting to rage inside me.
“Neon.” His voice was fiercer this time. “I need you to look at me. Okay? Look at me.”
I opened my eyes, blinking back tears, staring at him as he got onto the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight.
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you? I see a strong woman—a woman who survived hell. A woman who needs to wear her scars with nothing but pride. A beautiful fucking woman.”
He wrapped his fingers around my ankle, lifting my leg and placed delicate kisses on my skin. With each kiss, he moved his mouth along the inside of my leg, heat spreading all the way up my body, settling in my core.
For a moment, I closed my eyes and focused on what his touch felt like—tender, soft, like silk brushing across my flesh. The higher up his touch moved, the more I felt desire starting from a flicker, working up to a burning flame. With every stroke of his hand, my skin grew hungrier for his touch. His lips reached the inside of my thigh, and he steadied himself on his knees between my legs. He leaned down and brushed his lips against my hip, and a shiver went up my spine. His broad shoulders covered my waist as large, calloused hands caressed my thighs. “You need to tell me what you want. You need to guide me, here.” His breath was warm against my skin, a subtle reminder that there was nothing cold about his touch, nothing cruel about his intentions. His every move and every kiss were amplified with nothing but affection.
I sucked in a breath when his hands cupped my sides, his tongue lapping against my skin just below my navel.
I reached down and wove my hands through his hair. “I just need you to be with me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”