She buries her nose in my chest. “First, tell me one real thing about you. Or two.”
I hold her as we sway to music that isn’t playing. “Something real, hmm—well, I do work with my hands. I like to play guitar sometimes. I tried yoga once and nearly broke my neck doing a handstand. And you?”
“Hmm, well, there’s no picture in my locket. You guessed right about me being artsy—I am, and let’s see, what else ... oh, I have a thing for ChapStick. I own hundreds in all different flavors.”
“Do you have any rules you want me to know?” I gaze at her upturned face.
“No kissing on the lips.”
“Why? Your lips are fucking perfect ...”
I cup her face, studying her features, imprinting the image of her aquamarine eyes, the widow’s peak.
She avoids my question. “Anything I should know about you?”
“One night. No names. No strings. And the masks don’t come off.”
“Deal.”
I turn her around and unzip her dress, and it glides down her skin and pools on the floor. A low growl comes from my throat at the white lingerie she wears, a skimpy lace bra and a matching thong. Her hair spills down her back, and I drape it over her shoulder as my lips brush the bruise there. I move down her back, grazing my knuckles over her vivid tattoo. I read the script for it near her nape:bent but not broken. Easing down to my haunches, I kiss the two dimples above her ass. I can’t kiss her lips, but I’m going to brand myself over every other inch.
Her ass is full and generous, and my hands cup it. My fingers slide up, tracing her spine, going slow to savor her. I ease the straps of her bra off, then unhook it. It falls as I press my nose in her hair. My hands glide down her arms and back up to her shoulders. Jesus. Her skin is addictive. Soft. Hot. Fucking intoxicating.
I drift down to a scar on her side, kissing it, wondering what put it there. I caress the underside of her breasts, my hands drawing lazycircles over her globes, slow and steady, closer and closer, until I reach her nipples. I graze the pebbled peaks, and she cries out, her head falling back to my chest. I rumble in her ear that I’ll get to them later as I drift down to her waist and hook my thumbs under the lace of her thong. I drag it over her hips, my hands stroking her thighs and calves as she shifts the panties off her feet.
My fingers slide around her waist to test her core, easing in gently, then sliding back out, groaning at the wetness there. I circle her clit, slow and tortuous. “Princess, you’re hot and slick. I’m going to put my mouth there soon and taste you.”
She melts against me, her hands sliding into my hair.
“Turn around,” I say as I kiss her shoulder, and she faces me, face flushed with desire, lips parted.
My hands curl in anticipation. Petite red nipples and that glorious dark hair.
She. Is. Art.
Serenity hits. Tension loosens in my chest, and anxieties fall away. There’s so much shit in my head. She evaporates it into nothing.
No thoughts about the day I killed my father.
No fear about me turning into the monster he was.
No panic that my career is ending.
No loneliness.
I dim the lights, kick off my shoes and socks, and remove my slacks, then my underwear. I palm my cock as a breathless “Damn” comes from her.
“Come to me,” I purr.
She bites her plump bottom lip. “I hope you know how to use that thing.”
“Hmm, yeah, you’ll see. Come at me like you want me.”
I catch her in my arms when she jumps, her legs wrapping around my waist as we fall to the bed.
Chapter 4
FRANCESCA