“You are accusing me of lying, Delilah?”
Holy shit, her name sounded awesome rolling off his tongue in that thick accent. “Come on, Chris, you’re not a farmer.”
“My name is Christian.”
Touchy much? “Sorry. Christian. Well, Christian, why don’t you tell me what you really do?”
“I have already told you. Do you work?”
Like a pro, she slid a business card out of her bra and placed it in front of him. He frowned at the action then picked up her card. “I own Skin Deep, just around the corner. I’m a tattoo artist. You got any ink? Or maybe have something you want me to help you out with?”
She’d love to work on him. Just from the way his forearms peeked out under his cuffed sleeves she could tell he was ripped.
He arched an eyebrow at her—she always loved when people could do that—and glanced back at her card. After a few seconds he slipped it into his pocket.
“You paint tattoos?”
“Uh, I use instruments a little tougher than paintbrushes. I guess you don’t have any.”
His gaze coasted over the stars wrapped around her wrist, the leopard print traveling up the curve of her shoulder, and the little devil sitting on her other one. “No. I do not have tattoos.”
“Did you ever think about getting one?”
“You said your shop is near by?”
“Yup, right down the block. I have some openings for next week if you—”
“I will be gone by then. Could you show me your work tonight?”
“Uh…” She went back to the shop quite often if clients called her with a hankering, but Christian Schrock was…different. She didn’t know if she should trust him. She did a quick scope of the bar for Lance and McGuire. Still MIA. Fuckers. “I guess if you’re really interested…”
“I am quite interested.”
Her body tingled at the hidden meaning of his words. Her gaze crawled over his broad shoulders. Yeah, she was quite interested too.
She could use the extra money. Not to mention she was getting wet just thinking about touching his bare skin. Her mind went into a tailspin, a kaleidoscope of kinky images running through her naughty head. “Yeah. I could do that. Finish your drink and I’ll take you.”
Without taking another sip he withdrew a fifty, placed it on the bar, and stood.
“Uh, don’t you wanna wait for your change?”
“No,” he said succinctly, towering over her. Wow, he was well over six feet.
She mouthed a quick okay and chugged her beer, needing the liquid courage.
He waited for her and when she turned to lead the way he stood close and pressed his warm palm into her lower back. Shivers ran up her spine. There was no mistaking his intent and it was about more than acquiring some ink.
It wasn’t that Li was a slut. She just had an inner slut that needed play from time to time. She rarely fucked men impetuously, but something about this man…she couldn’t quite get a bead on why she was so intent on having him, but something deep inside of her insisted upon it.
They walked in silence, the cool night air a delicious suppressant to the sticky, stagnant air of the club.
Delilah breathed in deeply. Under the clean night air she could actually smell Christian. Wow. If he was a farmer, the whole rumor about them smelling like horseshit was bunk. He smelled incredible, the crisp scent of clean linen and soap mixed with a touch of sweat and coming up all man. She breathed in again, this time trying to trap his scent in her head.
“Do you have a car?” she asked, as they stepped away from the lingering crowd outside the club.
“No.”
“Okay. It’s not a long walk.”
His steps measured one for every three clicks of her Mary Jane’s. As he glanced down and saw her skipping along, he adjusted his pace. They walked in silence, and she grew more relaxed under the weight of his palm. What kind of lover would he be? The quiet ones were always the wild ones. She hoped she wasn’t misreading his signals. Well, he was sending out a hold crap load of mixed signals, but there was definitely a let’s get drunk and screw signal fluttering around there somewhere. That was the one she was most interested in.
“Do you know what kind of tattoo you’d like?”
He didn’t answer right away, but she was growing used to his thought out silences. “What do people usually get?”
She laughed. Talk about the unanswerable question. “All kinds of shit. Some people get names of their lovers or children, cartoon characters, waterfalls, skulls, a coat of arms, a portrait, or memorial cross.”
“You curse too much.”
She frowned, but didn’t deny it.
“Do you have any names of lovers on your body?” he asked.
“No way, that’s the relationship curse. I remove twice as many of those as I ink.”
“Tattoos are removable?”
“Yes and no. It’s a process and you’re never left without some sort of scar. It’s better to just get something you’ll be able to live with.” They turned the corner. “Here we are.”
She removed her key from her purse and unlocked the metal caging over the door. It slid up with a slow rolling rumble. Her hip pressed open the door as her fingers hit the light.
Christian turned, seeming to admire her art on the walls. She waited as he stepped through the sitting area. His fingers plucked at the corner of a tat magazine, but he didn’t pick it up.
Nothing on his face told her what he thought. In the bright lights of the store he looked even more gorgeous than he had outside or in the bar.
Delilah fiddled with the belt of her dress and pressed her thighs together. Christian drew in a deep breath through his nose and abruptly turned to face her. She stilled and had the strangest notion he knew what she was thinking. Her mouth opened and closed. She had no idea what to say.
“Did you see anything you like?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
He took a slow step toward her. “I think we both know I do not intend to get a tattoo tonight, Delilah.”
She swallowed and looked up at him. He was only a foot away. ”You don’t?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I came here for something else. Will you oblige me?”
Oblige. It took her a moment to understand the dated word. She studied his face under the clinical lights of the studio. He had one of those faces and bodies it was hard to put an age to. He could’ve been in his late twenties just as easily as he could’ve been in his early forties. The way he carried himself made her assume he was closer to the latter. He was definitely older than her twenty-nine years.
Her gaze traveled down his front. His chest was wide, but his waist was trim. There was a substantial bulge between his hips. She moaned in approval, making no attempt to hide her wandering gaze.
“Is that a yes?” His hand reached out and slowly stroked her hair. He fingered the jet black wave, but didn’t actually touch her skin. Shallow breaths filled her lungs as the energy of the room thickened and her body tightened.
Her breath grew jagged. Unable to answer, she slightly nodded. That was all the permission he apparently needed.
Christian’s mouth slammed over hers, warm and demanding. She drew in a deep breath laced with his delicious scent and sighed as his tongue pressed between her lips. Backing her up against the wall, his arms coiled around her petite waist. Her hands slid to his neck, gripping, fingers sliding through his hair. So soft.
The crinkle of wall art under her back reminded her where they were. She tore her mouth from his and looked out the wide storefront window. It was nighttime, but the shop was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
“In the back,” she panted as he kissed his way down her shoulder.
His touch was so dominant every cress had a dizzying effect. Large, strong hands gripped her beneath the arms and she was lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist where his erection pressed hard into the fabric separating him from her sex. He carried her toward the back and she r
eached into the big fishbowl on the counter and snatched a purple Skin Deep condom from the ones she ordered for promotional purposes.
As if he knew exactly where to go he took her to one of the rooms in the back with a reclining chair she used for piercings. As soon as she fell against the cool leather of the seat his mouth was on hers again.
Her fingers nimbly sought out the buttons on his shirt, but she couldn’t seem to find them. The fabric was courser than she expected. Starched.
“Rip it,” he growled as she continued to fumble with his shirt.
Not needing to be told twice, her hands grabbed two fistfuls and tugged. The fabric came apart and her palms coasted over hot, hard, male flesh. He moaned into her mouth. His hands tugged at the dainty cap sleeves of her dress. She twisted her arms, withdrawing them from the fabric.
He plucked at the cups of her bra and cool air engulfed her puckering flesh. He pulled his mouth from hers and stood back, leaning on one knee wedged between her thighs. He sucked in a hard breath.
She looked down, realizing he’d seen her nipple rings, and glanced back up at him. His expression was one of complete perplexity.
“Why do this to yourself, Delilah?”
She stiffened, a bit uncomfortable being questioned about her taste while in such a vulnerable position. Her arm lifted to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrist. She frowned at him. He didn’t seem to be judging her, only curious.
“I like the way it looks,” she explained.
He swallowed and his Adam’s apple moved slowly under the tanned, shadowed flesh of his neck. “Does it pain you?”
“No. Not in anyway I don’t like.”
His gaze was transfixed on the two tiny silver hoops. Gently, his hand released her wrist and his fingers touched the decorated tip of her right breast. The hoop jiggled slightly and she moaned when he tugged. His eyes flashed to hers and there was a tug on the other nipple.
“They make you more…”
“Sensitive,” she provided.
His head tilted, his attention drawn somewhere else. He squinted as he brushed her hair off of her shoulders and ran a fingertip up her neck. He frowned. “What is this?”
Her hand lifted to her neck, cupping the tattoo he referred to. Damn young adult books! Although it was only two tiny dots with a trickle of crimson, it was one of her most ridiculous tattoos. That was what happened when one watched too much True Blood, filled one’s head with paranormal young adult fiction, and kicked back a bottle of rum with impressionable friends.
“It’s a vampire bite,” she mumbled, embarrassed.
He stilled, his posture suddenly stiff. “I beg your pardon.”
Pardon, per-aps I might interest ye in a spot o’ tea…Why was she suddenly thinking in an accent? He was just so proper. Dapper. She cleared her throat. “I was drunk when I got it. At least my hair covers it most of the time.”
He didn’t say anything. Jeeze, talk about being under a microscope. First my nipples and now this. The mood was dwindling fast.
His finger trailed down her chest, over her shoulder and stopped at the bend of her left arm where a delicate turquoise rose coiled around her arm. “You are very pretty, Delilah.”
Well, that was sweet. “Thank you.”
“May I see all of you?”
Her lips parted. She usually wasn’t uncomfortable with her body. She was small, but curvy like a pin up girl, but Christian, from what she could tell, was perfect. Delilah was not perfect. “I—”
“It would please me very much.”
Well, shit. She nodded and he stood so she could ease out of the chair. Although her breasts were exposed, her A-line dress still hung from her hips to just below her knees. She unhooked the bra pressed to her waist and dropped it to the floor. Reaching for the zipper of her dress, she paused. “Promise to be nice.”
He was sitting in the chair she had vacated. He nodded.
The soft buzz of the zipper’s teeth coming apart had her nipples tightening and her insides clenching. The fabric loosened and she let it fall to the floor. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she stood before him in nothing but her thong, Mary Janes, and her painted skin.
The sound of his breathing filled the room, deep and choppy. She opened her eyes. There were no words in her vocabulary to describe the look on his face. Desire. Longing. Hunger. Lust. They all came up short. No one had ever looked at her that way.
The leather creaked as he eased out of the chair. He approached her slowly, placing his fingertips gently on her left shoulder as he circled her with slow steps, his gaze traveling over her tattooed flesh. While he moved around her, taking in her body, his fingertips made a slow drag from her shoulder, across her collarbone, over her other shoulder, and down her spine.
Fingers traced down her back, over the tree of life that sprouted there, to her hip where a lotus branch bloomed. A finger followed the swell of her bottom, dipped under the elastic of her silk panties and pulled the garment away. Her breath grew choppy as the moment became weighted with erotic intent. Silk fell to her ankles and she slowly stepped out of her underwear, kicking the fabric aside.
He dropped to his haunches and kissed the spattering of monarch butterflies taking flight over her thighs. Her knees shook and her insides quivered. His mouth felt absolutely sensational on her flesh.
Kissing his way to her stomach, his hands framed her hips and turned her so she faced him completely. Her trembling fingers gripped his shoulders, needing the balance. His thumb traced the adorned silhouette of Mother Nature above the groomed patch of hair at her sex then drifted down to where her piercing peeked past her folds.
She was so aroused she almost collapsed at the reverberation his finger sent into her oversensitive clit. Her body jerked in his hold and she gasped. He looked up at her as he leaned forward, shiny blue eyes staring back at her. Fuck farming. This guy should be in show business. Damon Salvatore, step aside.
She whimpered as his lips pressed into her hip. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she could barely remain upright. She needed to come—and fast.
Suddenly, as if he’d read her mind, his mouth latched onto her sex. She screamed at the contact, his tongue piercing her folds. Delilah knocked over a metal tray and reached hopelessly for something to hold onto. Coming up short, she fisted her hands in his hair. He growled into her sex and she cried out as her first orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave in a forgotten pond.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He was relentless. His mouth plundered her slit. Her legs had no time to adapt to the onslaught of pleasure. Muscles spasmed and she collapsed, sure she would bust her ass, but he had her around the waist. He carried her to the chair and kissed her hard. Her taste covered his lips and tongue.
His fingers probed and stretched her sheath. Before she had a chance to touch him, she was turned around. She quickly reached for the condom she’d grabbed and handed it over her shoulder. “Here.”
He grunted and took it. Hot flesh pressed into the backs of her thighs as she widened her stance. The chair was large, like a salon chair, but still made for an awkward fucking post. She scrambled to find the best way to get on her hands and knees, but her limbs were simply too long.
Finally, settling her knees wide in the seat of the chair, her spine arched, shoulders lifted, and she grabbed hold of the leather. Christian’s length probed at her wet opening. Her sex stretched to accommodate him—holy mother of penis he was wide. She breathed through her teeth as he pressed in and she moaned at the glorious sensation that came as he slid in to the hilt. Full.
His grunt of satisfaction covered her sigh. Warm lips pressed into her shoulder as his palm coasted up her arm and gripped her chest. He slowly withdrew and thrust back into her. Her body quivered around him and she cried out as he thrust deep again. On and on he fucked her. God, she needed this.
Delilah let go of all her tension from the week and embraced the moment. Her body grew slick with sweat. Christian’s stamina was like noth
ing she had ever experienced before.
Her body peaked, only to suspend on a plateau of ecstasy. He never let her pleasure dwindle. Their skin slapped together as breath panted from their lungs. She was growing tired, breathing heavily, as was Christian. After some time, her eyes closed and her head lolled to the side. They’d been at it for almost thirty minutes—marathon fucking.
Her ears vaguely registered a sharp crunch over the slap of their skin, but her repetitive soft moans that came with every thrust made it hard to discern the sound. It sounded like he’d bit into an apple, which was weird. There were no apples in the shop and who could eat at a time like this?
Christian’s hard abdomen pressed into her damp back as he kissed her throat. She sighed and pressed her ear into her shoulder, letting him have at her neck, which was one of her favorite erogenous zones.
He nipped at her flesh and she moaned. She loved a little rough play, but she was ready to pass out. Then he bit her hard.
She yipped and his hold on her tightened. Another orgasm built as if he was pulling from the threads that sewed the seams of her soul.
He was giving her a hicky, but he must have hit some sort of pressure point because his mouth was making her insane. He drilled into her and she went over the edge with a scream of ecstasy. Her mouth opened, body tightened. He shivered behind her, against her, growled into her throat as hot pulsing jets of his release filled her.
Wait! Why did everything feel so…au naturel?
His touch, warm and wet, pressed over her mouth. She tensed and opened her eyes. Christian still sucked on her neck. Fatigue slammed into her, nearly knocking her out. Her thoughts grew sluggish and dopy. She tried to turn her mouth away from whatever was covering it, but he growled—seriously growled—and forced her lips open to press it against her teeth. The aggressive move had her eyes flashing wide in panic. Maybe he was way more into kink than she thought.
It was his arm. She screamed, unsure what was happening and incredibly weak. Unable to fight him off of her she cried out in terror. Was he strangling her? Hot liquid filled her mouth and she gagged at the taste, then proceeded to choke. As she sputtered around his arm, flecks of red spattered the white leather chair like abstract art as her vision blurred.
Call Her Mine Page 2