“Oh no you don’t.” His voice dropped again, rumbling across her senses. She leaned back and he jerked the material forward.
Rip!
Renee gasped, gaping at the holes now in one of her favorite shirts. The damn picks were way too sharp.
“Oopsie.” Kit’s smile widened.
Destroying clothes had not been part of negotiations. And yet, she liked slipping the leash of polite humanity. Renee grabbed the bottom of the tank top and jerked it out of his hand, but it only ripped more. Tomorrow she’d regret this, but right now, she wanted to rip every stitch of clothing off him with her bare hands, then bite him just as he’d bitten her.
Renee grasped the shreds of her shirt and pulled them apart, rending the shirt from hem to neckline.
That got his attention. Kit’s gaze went to her breasts as she tossed the ruined garment onto the floor. She sat back and palmed her breasts. It wasn’t his touch, but it still felt good. She tweaked the little bars, watching the way his cheeks seemed to sink in a little and his gaze narrowed. She crossed her left arm over her chest and toyed with her right breast, while sliding her right hand down, past the waistband of her skirt. Did he want to see just how hot he made her?
“Oh no you don’t.” Kit grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands toward him and rising.
They wound up on their knees, Kit behind her, his arms circling her, like metal bands. He pressed his face to the side of her head.
“If you’re going to find pleasure tonight it will be at my hand, understand?” he said.
“Well you weren’t doing it.”
“This doesn’t feel good?” He covered her breast with his palm once more, pressing the finger picks or his nails to her skin hard enough she gasped and tried to shift, but his hold was too tight.
“Mm, yes, but not enough.”
“You want more?”
She pushed her hips back against him. “I want it all.”
He jerked her skirt up and she wiggled her arms under the fabric. As soon as she had her arms wedged past the waistband, the fabric tightened, binding her arms to her sides.
Kit picked her up and set her on her sturdy, antique coffee table, but didn’t let go of the restraint he’d made of her denim skirt. She lay on her back with her feet on the ground, staring up at him, unsure what came next. She wanted him. He leaned over her, everything about him screaming dominance and control.
And her heart screamed back, I am yours.
He was going to break her, and she would love each shattering moment. Because this was Kit. And this was real. It wasn’t a daydream she had to wake up from, although when he left this time it would hurt far more.
“You don’t move unless I tell you to. You don’t get pleasure unless I give it to you. You don’t come unless I tell you to. Understand?”
Her pulse jumped, adrenaline making the moment sharper, more in focus. If he hadn’t already been in control of her body, she’d have felt compelled to sink to her knees before him.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“Yes, Sir.”
Kit cupped her cheek, the rough calluses from his tattoo machine whispering over her skin. He leaned over her, until she could smell mint on his breath.
“You’re going to stay right where you are, understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stared at her as if he could read her soul, and she prayed he might be oblivious to the love she still felt for him. The love that wouldn’t die, no matter how she tried to turn herself away from it or him. She could take him devastating her body and breaking her heart, and being unaware of how she’d never stopped loving him, but if they went down that road, she might never be whole again.
Kit released the band of denim slowly. She remained exactly where he’d placed her, like a good subbie would. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small square that glinted in the low light. A condom. Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, she wanted that, even though he would brand her soul in the process, she wanted it.
He stood, but kept his gaze on her as she watched him. She wanted to strip him, to pull those jeans off his hips, down his legs and reacquaint herself with his body. But he’d told her to not move, and that order bound her in place. Instead, she watched him tab his jeans open. The sound of the zipper was loud in the silence of her house. She held her breath as he pushed his jeans and underwear down his hips and thighs.
Her memory wasn’t wrong. After some time, she’d begun to wonder if she’d improved him in her dreams, but he was still hung like a horse.
In a matter of seconds, Kit stood over her, naked and hard. Oh the things she wanted to do to him. She didn’t know which part she wanted to start with more, but she wasn’t running the show. Hell, she couldn’t even move her pinky finger if she’d wanted to. He held that much control.
Kit knelt and grabbed the packet. The moment stretched on, neither speaking. What else was there to say? He was hard, she was wet, and they were going to fuck. She wasn’t about to move her ass off the coffee table in case he’d become the kind of Dom who withheld cock as punishment.
Chapter Four
Renee watched him rip the packet open and roll the latex on. The play of shadows across his chest and shoulders made the tattoos seem to move across his skin. She tried to catalogue and commit each detail to memory, but with a person whose body was a canvas, it was nearly impossible. What she knew best was how she felt.
A little fear kept her on the knife-edge of desire. This wouldn’t be a dream she could tuck away in the back of her mind and go on with life. This would change her. Wouldn’t it?
Kit grabbed the front of her panties. The little thong didn’t stand a chance against the remaining finger picks. He dug them into the fabric, ripping the little triangle to shreds until he pulled it away from her body in about three pieces. Her knees automatically drifted together, shielding herself.
He took hold of the makeshift restraint around her waist with one hand and pushed her knees apart with the other. There was nothing gentle about the way he touched her. It was rough, with a whisper of nails and a lot of muscle.
As he bent, lowering his head to her lower body, she couldn’t breathe. She stared at the ceiling and surrendered herself to what she felt. The bite of denim cutting into her arms and sides. The slight scrape of a pick on her stomach. His beard on her knee. Teeth on her inner thigh. She gasped at the slight pain, but it was nothing compared to earlier. He bit her other side, wedging her legs open farther until they were spread wide.
Kit straightened, his gaze locking with hers. It was too dark to read him, for which she was thankful. Her emotions were haywire enough without the added weight of his to complicate things.
Renee felt the blunt head of his cock pass through her folds and the muscles in her stomach contracted. She lifted a foot, rubbing it on the back of his thigh. He pressed into her and she held her breath, staring up at him as he watched the juncture of their bodies. He slid into her and her pulse jumped. She gripped the side of the coffee table and held on as he became a gentler person for a moment, easing in and out of her body, allowing her to adjust and stretch for his girth. At last she felt the press of his body to hers as his entire length penetrated her.
He leaned over her for a moment, and they both inhaled. She savored this moment, her brain too fried to process everything. He withdrew and thrust, that first pass of his cock hitting all the right places. She arched her back and groaned. It was...good. Better. Amazing. Maybe it was because they’d grown into who they were and it was no longer a constant experiment to find what felt good. He clearly knew what turned her on, and well, she’d always had more than just a thing for him.
As he thrust, he pulled on the skirt. She lifted up on her toes, changing the angle and meeting him to the best of her ability.
“Oh, fuck,” Kit said.
She grinned, biting her own lip, making the abused flesh throb, and relishing the bright memory of his kiss.
He thrust harder and her breasts b
obbed with the motion. She ached for a touch, for him to do something to them, but he seemed determined to leave her in a state of want. Without her hands, she couldn’t do more than grip the table. Except…
Renee let go and as he withdrew, she was able to slide her arms around just enough so that as he thrust, she grasped his ass and dug her nails into his skin. He thrust harder, moving her and the coffee table a tiny bit. She groaned and let her eyes close for a moment. He jerked almost out of her grasp and she raked her nails over his hips. He pistoned in and out of her so fast she could hardly catch her breath.
Kit leaned over her, supporting himself on one arm. She could feel his breath on her cheek and the rough glide of his chest against her breasts. He withdrew and this time, when he slid back into her it was hard enough that sparks went off behind her eyelids. He dug a hand into her hair and held on tight to her skirt with the other.
“Harder,” he ordered.
A little stunned, it took her a second to react, but she caught on. Digging her nails into his muscle, driving him deeper into her body. He dropped his head to her neck and she stretched, arching, waiting for a bite—or something. She worked her hips in tandem with him, finding the perfect counter-thrust to his movements.
At this angle, each thrust made his cock slide over her clit. Between the pleasure stimulated by that bundle of nerves and the deep, bone-jarring thrusts; it was perfect.
Her head tossed from side to side. Sounds came out of her mouth that were completely unintelligible—and she didn’t care. Kit turned his face toward her and she felt the gentle press of his lips to her cheek a moment before he slapped her ass.
“Oh!” She yelped and her body spasmed.
He slapped her bottom once more and she arched, rubbing her breasts against his chest. She clenched his hips and sucked in a deep breath as the coil of desire wound tighter and tighter.
Renee came in a slow roar, all the sensation building up inside of her until it simply burst into orgasm. She dug her nails into his hips as he continued to thrust, squeezing her ass and holding her head tipped back. He growled, shoving deep and bit her neck, so primal and unrestrained.
It was better than before. Much, much better.
* * * *
Kit wiped the steam off the mirror. His hands still shook nearly a half hour after he’d picked himself off the floor and settled Renee on her couch. He’d needed space. To breathe.
He’d known what he shared with her was different, that the build up to sex with her was the product of years. But he hadn’t expected to be left so—shaken. To say he had a thing for her was an understatement. Renee was…his heart. And he’d lived without her, without that piece of himself.
There had to be a way to win her over again. He’d done it once, he was sure of it, but something had held her back. How could he make her see they were two parts of a whole?
He didn’t have the answers.
Kit knotted the towel around his hips and stepped out of the small bathroom. Like most of the house, it was quirky, vintage and completely Renee.
She wasn’t on the couch, swaddled in a blanket as he’d left her. He wandered through the kitchen and dining room until he spied a light on down the hall. The floor creaked underfoot as he approached the door and leaned against the wall.
Renee sat on a stool, the blanket pooled around her waist. She leaned forward, her breasts swaying as she rubbed something on a canvas. Her cheek was smudged with a black streak and her brows were drawn down. He’d seen a similar expression on her many times before when she was trying to get a tattoo drawing just right. She could stay lost in her own art inspired world for hours.
He glanced around the room, taking in the canvases in various states of completion, the open chest of what looked to be art materials and the other work areas. It was her private studio. Her sanctuary.
“Oh.” Renee blinked at him, her hand poised to mark the canvas. “I didn’t hear you.”
He chuckled. Yup, lost in her own world.
She tilted her head to the side, her gaze going to his chest, or maybe his arms, and leaned back into the canvas.
“Do I get to see what you’re drawing?” he asked.
“No.”
He considered leaving her to her project, but he was too curious. What was she drawing? And why did she need to look at him to do it?
“Turn to your left a bit,” Renee said.
Amused, Kit did a quarter turn, still watching her.
“Would you lose the towel, too?”
“Not unless you show me.”
“When it’s done. You can’t see it until it’s finished.” One side of her mouth hitched up as she bent closer, peering at some detail.
What the hell?
Kit plucked the towel knot at his hip and let it drop to the ground. He wasn’t self-conscious of his size, but it was a different experience to be the one studied. Renee’s gaze narrowed and she didn’t say anything. It was fascinating to watch her work, the way she would keep one eye on him and the other on the canvas as her fingers flew. The bit of crayon she was using darkened her hands, and when she scratched her chest, it left three long black streaks on her breasts. It was amusing how lost she could be, and yet, adorable.
Adorable wasn’t a word he’d have used a decade ago with her in mind. Cute, maybe, but if she’d heard him he’d probably have wound up castrated. There was something so much more approachable about her. As if she’d lost a hard, outer shell. He liked her like this, even if the ghost of connection they’d felt still made his hands shake.
From across the room he could see the red crescents above her breast and on her shoulder where he’d bitten her. They’d bruise. She had scratches on her stomach and around her breasts. Worse than what he’d intended, but toward the end he’d been so wrapped up in her that his control had slipped. He shouldn’t have been as rough with her as he’d been, but she’d met him, even giving him a taste of his own medicine.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, but after a while she put the crayon down and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. Her breasts were two distracting points as she arched and twisted, completely unconcerned about her nudity.
He’d had her once and it wasn’t enough.
“Do I get to see it now?” he asked as she looked at him as more than a subject.
“What? No. I barely started.” She blinked at him.
“Come on, let me see.” He took a step into the room.
“No!” Renee stood, the blanket fell to the ground and she clutched the canvas, shielding her body.
“You said I could see it.” He couldn’t help grinning.
“I said you could see it when it’s done.”
Kit stopped a few feet away and put his hands on his hips. He pretended to scowl at her. Truth was, he had no intention of forcing her hand, but he loved watching her squirm.
“You tricked me,” he said, laying on the frown thick.
“I didn’t.” She glanced away from him, a sure tell she wasn’t being entirely honest. “It’s not my fault you didn’t ask when I thought I might be done with it.”
“Fine. But you’re going to owe me for making me wait.”
Renee bit her lower lip and winced. He took some minor pleasure in the knowledge that she was marked up and aware of him.
“What do you want?” she asked, tapping the toes of one foot on the floor.
“Hm.” He stroked his beard. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know. How about I back out of here and we get you cleaned up.”
“What?” She glanced down at herself and laughed. “Oh, yeah.”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Okay. You first.”
He took a few steps backward until he was in the hall. Only once he was over the threshold did she make a move toward the easel. She carefully set it on the stand and stood back, examining her piece.
She was either completely unaware of her nudity, or didn’t care. He figured it was a mixture of both. And damn, if she
wasn’t beautiful. The long hair had thrown him at first. He was so used to picturing her with the short, spiky style she’d had way back when they were just out of high school. Now it hung to the middle of her back in long, dark waves.
They were such different people now. She wasn’t what he thought she’d be. Hell, now that he’d reacquainted himself with her, he realized his fantasy version of her was flat, with no dimension except being a great tattoo artist and falling back in love with him. The Renee of now had spunk, stories and scars. She’d lived.
Renee stepped around her easel and toward him. He reached for her the moment she’d crossed through the door.
“I’m dirty,” she said.
“I like dirt.”
He pulled her to him, and she smiled. It did painful things to the heart he’d given her. There had to be some way to make her see that the industry she’d left wasn’t the same. And there was nothing keeping her in Baton Rouge except her determination to stay. How did he show her that a life with him, inking art and traveling, was a great idea?
She pushed up on tiptoes and buzzed his lips with a quick kiss. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Do you…want me to take you back to Mick’s?”
“Not unless you want me out of your hair.”
She flashed him a smile. “If you’re pulling my hair you can be all up in it.”
“That—can be arranged.”
Kit grabbed as much of her hair as he could, until he had a good hold, and positioned her head just so. He kissed her hard, pressing against her swollen bottom lip until she whimpered, yet her nails dug into his shoulders. Much more of this and there wouldn’t be any sleeping at all.
He let go of her hair and draped an arm around her waist. It was a tight fit down the hallway, but they made it across the little house.
“I’ll be just a second, okay?” she said over her shoulder as she pulled a clean towel out of the linen closet.
For a second he thought about joining her, but the old, claw foot tub was a little precarious. She closed the door, leaving him on his own. He listened to the start of the shower and turned to survey her domain. His towel still lay in the hall. He retraced their steps and grabbed it off the floor.
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