Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy #2)

by Carly Phillips

  He could hear her breathing increase, could feel her stomach muscles flutter against his palm in anticipation. He pressed his lips near her ear, his voice gruff as he spoke. “I’m going to slide my hand down to your soft, wet pussy and make you come,” he promised, and took her full-body shudder as permission to continue.

  When his long fingers dipped between her spread thighs and encountered how drenched she was, he had to bite back a ravaged growl. Her sex was so swollen, so slippery and hot, it only took a few strokes across her clit to push her to the edge of orgasm . . . and keep her there. With a cry of need, she moved her hips back and forth against his hand, her sexy little body frantically seeking release.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged without shame, panting hard. “Please don’t stop.”

  “You ready to come for me?” he breathed against her neck, his own cock pushing hard against her ass, aching to be right where his fingers were. Soon.

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse, frantic. “Yes.”

  Another direct, firm caress across that taut bundle of nerves and her entire body began to vibrate, and she exhaled on a low, helpless moan. A rush of moisture coated his fingers as she rolled her hips in tight, tempting circles against his hand and came on a soft, mewling cry of pleasure.

  Jesus Christ, he was dying. Dying with the excruciating need to get inside of her. Dying to feel her clench around his cock the next time she came. He had to have her now, he thought as he removed his hand from between her legs and quickly tore open the front of his jeans and shoved them down his thighs until his pulsing dick was freed. He withdrew the condom he had in his front pocket—yeah, he never left home without one, manwhore that he was—and with shaking fingers, he managed to roll it down his thick, solid erection.

  She’d remained in the same position, her hands braced against the wall, and he pushed her leather pants and panties down, just far enough that he had access to her soft, swollen pussy. He aligned their hips, guiding the sensitive head of his cock between her legs until he reached all that silky moisture and the entrance to her body. She pushed back against him eagerly, so impatient and greedy for him it made his head spin.

  As badly as he ached to ram inside of her and rut like a fucking beast, his conscience made him pause. He had to be sure their lust and desire was one hundred percent mutual. That she knew what she was doing, and with whom.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back so his mouth was right at her ear, trying his best to temper his impulsive need to dominate, even as he knew he’d probably fail because it was who and what he was at the core.

  “Tell me you want this,” he demanded gruffly. He needed to hear her say the words.

  “I want this,” she begged enthusiastically as she tipped her hips up, seeking the fullness of his shaft. “Fuck me. Please.”

  He slid his free hand around to her bare breast and flicked his finger against her taut nipple, making her gasp and her entire body jolt from the sting. Oh, yeah, she liked that. A lot.

  “How do you want it, Kitty-Kat?” he rasped.

  Her lips parted and her lashes fluttered shut, as if by doing so she’d be able to hide from his penetrating stare. “I need it hard,” she murmured. “Rough. Deep.”

  He smiled against her cheek. Thank God, because he wasn’t capable of slow and easy on a normal day, and just the feel of the slick folds of her pussy rubbing all over his engorged cock had him on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

  He didn’t wait another second to satisfy them both. With a merciless upward thrust, he slammed into Katrina, so hard that she lifted up on her toes to accommodate the way he drove his shaft in farther, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt. Their joint moans of pleasure mingled as her tempting body sucked his inside, her tight channel gripping him like a fist as he tried to withdraw a few inches so he could pound into her again and give them both the friction they craved.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped, whimpering and clawing at the wall as he started thrusting in earnest, pulling out and working himself back in with devastating precision.

  She moved in counterpoint to his unrelenting rhythm, grinding her hips back as he surged forward, shamelessly fucking herself on his cock and taking what she needed. It was the hottest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen or been on the receiving end of.

  Tightening his hands in her hair, he turned her head and covered her mouth with his, absorbing all those decadent sounds she made as he slid his tongue deep inside, kissing her as thoroughly as he was fucking her. Lust tunneled through his veins, along with a familiar flood of heat that told him he was on the verge of coming. This was usually where his mind shut down, his sole focus zeroing in on getting himself off and reaching for that adrenaline rush that came with his release, and the high that filled him in the aftermath.

  But there was no shutting out the overwhelming sensation of being wrapped so intimately around Katrina, of feeling connected to another person in ways that went beyond their physical joining. In ways that felt so damn good and so damn right. Like she’d been made for him, and no one else.

  He groaned and shuddered as his mouth continued to consume hers, even as his mind railed against the thoughts tumbling through his head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel so desperate and wild, and knew this driving hunger was unlike anything he’d ever felt with any other woman before. It was all Katrina. She destroyed his self-control, made him feel so crazed with the primitive urge to mark her and brand her as his so no other man would ever touch her.

  Mine. She’s all fucking mine.

  It was that last possessive thought, as well as Katrina moaning his name against his lips, that sent him right to that sharp edge of a monumental orgasm. Wanting her with him when he climaxed—something else he normally didn’t give a shit about but that mattered with her—he reached between her legs and rubbed her clit nice and hard. Just how he knew she needed it.

  Her body trembled as she came on a soft cry of pleasure, that heavenly pussy milking his dick, clenching and pulsing around him and triggering his own orgasm. The shocking climax ripped through him in the most sublime bliss he’d ever experienced, so intoxicating his vision blurred with the heated ecstasy coursing through every part of his body. Once he was completely spent, he collapsed against her backside with a replete groan. His weight pressed her into the wall as he breathed hard and tried to gain his bearings.

  Except as soon as he could think clearly, the first thing that popped into his head was, what the hell have I done?

  Every last bit of pleasure he’d just luxuriated in evaporated, replaced by a twist of unease coiling in his stomach. Fuck. He needed a moment to get his shit together, to gather his composure so he could deal with what they’d just done, even if the sexual frenzy had been two-sided.

  He gently pushed away from Katrina’s smaller body, but she didn’t move from where he’d pressed her against the wall. Not a good sign at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and escaped into the nearest bathroom, suspecting that she needed a moment to herself, as well.

  He took care of the condom, fastened his jeans, and washed his hands. He didn’t dare look in the mirror, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to face the asshole staring back, because despite Katrina’s participation, he knew he had no business messing around with her. And he’d done it anyway, because he’d been unable to control his goddamn dick and the overwhelming need to finally have what he’d coveted for so many years.

  The worst part? In his haste to bury himself in Katrina’s pussy, he’d taken her from behind like an animal. He’d missed out on looking into her eyes and watching her expression as she came all over his cock. And Jesus Christ, when had any of those things ever fucking mattered to him? Never.

  Instead, she could have imagined that it was anyone but him who’d been balls deep inside of her, and might have done just that. The realization chafed him raw, especially when he thought about the words she’d spoke
n to him in the throes of passion.

  I want this, she’d said. Not, I want you. She’d wanted the sex, but not him, specifically. Her reply was a pretty good indication that he could have been any random stranger he’d told her to hook up with before they’d arrived in Vegas. To get laid because she’d been too uptight.

  His hands shook as he dragged all ten fingers through his hair, hating the guilt and self-loathing that twisted in his gut. It was one thing to screw around with women who were in it for the same reasons he was and he didn’t have to face on a daily basis, and another thing to take advantage of his best friend and the one person in his life other than his brothers who meant everything to him.

  Jesus, he was such a selfish prick and a fuckup. So why would this situation be any different?

  Knowing he’d already spent way too much time in the bathroom, he went back out to the small living area in the suite and found Katrina right where he’d left her. She had her leather pants back up and secured, and she’d just finished retying the front of her corset top, her hair a wild tumble around her bare shoulders. She wouldn’t look at him, so it was difficult for Mason to get a read on her emotions, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the soft flush on her face that he’d put there, and those damp, swollen lips that he’d kissed and still tasted in his mouth.

  The awkward tension between them was nearly palpable. He’d engaged in what felt like a hundred one-night stands, but right now, with Katrina, he was completely out of his element. He struggled to find the words to make it right, if that was even possible.

  “Katrina, I—”

  She held up a hand and cut him off before he could say anything more and finally met his gaze. “Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it was, Mason,” she said, her tone even and indecipherable, as was her expression. “It was just sex, and we’re both consenting adults and went into it knowing what we were doing.”

  He’d heard everything she’d said, but his mind was still stuck on the it was just sex part of her spiel. Those words felt like a blow—not to his ego or pride, but because she appeared so indifferent when he was still trying to deal with the emotional fallout of what they’d done. And he fucking didn’t do emotional.

  She continued, seemingly oblivious to his turmoil. “The orgasms were great and just what I needed. Maybe now I won’t be so uptight,” she added with a too-strained smile before she walked the short distance to the door and opened it to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.”

  Then she was gone, and the quiet in his room was deafening, leaving him reeling with confusion and a big, fat what the hell?

  In the quiet minutes that passed after her departure, he came to a startling realization. This is what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a quick and dirty fuck.

  And he didn’t like it. Not one goddamn bit.

  * * *

  Katrina waited until she was locked inside of her own suite before she sagged back against the nearest wall and allowed herself to really process what had just happened with Mason. Amazing, mind-blowing sex, absolutely. But for her, she knew without a doubt that that one blistering, unforgettable encounter with Mason, her best friend, had forever altered the way she’d judge sex with any other man going forward.

  It was hard enough that she was in love with Mason and knew he didn’t reciprocate those romantic feelings, but now she had intimate knowledge of what it was like to experience the kind of exquisite pleasure she’d always craved. Fears and anxieties had always gotten in the way of her indulging in a relationship where she could give up sexual control to a man, which was why she’d always gravitated toward dating safe, nice guys who were equally safe, nice, and vanilla in the bedroom.

  Trusting Mason, however, just came naturally because he’d been a part of her life for so long. She knew he’d never cross the line and physically hurt her. If she so much as uttered the word stop, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d do so immediately, which was why she’d asked him—no, begged him, she thought as her cheeks heated at the memory—to take her hard and deep and rough. And oh, Lord, had he ever delivered on her request. That one encounter with Mason had been, by far, the hottest and most satisfying sexual experience of her life.

  Too bad it wasn’t going to happen again. Not only did Mason not do repeats, but she’d seen the panic etching his features after he’d come out of the bathroom, along with the guilt and regret in his gaze. The last thing she’d wanted him to do was apologize, or make excuses for his behavior, so she’d thanked Mason for the orgasms and reassured him that she was fully capable of treating their hookup like the casual encounter it had been.

  Yeah, that lie had been excruciatingly painful, but so necessary to protect her heart and emotions. As if such a thing were possible. Her heart was already engaged, now even more so. And her body was forever ruined for any other man.

  With a weary sigh, she pushed off the wall and headed toward the suite’s master bathroom. She had a long day tomorrow with pre-wedding activities with the girls and the ceremony in the afternoon. She needed a hot shower to help her relax, and then it was time for bed and sleep so she didn’t have dark circles under her eyes for the photographs. The last thing she needed was her friends asking her what was wrong. It was bad enough that she’d have to come up with an explanation for what had happened after Mason had hauled her out of the bar, caveman-style, over his shoulder.

  After stripping off all her clothes, she stepped into the shower and beneath the spray of water, letting it soak her hair and beat down on her back. Closing her eyes, she brushed her hand along the arm with the butterfly tattoos. Her fingers absently traced the many scars the design concealed, the old wounds a constant reminder of why she gravitated toward more passive men in her dating life. And why she’d been so careful with her sexual partners.

  Her childhood had been lousy and filled with emotional upheaval, with parents who had never truly loved each other—or her. Her father had filed for divorce when Katrina was thirteen and moved on with the woman he’d been having an affair with for the past few years, and had never looked back or stayed in touch with Katrina. At such a young age, she’d felt so alone and abandoned, especially when her mother had turned around and married the first man who showed her any interest—an auto mechanic who made Katrina feel uneasy from the day she’d met him. And she’d quickly learned why.

  While her mother had worked the evening shift as a clerk at a convenience store, Katrina was left alone with her new stepfather, and it didn’t take Owen long to show his true colors. He was intimidating in size, verbally abusive in a crude way, and made inappropriate sexual remarks that made her skin crawl. At thirteen, she’d been an early bloomer, and he’d blatantly leer at her breasts, which were hard to conceal during the summertime in ninety-degree heat and humidity. He’d deliberately brush up against her in ways that would accidentally cause him to improperly touch her—his word, not hers—so she’d always lock herself in her room and make herself scarce until her mother got home.

  The anxiety of being alone with Owen had escalated to the point that she’d finally told her mother what was happening, confiding in the one person she thought she could trust, who would believe her and make her feel safe. Instead, her mother had been skeptical, and when Carol Sands had reluctantly asked Owen about his behavior, the prick had turned everything around and told Carol that it was Katrina who was coming on to him. Her mother, who’d always been insecure when it came to men, had opted to believe Owen, and punished Katrina instead.

  She’d been devastated, and even now Katrina felt that awful, sickening feeling in her stomach when she remembered the smug look on Owen’s face, along with knowing her own mother had sealed Katrina’s fate.

  One night a few weeks later, Owen had been drinking, and when Katrina had quietly made her way to the kitchen for something to eat, he’d come up behind her and trapped her against the counter. And that’s when all her fears had become a horrific reality. In the next instant, he had one
hand squeezing hard on her breast and the other shoved between her legs while calling her a whore, slut, and tramp, and informing her she’d asked for this.

  Katrina shuddered at the terrifying memory as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest in the shower, letting the stream of water hit her shoulders and cascade down the rest of her body. At almost fourteen, she hadn’t been that strong, but with Owen’s reflexes not as quick from the alcohol he’d consumed, she’d managed to turn around to face him. When his hands went to the button on her shorts, she’d kneed him in the groin with every bit of strength she possessed, and he’d dropped to his knees in pain.

  She hadn’t stuck around to see what would happen next. She’d bolted out the front door and run in her bare feet down the street to a park—and had stayed there until morning, when she knew that Owen had gone to work. Her mother hadn’t even known that she was gone all night, and even though Katrina had felt violated and traumatized, she’d never said anything to her mother. Why bother when she wouldn’t believe her, anyway?

  Her self-mutilation had begun after that attack. Angry and hurting deep inside, she’d cut all along her left arm, from her shoulder to her wrist—a series of deep lacerations that had provided her only outlet for the emotional misery. The physical anguish of slicing her skin and watching her wound bleed had been a satisfying distraction to her internal torment. It had been her way to escape reality, and to be in control of what kind of pain she felt, when she couldn’t control what might happen beyond her locked bedroom door. No, she hadn’t understood her actions then, but she did now.

  Those were the scars that Mason knew about, the ones created before a gym teacher at school had seen them and gotten her the help she needed to control those destructive urges. The multitude of slice marks along the side of her left hip, however, was a result of a different attack that Mason had no idea had ever happened.