Written On His Skin

by Simone Stark

  “But we already—you already—”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, his finger moving in slow circles, slicking her clit with their combined wetness. “We did. I did. We should probably talk about that.”

  Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath. “I’ve never…without…”

  “Neither have I. And I haven’t been with anyone since my last medical all-clear,” he said, shocked at his calm. He hadn’t had a father. He’d never wanted another child to grow up without one. But her child…their child…there wasn’t a risk of that. He imagined her round with a child. A beautiful brown-eyed daughter. He wanted that little girl almost as much as he wanted her mother. His wife.

  His Abby.

  Always Abby.

  “I’m on the pill.”

  Smart girl. “Bon. Then you won’t have a problem with me going back for seconds.” He leaned down and sucked one of her outer lips into his mouth, using his tongue to stroke the soft inner wall as his finger played over her again and again and she bowed off the bed, crying out.

  “Roux!”

  “Mmmm.” She liked that, opening her thighs wider to give him more access. Unbelievable access. He pulled back to look at her, spread open and pink and beautiful. He had just been there, just come there—could still see the evidence—and she was still aching for him. “So beautiful,” he whispered, circling his finger in time to the way she circled her hips. He wondered if she knew she was doing it, guiding him. Begging him. “So wet. So perfect.”

  “Roux…” She keened his name and he lifted his finger from her clit. “Wait!” she cried. “No! Don’t!”

  “Greedy girl,” he said. “You want more.”

  “I do,” she said.

  “And?” He blew on her pretty little clit. “Do you believe that I want more, too?”

  She closed her eyes and threw her head back against the bed. “I—”

  He leaned forward and set the tip of his tongue to her…just the tip, right on the tip of her clit. Flicked once.

  “Roux!”

  “Do you believe that I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met?” Again, back and forth, quick, until she gasped.

  Christ, she tasted good.

  “Please!”

  He slid his finger down to her opening, where she was begging for him, sliding it in, gritting his teeth as she moaned and thrust up to meet him. “Do you believe you’re the woman who gets me hard? Who makes me ache? Who makes my mouth water? My heart beat?”

  “I—”

  He returned to suck on her clit.

  “Ohmigod.”

  “Tell me, Abby.” He sucked again. Flicked. Licked.

  “OhmigodyesIbelieveyou.” The words came in a flood.

  His breath was harsh against her. His voice like gravel. “Because you want me to make you come?”

  “Because I believe you and I want you to make me come.”

  He laughed at that, sliding a second finger into her just as hers tangled in his hair, clenching, guiding. He followed, rocking into the bed, his cock threatening to explode, and rewarding her with another little suck.

  “Please, Roux.”

  “Tell me.” He growled. “Command me.”

  “Do it,” she whispered. “Make me come.”

  “With fucking pleasure, cher.”

  And he did, settling in to feast on her slick sweetness, over and over, again and again, faster and faster, flicking and rubbing and licking in between long, rhythmic pulls that sent her wild beneath him. She held him to her, rocking against him, fucking his mouth and tongue and crying out, losing control. Relinquishing it to him. And then she came, tightening around his fingers where they slid into her, in and out, in and out, like a promise of what was to come.

  The taste of her—Jesus. Like nothing he’d ever imagined. It took all his control to keep from coming all over the fucking bed.

  He stayed there for long moments, keeping his tongue still and flat against her, his fingers slowing and gentling as she sobbed her pleasure and rocked against him and rode it until she couldn’t bear him anymore and she pulled his head up and away from her.

  And then it took all his control to keep from going in for round three of pussy licking. But she was trembling beneath him, and she needed a break. At least he thought she did. Until she whispered, her voice low and full of satisfaction, making him want to roar his triumph like a fucking lion, “Would you like to know what I thought about all that time you were thinking of me?”

  He came to lie next to her, running his fingers down her body, leaning in to give one beautiful, flushed, full tit a little lick. “It wasn’t that?”

  She laughed, the sound turning to a gasp as he found her nipple and began to suck. “No…I couldn’t have imagined what that would—” She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him to her.

  Roux didn’t think he could get harder, but the idea of her taking her pleasure—manipulating it from him—again—fuck, he was carved stone.

  And then she whispered, “I thought about making you come.”

  He froze. Harder than stone. Steel. Diamond.

  He lifted his head, finding her wild gaze. Desperate. Aching. Hot as hell.

  He shouldn’t ask. They had barely been together for an hour. He should take her to dinner. He should buy her flowers. He should try to be a gentleman. He could be a gentleman. “How did you make me come?”

  Apparently, he could not be a gentleman.

  She blushed, and his thoughts scrambled. He thrust against the soft skin of her belly, unable to stop himself. God he wanted inside her again. But not as much as he wanted her to answer his question.

  “Tell me.”

  And then the goddess beneath him smiled. “With my mouth.”

  Holy shit.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SHE’D STOLEN HIS BREATH.

  It seemed only fair, Abby thought, considering she’d been lightheaded since she found him on the porch, this god among men, who had walked into her house with his broad shoulders and his muscles for days and stolen her heart.

  I love you.

  She could still hear the words he’d said over the phone three weeks ago, the words he hadn’t said again. The words that shot fear through her then, when she was so worried he couldn’t love her. That he wouldn’t love her. That he wouldn’t want her.

  But now he stared at her with those gorgeous, fathomless brown eyes—those eyes that seemed to see her better than anyone else had ever seen her in her life. That seemed to see her better than she saw herself—and she knew he wanted her.

  So was it possible he might love her again?

  Maybe she could make him love her again.

  She could absolutely love him. She couldn’t imagine not loving him…his touch, his words, his gaze, his kiss. And that was before she got to exploring.

  She put her hands to his shoulders and pushed, rolling his back to the bed—he went easily, pulling her to him. Over him. “You’re gon’ ruin me, cher.”

  She smiled, feeling tremendously powerful, eager to flood the man she loved with pleasure, and she lifted herself up, sitting back, straddling him. “That’s the idea,” she said. “If you’ll let me try.”

  He gave a hoarse little laugh. “Please. My dreams come to life.”

  She nodded, a thread of nervousness shooting through her. “Will you tell me if…I do it wrong?”

  He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, almost a groan. “Impossible.”

  Believe him.

  She looked down at him, taking in his wide, broad chest, his ridged torso, the line of dark hair that led down, beneath her, to his cock. Hard once more. She couldn’t stop herself from wriggling against him. “Already?”

  He gritted his teeth and pressed up to her. “With the taste of you on my tongue? The feel of you on my skin? The way you look, rising up over me like a damn goddess? Always.”

  She sighed, his words sending a flush through her, pinkening her skin.

  He groaned, his big han
ds coming to her waist, running up to her breasts and back down, tracing her curves. She closed her eyes at the warmth of them, the fire they left in their wake. She wanted him to touch her forever.

  When she opened them once more, she touched him, setting her palms to the beautiful bronze skin of his chest, her mouth going dry at the feel of him. At the sight of him. Without looking up, she said, “First, I want to explore.”

  His pleasure came on a little grunt deep in his throat. “Be careful with me, béb. I’m not sure I can take this.”

  “You’ll have to tough it out, sergeant.” She traced a line of French text inked into his shoulder. “What does this say?”

  His gaze didn’t waver from her face. “Quarante mille ans. Forty thousand years.”

  She looked up at him, recognizing a line from one of her favorite books. “Thomas Wolfe.”

  Every moment is the fruit of forty thousand years.

  He nodded. “Every moment is fated.”

  She caught her breath. Then, unable to stop herself, asked, “Even this one?”

  He reached up, cupping her cheek, pulling her down for a kiss. “Especially this one.”

  She was lost in him for long moments, until she pulled back and they were both breathing hard. “You’re distracting me from my exploration.”

  He stacked his hands behind his head. “By all means. Explore.”

  Her gaze flickered over his beautiful arms, bent to reveal stunning biceps and long, corded forearms into which she had a surprising desire to sink her teeth. Had she ever wanted to bite someone? What was he doing to her?

  She sat up, trying to focus. Returned her attention to his chest, finding the entry point of the bullet she’d seen evidence of on his shoulder earlier. Running her fingers gently over it, her heart pounding, breath catching in her throat.

  He captured her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Hey.” He spoke to her fingertips, pressing kisses to them. “I’m here.”

  She nodded. He was safe. And hers.

  He set her hand to the tattoo beneath that long-healed wound. “Keep petting, cher,” he teased. “Your loup likes it.”

  Abby gave him what he wanted, exploring the list of geographical coordinates on one pec, and the beautiful black sparrow in wild, stunning flight on the other. She couldn’t resist sliding her thumbs over his flat, copper nipples, loving the way he sucked in his breath at her touch. She looked up. “You like that?”

  He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. His hooded gaze was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. He liked it.

  She leaned down, eager to see if he liked it when she licked him.

  And that’s when she saw the tattoo low on his ribs, another line of black text. This one in English. Familiar. Her handwriting.

  Always, Abby

  She caught her breath, sitting up straight, her fingers flying to the ink. She traced it. “Roux…” she whispered.

  “I told you,” he said, the words rough and perfect. “It’s you. Always.”

  She laid her hand flat over the words, covering them with her palm, digging her fingers into his warm skin, power thrumming through her, primitive and beyond amazing. He was marked. With her. “This is…incredible. You marked yourself. With me.”

  He took her hand and moved it up to where his heart beat strong in his chest. “You marked me first. Here.”

  And because she didn’t know what to say, she leaned down and kissed him, pressing her lips to the smooth patch of inked skin where her signature claimed him. He sucked in his breath at the touch, and he tightened beneath her hand, tempting her. She moved, licking over the ridged muscles, down to the place where they cut into a vee.

  It occurred to her that she’d been nervous about that vee, about what she was supposed to do with it when faced with it. And yet, in that moment, she did not hesitate. She knew exactly what to do. Sliding lower, she ran her open lips along that stunning ridge—loving the way his hand tangled in her hair at the promise of what she might do next.

  He didn’t move her. Barely touched her. But she knew he wanted to.

  She knew, because his cock was big and hard and straining for her. She rearranged herself, staring down at his length, stunned by the way her mouth watered as she considered it. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss just beneath the head, letting her breath wash over him.

  He bowed off the bed, his hips arching toward her. “Fuck, Abby.”

  Oh, he liked that.

  A bead of precome escaped, and she grinned up at him, finding his narrow gaze riveted to her. Without looking away, she darted her tongue out and licked that salty sweet drop from him.

  His eyes rolled back, lids sliding closed as he fisted his hand in her hair. “You’re going to kill me.”

  Considering how hot he was making her, she thought they might both die of pleasure. But she was willing to risk it. “Show me.”

  He shook his head. “You’re doing just fine by yourself, baby.”

  “Fine isn’t good enough,” she whispered, keeping her mouth right at the straining tip of him. “I want to be perfect.”

  She licked his head again, long and slow, until he groaned. “Holy shit, Abby. I don’t think I can…”

  “I have faith in you,” she whispered, loving the power she had over him. Loving the ache that was pooling between her legs…the immense pleasure it promised. Loving him. “Teach me, Roux. Teach me how to suck your cock.”

  She didn’t know where the words came from. Didn’t know who she’d become. Didn’t care, because he was transfixed by her and it made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. It made her feel like nothing ever had. And all she wanted was to give him pleasure.

  For a moment, she thought he’d refuse. Maybe she’d gone too far?

  And then he moved his free hand down his chest to where his cock lay hard and straight against his stomach, and he gripped it, holding it for her. “Put your pretty lips on it again, baby. Just like before.” She did. “Open your mouth. Lick it. Up over the top, over the slit. Can you taste me?”

  She moaned. He was delicious.

  And his words…she was going up in flames.

  “Now open that beautiful mouth, love. Open it and take me in. Slide me in…” His fingers clenched on her hair again. She rewarded him by closing her lips around him and sucking. “Ahh! Fuck, baby. Yes.” His hips came off the bed again, and she smiled around the width of him. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” She did. She sucked again and again, rhythmically, moving on him, up and down, up and down. “Ah…shit. Abby. Goddammit, yes. Like that. Just like that. You’re fucking perfect…a fucking goddess.”

  He was going wild and she loved it.

  She reached for him and he let her take hold, returning his hand to hers only once she’d wrapped her fingers around him, showing her how he liked it. When she reached for his testicles, stroking them just barely, he let out a hiss of pleasure.

  She released him. “Is this—”

  “Don’t stop,” he growled.

  She wouldn’t. She wanted to do this forever. She closed her hand around him, cradling him in her palm, tugging gently on him. “Like this?”

  “Fuck. Yes.”

  She licked up his shaft from the base to the tip and took him in her mouth again, letting him guide her, taking him deep again and again. Feeling powerful and beautiful and so completely desperate for him that she wasn’t sure how she’d survive it.

  He seemed to sense it. “Are you hot for me, baby?”

  She nodded, humming her reply against him.

  “Fuck, that feels good,” he bit out, before he added, “Are you wet for me?”

  Another nod.

  “Reach down and touch yourself. Put your fingers in your pretty pussy for me.”

  She shook her head. This was for him. He was supposed to come. It was his pleasure she wanted.

  “Abigail…” Her name came out on a rough command, and she looked up at him, taking in the hard angles of his face. �
�I wan’ you to rub your clit while you suck my cock. I wan’ you to come with your pretty lips sucking me off.” The filthy words rocketed through her, making her wild. And then he added, “Now, Abby.”

  She did, finding herself wet and desperate.

  “Is your clit hard for me?” She nodded. So hard. “Are you aching?” Another nod, a long suck. So much. He gritted his teeth. “Bon.” He was guiding her slowly up and down his cock, his gaze hard and hot on her, the words pouring out of him. “You’re so good at this, baby. So beautiful. That pretty mouth of yours is killing me, and knowing you’re touching yourself while you…”

  He trailed off, the words becoming a groan that she matched with her own, her fingers moving as fast as her tongue, painting pleasure over both of them.

  “Abby—” He bit out her name. “I’m gon’—”

  She was, too.

  And she did, moaning her pleasure as she sucked him with a frenzy she’d never felt before. She’d never wanted anything in her whole life more than she wanted him to come. And then he did, with a long, wild growl and a wicked curse, filling her with salt and sin. She swallowed him down, desperate for him, not wanting to let him go. Never wanting it to end.

  Until he dragged her into his arms, pulling her tight to him, and taking her mouth in a long, lush kiss that left her drugged. “I can taste myself on you,” he whispered, licking over her lips before he lifted her hand to his mouth and sucked on her fingers. “I can taste you on you.”

  She blushed at the words, turning her face into him even as her stomach dropped.

  “No, béb. No embarrassment. Because we’re gon’ do that again very, very soon.”

  She lifted her head and grinned. “Promise?”

  He laughed, the sound rolling deep and perfect against her. “Count on it.” He tucked her head beneath his chin, her ear to his warm, wide chest, where she could hear his heart thundering. She smiled, loving the proof of how well she’d loved him.

  His big hand slid over her back, warm and perfect, and she sighed.

  “Feel good?” he said, the words a low sound in his chest.

  She nodded, sleep coming. “Feel great.”

  That hand again. Up. Down. Holding her like a breath.