Losing Me, Finding You(62)

“Austin, I … that was despicable of me.” I jump when I hear him laugh, turning my face back quickly and slapping my hair across his bare chest. When he looks down at me, he's smiling.

“Shit,” he says, reaching up with a thumb and gently touching it to my swollen lower lip. “If I wasn't so damn worried about you, I'd be having a hoot and a holler right about now.” I blink at him and try to pretend I don't see his cock rising slowly to meet me.

“Really? You're not mad?”

“Mad?” he asks, crinkling his sandy brows up. “Why in the hell would I be mad? Don't you know, every man likes a good catfight.” I narrow my eyes when his face drops for a second. He's hiding something from me. “And hey, if you had any worries about being accepted by the group, you can forget about 'em now. I bet you'll have half of 'em trying to get into your pants tomorrow. A little tussle every once in awhile is good, builds character and respect.”

“But?” I say, wondering about the strange, silent way he came in and picked me up, leaving his friend on the floor with a shimmer of angry tears in her eyes. “Why did you grab me like that?”

It's Austin's turn to look away as he pulls me into the bathroom and pretends to be extremely interested in the temperature of the water. I cross my arms over my breasts and tell myself that I have no problem being naked in front of him, none whatsoever, that I am completely okay with this.

And then his brown eyes flicker back over to me and glide up and down my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. I continuously avoid looking at the area of his crotch.

“I had to make a point,” he says with a sigh. He smiles sadly. “That I wasn't into Mireya in a romantic way.”

I stare at him and my pulse starts to speed up the way it always seems to when he's around, pumping blood to my nipples and the area between my thighs, heating me up for the moment when Austin's skin makes contact with my own.

“But why pick me up? What does that mean?”

Austin doesn't answer me.

“Austin?”

“Hey,” he says, moving across the white tiles of the floor and holding his hands out like he wants to touch my arms. “Take it easy on Mireya, okay? She hasn't had the easiest time of it, you know?”

“But wh-” Austin cuts me off mid-word with a kiss that could melt mountains and burn skies, taking my arms in a bruising grip and pulling me hard against his chest, smashing my breasts against his taut flesh. A cry gets caught in my throat, pushed back by Austin's tongue, by his roving lips that don't seem to mind the blood on my skin, tasting me for all I'm worth. Only when he wraps his arms around me do I really feel the bruises that Mireya left and cringe.

Austin relaxes his arms and pulls his mouth back, just enough so that our lips our touching but only barely. And then he starts to move, sliding down slowly while encouraging me to take a few, careful steps back so that I'm leaning against the wall.

His hot breath touches my chin first and then singes its way down my neck, burning me with each press of his mouth against skin, each graze of his teeth. When he finds my breasts, he pays special attention to them, licking them first and then blowing gently across the skin to wake it up, leaving me a shivering, drooping mess.

“Austin,” I whisper, watching as the hot steam in the air moves along with my breath, floating away like a cloud in the sky.

“Shush, sugar, and just enjoy yourself.”

He drops to his knees and pushes my legs apart with his hands, dipping his head between my thighs and flicking his tongue across my sweet spot.

Pleasure incinerates me from the inside out, turning me into a melting puddle that wobbles and collapses back against the wall, so that I'm nearly in a seated position, held up solely by Austin's hands on my ass. My hand immediately grabs a handful of his soft, blonde hair and tangles in it, tugging it towards my bruised belly as he slides his warm, wet mouth down the gentle curl of hair and dips his tongue inside of me.

“I … I can't stand up,” I say, but Austin doesn't let me use that as an excuse, continuing his journey by pressing his face fully against me and nibbling lightly with his teeth, teasing my clit into an almost painful state that makes me realize how right all those girls in my books were: oral sex is a-ma-zing. He heckles my poor * until my eyes flutter shut and my head rolls to the side, consumed by the sensation of touch and the smell of his sweaty body in the enclosed space of the bathroom. Just when I start to feel that tickle at the base of my spine, the one that promises that la petite mort is not far off, he stops and has the audacity to chuckle against my most sensitive bits, sending a warm vibration through my core.

I perk up suddenly and press my hands against the wall to steady myself.

“How rude,” I whisper to him, watching as he rises up in front of me, moist with the steam from the shower, tattoos bright under the shimmer of water. He looks like he's been oiled up for a magazine shoot or something. Every muscle is standing to attention, straining against his skin and swearing to me that yes, he is as tough as he looks.

I reach out and flick my fingernails against a tattoo that I hadn't noticed before but can't believe that I ever missed. Three M's sit along his hip bone with one larger one in the center and two smaller ones on either side. It's done up in red and black ink and is quite striking against the tanned golden color of his skin.