Rogue (Dead Man's Ink, #2)(29)
“You want to scribble messy equations all over my body?”
When he opens his mouth, he’s switched on the Alabama charm. “Why, I’m a tattoo artist. I ain’t never made a mess on nobody’s skin. And I sure as hell ain’t ever scribbled on anyone, either. Now, please be so kind as to oblige me while I create a work of art on your already perfect body, darlin’.”
The southern accent has always made me cringe, but when Rebel speaks slow and deep the way he just did, I find myself reacting very differently. Very differently indeed. I want to press my knees together again, to stem the building need I’m experiencing, but I can’t because he’s still kneeling in between my legs.
I am frozen marble as he takes the tip of the sharpie and begins to slowly draw on my hipbone. From there, he travels upward toward my belly button in an arcing beautiful cursive that incorporates long, sweeping blue lines and curlicues that dip down low onto my stomach. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time. I feel every hot breath he takes as he works over me, frowning in concentration.
I have no idea what true values the numbers or shapes represent as he marks them onto me, but he was right; this isn’t a scribble, and it’s sure as hell not messy. It’s remarkable. He works for another fifteen minutes, his movements becoming slower, more considered, as the seconds tick by. My nerve endings jump every time tip of the pen makes contact. My heart races a little faster every time he exhales over the expanse of my bare skin. Eventually, I realize he’s noticed my involuntary reactions and he’s taking his time with me on purpose, drawing this out, making it last longer.
His pen travels down, down, down, and I clear my throat. When he looks up, his face is already lit with a savage grin that I haven’t been able to see until now. “Little uncomfortable?” he asks.
“Just wondering if you’re going to color me in entirely is all.”
He laughs again. “I think you’d look great as a smurf. I’ve only just discovered how hot it is to watch you jump and squirm when I do this. It’s made my cock rock solid, Soph. All I can think about is how beautiful you’d look if I were tattooing you for real and this was a gun in my hand. I think watching you writhe around while you were getting inked would have me coming in a heart beat.”
A cold, strange shudder runs through my body—half dread, half excitement. There were lots of girls at school who had tattoos all over their bodies, some of which were real works of art. I never looked at them and thought, ‘yeah, that’s me,’ though. I never planned out what I would look like if I were to have some serious ink going on. It never even crossed my mind, mainly because I knew what my father would say if I came home with a tattoo. He’d lose his freaking mind.
“I’m not letting you tattoo me,” I tell him. “No way in hell.”
“Why?” Rebel puts the cap back on the pen and tosses it over his shoulder, looking devious. “Afraid?”
“Is this the part where you tell me I’m a chicken and it wouldn’t hurt?”
“Oh, no. It can hurt like a bitch, sugar.” Slowly, he ducks down and licks the skin just above my belly button, never taking his eyes off me. “It’s just that some pleasures are worth the pain. You wouldn’t know about that, I’m sure. I’ll show you if you like?”
I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him now. I think he can see that in my eyes, because he smiles. “Are you wet yet, Sophia?” he whispers. “If you’re not ready for me, I can always color you in some more.”
I nod, struggling to keep my hands still beside me. It’s as though they have a mind of their own. I want to touch him. I want to bury my hands in his hair. I want to trace my fingers over the deep purple bruises on his chest, and then I want to gently kiss both of them. I imagine what his skin would taste like if I licked him the same way he just licked me, and my hands curl into fists. “No more coloring,” I whisper.
“As you wish.” Rebel kisses my body, sending wave after wave of pleasure soaring through me as he moves from the very start of the equation he’s just drawn on my hip, up, up, up my ribcage, until he reaches my left breast. It’s far from cold in the cabin, but my nipples have tightened to almost painful proportions already. It’s cruel, cruel torture when he takes my nipple into his mouth and gently sucks, trailing his tongue over my sensitive flesh, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh…oh my god.”
He sucks harder, and my back arches off the bed, curving into his body. I can feel how badly he wants me now. I’ve already seen how big he’s gotten but to feel his erection digging into my belly makes this whole situation seem more…I don’t know. Surreal in some ways? Because this isn’t me. I’m not the girl who grinds her hips up against a guy I barely know as he teases my nipples with his fingers and his mouth.
Rebel palms my right breast with his free hand, kneading lightly, breathing hard down his nose. Every single muscle in his body is tight and tense as he slowly starts to rock against me, pressing his cock against my *, creating the most amazing friction. I forget I’m meant to be a timid mouse in this situation.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. Rebel groans as he continues to grind his body against mine, and the sound of his pleasure sends a sharp, demanding shockwave of need through me. I want to hear him make that sound again. I want him to be inside me when he does. My hands are working quickly, then, pulling at the waistband of his boxers.