Marked Men: Nash Part 10

It wasn't a question, it was more a plea, so I just hummed lightly against her trapped flesh until I felt the rest of her body start to respond. Her thighs trembled, her channel got damp and oh so welcoming, and I took that as an invitation to add my hands to the mix. I let go with one hand and trailed it around so I could stroke her, pet her, lick at her until she was tossing her head from side to side and I could see her hands curling into the sheets on the bed. It was the most beautifully unrestrained thing I had ever seen in my life. She tasted wild, she tasted special and slightly illicit, and I knew it was the best ten minutes any other person had ever given to me. Even if we didn't make it to the end this time, at least I got to see her like this, feel what I was doing to her and how much she liked it.

I felt the crest of her o.r.g.a.s.m roll over my tongue, felt her inner walls squeeze around my stroking fingers, and felt the tense muscles in her thighs go lax as she made a high-pitched sound in her throat and just sort of vibrated all around me. I gave her little nub one last hard flick with the tip of my tongue and rose up to my feet in one fluid motion.

I put my hands on either side of her hips and looked down at her replete form. Her stomach was fluttering with aftershocks, her pale skin glowed with a nice, rosy flush that I could see even in the dark, and her eyes were open, dazed and staring right at me. Yes, there were glossy tears in them, but they weren't falling and she didn't look half as sh.e.l.l-shocked as the last time we had tried to do this. She looked awed and slightly dumbfounded. My ego was thrilled with the results.

"Time's up, Saint. It's your call what happens from here."

She blinked slowly at me.

"It's not you getting me off that worried me in the first place, Nash. You already proved you could with very little effort. It's the other way around that makes me want to hyperventilate and run for the hills."

Her voice was barely a whisper and it squeezed something in my chest. She was so honeyed, so pretty, I didn't understand how she didn't just know any guy would bend over backward to get the opportunity to wors.h.i.+p her. Saint naked wasn't something any decent man would ever pa.s.s on the opportunity to appreciate with his hands, his mouth-with everything he had and then some.

"I don't know how to make you understand that isn't a possibility. Nothing about you could ever disappoint any man, Saint."

She sat up on the bed and quaked a little. She was looking me dead in the eye when she reached behind her and unclipped the bra she still had on. She was perfect. I mean really perfect, all full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, smooth skin, and perky pink nipples. She was just about my favorite thing I think I had ever managed to lay eyes on, and I didn't have a clue what to G.o.dd.a.m.n do with her.

She scooted to the edge of the bed so her legs were on either side of mine and she was face level with my stomach. She put her hands on my abs and started pus.h.i.+ng my s.h.i.+rt up. I grabbed it by the collar and ripped it off one-handed over my head. While I did that she tangled with my belt buckle. She glanced up at me and I could see her fingers were shaking again.

"Do you have anything? I don't keep protection on hand, because ... well, you can probably figure out why."

I wanted to laugh, but she was really close to my d.i.c.k and I was having a hard time keeping my thoughts in order.

I pulled out my wallet and tossed it on the bed next to her.

"In there." I felt like if I let her take the lead, this had less of a chance in ending with me having blue b.a.l.l.s and a lonely shower again.

She muttered something I didn't catch and trailed the tips of her fingers along the tips of the wings tattooed all along my sides and down across my front. The very tip of each wing ended right next to my crotch and had probably been the most miserable tattooing experience of my life. I thought she was going to stop when she reached the top of my boxers, but she didn't. She pulled them down, setting my c.o.c.k free, and traced the wings all the way down to where they stopped.

"Had to hurt." I didn't really want to talk, but if it set her at ease, I was going to force myself to do it.

"Like a b.i.t.c.h."

She put a finger on the PA where it decorated the tip of my erection and looked up at me.

"This, too?"

I snorted out a laugh. "The tattoo was worse."

"Ohhhhh ..." She trailed off and tentatively reached for the wallet so she could find the condom. I was waiting for her to call the whole thing off, antic.i.p.ating it, when she surprised me yet again.

"You're gorgeous, and really fun to look at. I think it gets even better when you start to lose your clothes."

I wasn't sure what to say to that and then I couldn't say anything because she wrapped her fist around the base of my straining d.i.c.k and gave it a firm squeeze. I swore and she looked up at me. I just shrugged and she did it again, which made a drop of pre-c.u.m pearl up at the tip. I didn't know how long my self-control was going to hold out while she was exploring everything I was working with. I wanted to tell her to just let go, that if she let me I could use it all to make her feel really good, but it was her show for now, so I just clicked my teeth shut on the inside of my cheek and let her brush the metal with her fingers and roll the barbell around. It was the most torturous show-and-tell I had ever endured.

I muttered her name, threaded my fingers in her endless miles of hair, and gripped her head hard enough that I could tilt her face up so she was looking at me and not at my straining c.o.c.k.

"Happy New Year, Saint."

Both her fiery eyebrows shot up and she looked at the digital clock that did indeed read midnight. She gave a little sigh and picked the condom up.

"Happy New Year, Nash."

She got the latex on just as efficiently as she had the last time and scooted back on the bed so that I could crawl up and over her. She wrapped her legs, still clad in those boots, up around my waist and I lifted up her hips so I could slide inside her in one long, smooth stroke. I wasn't wasting any more time. I felt like I had been waiting for this girl, this moment, forever.

I kept my eyes on her face and she did the same on mine. Her eyelids fluttered and her chest started to rise and fall where it was pressed tightly against mine, but she curled her hands around my biceps and lifted herself up a little higher, which made me groan. I bracketed my arms around her head when we finally got into a rhythm that worked for both of us and dropped down so I could kiss her slightly open mouth.

I was rocking into her fast and hard, partly because I didn't want to give her the opportunity to change her mind, but mostly because I had been dreaming about this for a week since she left me on Christmas and I couldn't stop. She was hot, she was tight, she pulsated and burned along me in a way that made pleasure coil and snap along my spine. I was desperate for her and I could feel the pleasure and want building back up inside of her. I was using my tongue in her mouth to mimic what I was doing to her with my body and her hands were getting tighter, the noises she was making in the back of her throat were getting more frantic, and I could feel her inner walls drag and pull against my d.i.c.k with greedy and needy movements.

I wanted to pry loose so I could get my mouth on those perfectly shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but there wasn't time. She gasped, moved her long legs up even higher along my sides, and I felt her break apart, felt something that defined this moment as something greater than anything else I had ever felt move across both of us, and I grunted, pulled her closer, and released everything that was consuming about her back into her. Maybe that would be the only way I could ever really show her that she was so much better than any self-doubt she might have. I'd never had an o.r.g.a.s.m that hollowed me out before, never come and right on the heels of the warm fuzzies that followed felt like it somehow mattered more than anything that had ever existed before.

I chanced a look at her face and her eyes were closed, but she had a soft smile on her lips. Even though there were indeed twin tracks of moisture trailing over her cheeks, she didn't look devastated or horrified like last time. Honestly, there was enough emotion pus.h.i.+ng at my chest I wasn't sure that my eyes weren't gla.s.sy and glazed over as well.

I felt compelled to ask, "All good?"

I levered up off of her, and when I pulled out, the drag of sensitized flesh against swollen folds made both of us groan a little.

She pried her eyes open and sat up. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and pulled one leg up to start working on those boots. Good Lord, she was going to kill me. All naked white skin, fire-colored hair, and s.e.xy-as-h.e.l.l black boots. I could die a happy man if that was the last image I got to take with me to the grave.

"Maybe next time we can try it without so many accessories in the way."

I chuckled because I was still mostly dressed from the waist down, had been both times, but really I wanted to shout in victory at the fact she was even joking about there being a next time and not showing me the door.

"Sounds like a plan."

She climbed off the other side of the bed and grabbed a robe that was hanging on the back of her closet door and flicked on the light. I blinked to get my eyes to adjust while she settled herself cross-legged in the center of the bed. She fiddled with the lapels and I remembered she mentioned not really liking to be naked. It was a shame, looking the way she did, she should never wear clothes.

"I wanna see the tattoo."

I brushed my hands over my head.

"I gotta take care of this first, and well ..." I sort of tossed my hands up. "It's huge, and if you want to see it all, I have to get all the way naked."

Now I could see her really blush.

"Bathroom's that way." She pointed in the direction we had stumbled in from. "I think my curiosity is greater than my embarra.s.sment might be at this point. I really do wanna see it."

I shrugged. "All right. I'll be right back."

I wasn't shy. I would've stripped for her right then and there, but as much as I needed a minute to figure out why I felt like my entire world was suddenly rotating on another axis entirely, I figured she could use the little breather as well.

I took care of the condom, ran some ice-cold water over the top of my head, and splashed my face. I looked the same when I gazed at myself in the mirror ... same eyes, same face, same piercings, same ink ... but something felt different.

I dropped the rest of my clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor after I shucked off my Vans. I picked it all up and trucked back to the bedroom. She was where I left her, sitting in the center of the bed playing with the ends of her hair. Jesus, she was going to kill me. She had also plugged her phone into the dock on her nightstand and the Kills were filling the room with moody rock and roll.

"It's a dragon."

I forgot I didn't have a s.h.i.+rt on when I had walked into the bathroom. I turned around so my back was to her and she could see the entire thing. I heard her quick intake of breath and the covers rustle as she moved across the bed.

"It is. Phil did it for me. We started the day I turned eighteen and finished it the day I turned twenty-one. It took over six hundred hours in the chair."

A lot of people had dragon tattoos. No one had a dragon tattoo like mine. It was done in a traditional j.a.panese style. The colors were all screaming hues of bold reds, greens, yellows, and golds all over my skin. The tail started on the top of my foot, it wound all the way around my calf, covered my thigh, took up one entire b.u.t.t cheek, the body twisted and turned across my spine until it reached my shoulder, where the fierce head was always watching me, the wings flared out, completely covered my sides, ran all along my ribs, and ended right next to my d.i.c.k, the talons were gripping each shoulder in fierce, clutching hands, and the fire it was breathing rolled over my collarbone on each side and danced up the back of my neck until it forked off and marked each side of my head over my ears.

It was ma.s.sive, had enough detail that it looked like it was going to fly away with me in its sharp claws at any second, and I knew enough about my chosen career field, the skill level involved in the piece, that the reason it was so spectacular was because Phil cared about me. I was more than his protege, more than his kid, I was his walking, talking legacy of an art form he had simply loved and honed over the years. My dragon was his Mona Lisa.

"It's so beautiful." Her hands lightly stroked over my spine, and up along the ridges of my shoulders. "It's so much more than just a tattoo."

Something lodged in my throat at the fact she understood that without being in the industry or me having to explain it to her.

"I was pretty messed up when I was younger. I didn't know what to do with it, so I did a bunch of dumb s.h.i.+t. Got arrested spray-painting a bridge, got into a brawl at one of Jet's shows and sent some kid to the ICU, tattooed a bunch of dumb, pointless c.r.a.p all over my body. Phil saw I was spiraling, tried to get me to stop it. He called me out and told me straight up I was acting like a toddler looking for attention from his mommy, which is exactly what I was doing."

I sighed as her hands trailed over the wings and skated lower across my a.s.s. She was petting the dragon, but it felt like she was trying to soothe me as well.

"He told me he would teach me how to do what he did. Tattooing always seemed like a cool thing to me, and when he offered to show me and Rule what art was really about and how to put all our feelings of being cast out to creative use, it was what stopped my free fall."

I shook my head at the memory and gave a wan grin. I had to grit my teeth because her soft hands had found their way to the front of me and there was only one place they could stop.

"One bargain I had to make with him in order to apprentice was no more s.h.i.+tty tattoo work. Phil wouldn't tolerate it if I was going to represent him and his shop. He told me I had to agree to let him and only him tattoo me until the apprentices.h.i.+p was up. I agreed and he started the back part of the dragon that day. Of course as we went along he let Rule get his licks in on my skin as he got better, but pretty much only Phil got to pound on me with a needle for years. This was the result. He said I needed something strong, something that reminded me that people always had my back and would protect me from those that wanted to hurt me. He knew I had a rough time with my mom, so he was trying to make me feel less alone."

My voice trailed off as her hands moved up my chest, across my collarbone, and to my head.

Her voice was quiet when she asked, "Why up here?"

"I was never going to be a cubicle kind of guy or a kindergarten teacher. I wanted something that really solidified the idea that I was doing my own thing and that my mom's approval or lack thereof wasn't something I needed to work on getting anymore. When you tattoo your head, or your face, even your neck and hands, it makes a statement. It clearly defines that this is a choice not a fas.h.i.+on accessory. I was pretty used to getting looked down on, getting torn up at home, so having strangers and the general public gape at my ink never bothered me. Plus it's a great conversation starter. I get asked everywhere I go about it, so I just hand them a business card and tell them to swing by the shop. I can't count how many new clients it's gotten me. If I grow my hair out you can't even tell it's there, which is why the fire the dragon is breathing goes over my shoulders as well."

"It's amazing. Really beautiful."

I turned around and put my arms around her. She was on her knees on the bed, so we were almost on the same level. I kissed her stunned mouth. She tasted like s.e.x and mystery.

"So are you."

She didn't say anything and I saw her flush. She never said anything when I told her how attractive she was. Most chicks ate it up with a spoon, tried to play coy, but Saint just ignored it like I never spoke. I wasn't sure what to do with that. I wasn't trying to flatter her, to lure her to bed. I was just telling her the truth.

I brushed my thumb over the owl tattoo she had on her collarbone. She had another one on her hip where her underwear normally covered it, a small cross, and on her back right between her shoulder blades was a traditional Catholic saint depicted in all its detailed grandeur.

"These are all well done, and I can guess they have a lot of personal meaning behind them. I can always tell."

She lifted an eyebrow and put her arms around my neck as I leaned over and took her back to the bed with me stretched out on top of her.

"How can you tell?"

"They're in places no one can see but you. They aren't flash designs off the wall, and even though they are all pretty tiny they have a lot of detail." A tiny smile flirted with her mouth. "The owl is for wisdom, I bet; the saint, your name?"

She shook her head, and the way we pressed against each other I could feel her body start to soften and melt into the pressure of my much bigger frame. I liked the way my dark skin contrasted so vividly against her much paler skin tone.

"Saint Agnes, patron saint of nurses. My sister is Faith, so that's the cross, and the owl ..." She ran her finger over the tip of my nose. "You got it. They don't have anything on the stuff you've got, but I've always been happy with them."

I worked a hand between the two of us and started to untie the knot at her waist. The lights were still on, so I wasn't sure how far she was going to let me go before getting shy on me again. h.e.l.l, I was counting my blessings she hadn't kicked me out the front door after the first ten minutes were up.

"Body art isn't a contest. The only person that has to like it is the person stuck with it for the rest of their life. As long as you love it when you see it, that's all that matters."

I rubbed my thumb over the cross when her robe slid open.

"I had a girl artist do it. She was nice and made me feel really comfortable. You are the only other person who has ever seen it."

I was kissing her on the side of the neck, drawing a lazy pattern on her hip with the tips of my fingers, but her words made me still. She told me I was the only guy to ever get her off, but I didn't really think about that translating into the fact that she hadn't been with very many men. It made the world tilt back on that parallel axis again. I loved the idea of being the only guy who got to see her special markings, the only guy who got to make her feel special and good in a way only great s.e.x could.

"Thank you. That matters, Saint, I hope you know that."

I ran my tongue along her collarbone and down the center of her chest. I was surprised she hadn't asked me to stop or at least hit the lights. But she was rolling with it and I had another condom somewhere in my wallet, so why not see how far she would let me go? She was so soft and lush, not at all stick-figure skinny but a handful of curves and warm flesh. She did indeed have a very light dusting of freckles that crossed the top of both b.r.e.a.s.t.s and I wasn't surprised at all when I pulled her turgid nipple into my mouth that she tasted like velvet and candy on my tongue. I rolled one and then the other pink tip across my tongue, leaving them both s.h.i.+ny and pointy while her eyes had gotten darker and heavy-lidded.

"Whaddaya say, Saint? Wanna give me another ten minutes?"

She gazed up at me like she was trying to figure something out. There was confusion, but more than that, on her face and her eyes had darkened to a cool shade of slate.

"Who are you, Nash Donovan?"

I gave her the most honest answer I could to that question. "Sometimes I don't know, but most of the time what you see is what you get, Saint. I know you think I was once someone else, but I'm telling you I was never that guy. I'm not saying I was great or even likable back then, but I wasn't whatever it is you think I was."

She didn't say anything for a long minute and we just watched each other. I thought she was going to ask me to get dressed and leave, but to my surprise she wrapped her legs up around me and whispered in my ear.

"Ten minutes was your idea, Nash, I'm willing to give you all night."

Well, with permission like that, I was going to see exactly what I could cook up before she either pa.s.sed out from exhaustion or asked me to go.

I had never looked forward to a challenge more and I refused to wonder if one night or any number of minutes would be enough with this girl. She was something different. It radiated out of her, and I wasn't sure I was anything special or a guy lucky enough to be the one to grab on to it.

CHAPTER 10.

Saint

I didn't have time to get weirded out that Nash spent the night, or to sit back and evaluate all the things I let him do to me, or all things I had been bold enough to do to him. I don't know where any of those typical fears and uncertainties that normally strangled me when it came to s.e.x had gone, but when my phone went off before six in the morning on New Year's Day, I was still very much naked and very much wrapped deliciously around a very large and naked man. There was no time to freak out, because the hospital was the number calling, and when it came to work, that was my first priority, and not all the tattooed and toned skin that stretched across Nash's back, even as tempting and alluring as it might be.

Sunny was upset. Two different staff members had called off, and not only did she have to go in and cover one of the s.h.i.+fts but she needed me to go in as well. I was scheduled to work that night, so it meant being at the hospital all day, which sounded awful considering Nash had kept me up well into the early hours of the morning, but it offered me an easy way out of dealing with the day-after awkwardness, so I readily agreed.

When I got off the phone he lumbered sleepily to his feet, got dressed without giving me any kind of guilt trip or ha.s.sle, gave me a quick kiss on the mouth, and told me to give him a call when I got a chance. He left without any kind of interrogation, any kind of uncomfortable dance around the topic of are-we-or-are-we-not-doing-this-again. He left the ball firmly in my court and made it clear that it was entirely up to me if I wanted to keep it in play or not. He put me in charge, which wasn't something I was used to outside of my career, and I had to admit the power of it, the choice being mine, made the entire situation with him easier to get my head around. It also made the fact that I was well on my way to admitting I had to forgive him for past sins the only option if I was going to move forward with whatever it was we were now doing with each other.