I washed up and had just enough time to tug on a clean tank and thong and then climbed back into bed. I heard his footsteps. Excitement and relief washed through me. A small part of me feared he might have changed his mind, but my insecurity vanished the second his chiseled face appeared from the darkness.
His shirt hung open. He folded his arms across his chest and casually leaned against the wall, studying me like the MRI images he methodically memorized before each surgery.
“You moved?” His lips parted into a half grin, and he shook his head disapprovingly.
“You took too long.”
“You put clothes on.”
“You might need some new clothes.” I smiled.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
Speechless.
Chase dropped his arms, pushing the world’s now-sexiest shirt back to the floor. Before I formed a coherent thought after his last statement paralyzed me, he stripped. Naked. Effortlessly comfortable in his own skin. He stood there torturing me with his burning gaze. This man deserved his limitless confidence. His body was a work of erotic art. If there was a museum of hot bodies, he’d be the featured exhibit. I would have bought a lifetime membership.
Two strides later, the mattress dipped beside me to accommodate all of him. I felt so small in my own bed, so fragile. Strangely enough, I’d also never felt so safe.
Lying on his side he propped his head with his elbow, our faces inches apart. His hooded gaze was piercing. He began to stroke my arm, shoulder to elbow. His seductive tickle was blissful torture. Pure intimacy.
His rhythmic movement exposed the inked art that cascaded down the side of his ribs.
I’d never had an opinion either way when it came to tattoos. Plenty of the guys back home had them. Some were more appealing than others. It was almost a high school right of passage in my town. But what always fascinated me was not why people got them, but what they chose. The motivation behind the actual mark. Finding an image significant enough to warrant a permanent brand.
Chase’s tattoo was striking and beyond hot. Masculine, yet sensual. The sharp symbols were the color of midnight, a hard contrast to his bronzed skin. Each fine line sliced the contour of his chiseled physique. I longed to run my mouth down each character.
Without thought, I traced his etching. “What does it say?”
He didn’t respond. Instead he lifted my fitted tank over my head and returned to his tender ministrations. His focus adjusted to the edge of my sensitive breast.
“I thought we were going to talk.” My voice was breathless.
“We are talking. But don’t ask me not to touch you.” No objection there. His thumb brushed my taut nipple.
“Mmm.” My back arched, and my pulse raced in response. Every nerve in my body was ready to abandon the talking plan in favor of the fondling plan when Chase read my mind.
“Talk, baby. I can do both.”
“What happened last week? After we, um, kissed. You were ... different?”
“I fucked up. Period. I have no intention of letting it happen again.” He stroked my cheek and brushed his soft lips over mine. Intensity plagued his eyes again. “Do you trust me, Blue?”
Trust me. It was impossible he knew the enormity of what he asked. I spent years struggling to trust myself again. Suddenly I was torn. As much as I wanted an answer for his Jekyll and Hyde behavior, I’d rather not taint this tantalizing moment with my issues.
“Sorry handsome, I don’t trust that easily. You’ve got to work for it.” I flashed a cheeky smile hoping to lighten the mood and shut down Dr. Intensity for now.
“What did you have in mind?”
Ahh. Hello, Dr. Playful.
“Um. You didn’t answer my question, your tattoo. What does it mean?”
His answer was matter of fact. “First do no harm.”
“Are these Chinese or Japanese characters?” My fingertip memorized his ink.
“I do believe it’s my turn, but if you must know it’s neither. They are Romaji characters.
“Huh?” Oops. It slipped out.
He chuckled. “It’s Latin script applied to the Japanese language. There is no literal translation for first do no harm in Japanese.”
“Well hello, Dr. Know-it-All.” I giggled.
“Baby I’m gonna know a lot more before the night is over, including every inch of your body. Truth for truth.” He leaned down and sucked my hard nipple, reigniting my core. My thong dampened. God help me. I wondered how long I could last at this little game. I was so turned on. “What did you mean before when you said I never?”
Crap. Obviously not a beat-around-the-bush kind of guy. He turned his attention to my other breast. Not waiting for my response, he drew that nipple into his hot mouth, flicking the bud with his tongue.
“I’m waiting, Blue, tell me.” We weren’t having this conversation. He sucked harder and bit down. I moaned in ecstasy. “Truth. Tell me.”
“I couldn’t answer your question because, um, no one’s ever made me ... you know,” I panted.
“Never made you what? Say it, baby.”
“Come.” Holy shit. I said that out loud. Heat hit my cheeks. “I was only ever with my ex, and um, it never quite happened for me. I just thought I was one of those women who couldn’t get off from sex. Thankfully, you shot that theory to shit ... twice.” It was like he shot me with truth serum.
“What a selfish, fucking idiot.” His voice got angry. Oh, you have no idea. “Watching you come was the sexiest thing I have ever seen. His loss was my honor. I can’t wait to put that look back on your beautiful face and hear you scream my name again. I’m giving you advanced warning—you can retire your vibrator, baby, because I don’t share.”
Oh. My. God.
“I don’t ... actually ... have one.”
“Bullshit, baby. I just acquainted myself with your greedy pussy, there’s no way she’s been satisfied with your little fingers ... truth.”
Shoot me now.
“Okay. Fine. The shower head, okay?” The flame in my cheeks burned. “Can we stop talking about this?”
His lips turned up slightly.
“A shower head, huh? Don’t be embarrassed ... that’s fucking hot, baby. I’m hard just picturing it.” He rolled on top of me, supporting most of his weight on his arms and pushed his hard length into my stomach. It felt even bigger than before. Not possible. My fingertips explored every muscle of his rippled back as if it was Braille and held a secret message.
“Um, thanks, but it’s your turn ... embarrassing story.” I kissed his chin.
“First, that was selfish fuck-face’s embarrassing story, not yours. Understand?” he clipped, as if he was defending my honor.
What could I say to that? “Um. Thanks ... but it’s still your turn.”
“Okay. Is falling off stage embarrassing enough?” A small laugh escaped his lips. “When we were in high school, we were in a band. Mostly to piss the parents off. One weekend we did a gig in the village, a real dive of a club. The stage was a total piece of shit. Mid-riff, I tripped over a guitar pedal and fell flat on my face, right off the stage.”
The visual flashed in my mind and I chuckled. “Aw. Did you get hurt?”
He growled and sucked my ear. “Yeah, totally busted my ego.”
“Poor baby. Glad to see you made a full recovery with no long lasting effects.”