Sin and Ink, page 16
“Can you turn the lights—”
“No,” I interrupt her. “I want to see you.” Last night, all I’d had was the street lamp from outside Hakim’s house. Not enough to discover if freckles scattered other parts of her body or if the shadows had hidden anything else from me.
She glances down, to the side, at some point over my shoulder. Anywhere but me.
“What’s wrong, Eden?” An acidic burn sears the lining in my stomach as an insidious thought slides through my head, leaving a grimy trail that I can’t scrub free. Did she prefer the dark because she could pretend I was someone else? Or anyone else, other than her dead husband’s brother?
Or…Connor?
“I’m not Jenika. Or that girl in the bar. Or any of the women I’ve seen you with. The light kind of exposes that,” she murmurs, then releases a strained chuckle. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never had any issues with my body. I don’t know why…” She trails off, shaking her head.
I blink, understanding crashing into me. The hell. She couldn’t possibly have doubts about whether I’ll find her attractive. God, didn’t she know that to me, she was perfect?
No, how could she? Since meeting her, I’ve had to bury every emotion toward her except a false brotherly affection, and I’ve become accustomed to hiding. But damn, I haven’t been able to conceal my hunger or my dick around her lately. Still…
“You have that backward,” I say into the silence. Her gaze jerks from the wall behind me to my face. “None of those women are you.”
Her lips part, and she stares at me for several long seconds. A softness enters her eyes, and slowly, she lowers her arms. That signal of trust, of vulnerability, refuels the need inside me. The need to get my hands, mouth, dick on and in her.
“Take off your clothes,” I order, not bothering to tone down the harshness in the command. By now, she has to get who she’s invited into her bedroom, into her body. I’m not some gentleman or poet. I’m a rough, half-civilized fighter with zero pretty words.
Her response is to peel her shirt over her head, then pull down the zipper at her hip, and push her skirt down her legs, leaving her in only a pale-yellow bra. Goddamn. She never put her underwear back on. Are they still on the floor of my truck? Christ, I hope so. Then I’ll have a keepsake of this night.
“Go on,” I urge, and she obeys, popping the front clasp of her bra, and soon, that joins the rest of her clothing on the floor.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. A pagan goddess worthy of worship.
Her elegant neck slopes down to delicate shoulders and firm breasts with their dark brown nipples that fill my hands like they were created for them. With an adorable, slightly rounded belly and toned, lovely legs, she’s any man’s vision of a sensual, beautiful woman. And then there’s the softest pussy between those thighs…
The impulse to rush her and fall on her like a predator with its prey rides me hard. I want to take her in big, ravenous bites until this hunger for her is satisfied.
But another, stronger longing reverberates in me, propelling me forward, shoving me to my knees in front of her. My arms wrap around her, and I press my forehead to the smooth skin between her breasts. The musk from her recent orgasm intertwines with her natural scent, and if any company could bottle the fragrance, they would make a killing at any perfume counter. It’s sweet and alluring, a magical potion that in turns drives a man wild and makes him want to genuflect in awe and reverence.
And that’s what I am to her, though she has no idea.
A devotee.
A worshipper.
Some people might think I’m a goddamn pervert or crazier than a shithouse rat for wanting my brother’s wife. Some might even call it incestuous. But I don’t see it that way. Because in my screwed-up head, Eden was mine first. I saw her first. I claimed her even though Connor charmed her and eventually won her. So though I can’t ever have her for my own, I can at least take what is mine for a little while. Or maybe it’s all bullshit, and I’m desperate to find any way to justify fucking my dead brother’s wife.
For loving her.
Her hands tunnel through my hair and cradle my head. And that quick, lust amps up to compete with veneration. My hold on her tightens, and I turn my head, capture a nipple between my lips. A shudder shakes her, a moan drifting above my head. Her nails scratch my scalp, and I growl against her flesh, coiling my tongue around the stiff peak, and suck. She releases one of those sexy whimpers that have become my sexual currency, and I tug on the tip, grazing it lightly with my teeth before drawing on it again.
“Knox,” she whines, bending over me, pressing her cheek to the top of my head. “Oh God, please. I need…”
I already know what she needs. And switching to the other breast and licking the pebbled point, I ease a finger between her legs. Her hips buck against my hand, a cry tearing from her as I trace a circle around her clit. The rich scent of her arousal is thicker, and my mouth waters for a taste. Giving her nipple one last suck, I trail my lips down her stomach, pausing to dip inside her navel, then continuing down, nuzzling the thatch of damp curls, replacing my finger with my tongue.
Her choked scream is a symphony to my ears. But then I don’t hear anything but the dull roar in my ears as I tease and lap at that nerve-filled bundle of flesh. I groan into her sex, drowning in her flavor, the silken texture of her. I can’t help myself; I feast on her. Suckling her, stroking through her folds, nipping the swollen lips sticky with the evidence of her arousal, lowering my head to plunge my tongue inside her. I’m a starving man pulled up to a table heavy with every temptation he’s ever craved.
But I’m still hungry.
I slide a finger inside her, coating it in her wetness. I can’t resist a couple of heavy thrusts, my knuckles bumping against her folds. With a low cry, she widens her legs, granting my hand more room. But as much as I love being inside her, I want something else.
Following the path that connects her sex to her ass, I dip between her crease and lightly trace the tiny entrance there. She stiffens, her hands freezing on my head. But I don’t stop caressing her, letting her become accustomed to my touch on the place where I suspect no man has been.
“Knox?” she whispers, a quiver in her voice.
My answer is to rake my teeth over that pulsing nub and suck even as I drench my finger in her wet heat again and return to her ass. This time, I press, not entering but firmly resting my fingertip there.
Her hips roll against my mouth, a steady stream of mixed whimpers and muted screams escaping her. I don’t let up, tormenting her clit with my tongue, so when I do slip my finger into the constricted ring of muscle she only tenses up a little, and her cry of pleasure only contains a hint of pain.
I hold still, don’t slip any farther into the channel, but I don’t let up on her pussy. I tongue it hard, granting her no mercy. And as she emits a long, rumbling moan that has me throbbing, I push deeper into her.
She explodes.
She quakes against my face, riding it, her legs trembling, her torso curling over my shoulder. Between the clench of her ass, the pulsing of her clit, and her gasping sobs, I could come right here, kneeling on her bedroom floor, my face buried in the closest to heaven I’ll ever get near.
As her quaking ebbs into shivers, I finally lift my mouth from her, fighting the urge to dive back in, make her come again. And then again. Maybe she senses the struggle within me, because she weakly pushes at my head. I give in, but only because if I don’t get inside her, my dick might kill me.
I straighten, with Eden over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Crossing the short distance to the bed, I lay her on it. Her lashes flutter closed, her chest still rising and falling quickly, but her body is loose, relaxed.
Grabbing a fistful of my T-shirt, I jerk it over my head and drop it to the floor. My jeans and boxer briefs quickly join it, but not before I grab my wallet and remove several condoms and toss them on the bottom of the mattress. As I approach the bed, her eyes open and meet mine. A heat shimmers there, one that reflects the flames licking at me from the inside out. Wrapping my fingers around my length, I squeeze it, both easing and heightening the ache. My balls draw up, but I will the looming orgasm back from the crumbling edge.
I circle her slim ankle, then stroke my palm up the length of her leg until my fingertips graze the flesh I just devoured. Her breath catches, and her back arches, those beautiful breasts rising toward the ceiling. I tighten my grip on my flesh, the flash of pain clearing my head, shoving back the lust just enough that it keeps me from climbing on top of her, burying myself in her, and putting us both out of this beautiful misery.
Lifting a knee to the mattress, I lean over her, splaying my fingers over her stomach and gliding that hand up her abs, between her breasts, and around her throat, necklacing it. She stares at me, the fire in her chocolate gaze hotter, darker. And when I exert the slightest pressure, just the slightest, the flames are deeper. She likes it—the control, the hint of roughness, the dirtiness. Suddenly, my fist around my cock isn’t enough to hold back the conflagration of lust threatening to consume me. I need inside her, that slick, tight, wet, almost bruising embrace locked around me. Straightening, I grab a condom and make fast work of opening the wrapper and rolling the protection down my length.
“Roll over, baby,” I rasp, and with a grasp of her hip, I help her flip.
She goes to her hands and knees, that perfect ass in the air, the swollen, glistening folds visible and a lure to dive in and lose myself. The sudden longing to have all that beautiful, thick hair on my skin surges within me, and I loosen the strands from her top knot, growling as I twist my fist in them, savoring the silken caress
“Knox.” Eden glances over her shoulder. “Please. Fuck me.”
The request is gasoline poured over a ten-alarm fire. Scattering kisses down her spine, I circle the base of my cock, align it with the entrance to her pussy…and sink inside. Slowly. Steadily. Until I’m surrounded by her. Branded by her.
Owned by her.
For Eden, this is probably no more than a taboo scratching of an itch. For me, though. For me, it’s a gift—an unforeseen gift that I’ve done nothing to deserve, but am too hungry, too desperate to turn away. I clench my jaw to trap any wayward words—or confessions—from escaping as I pull free of her body, dragging through her muscular walls that clutch at me, as if trying to prevent me from leaving her. When only the head remains just inside her, I push back in, groaning.
Pleasure strikes at the base of my skull, sizzles down my spine, and culminates like an electrical storm in my balls. One stroke. One goddamn stroke, and I’m so ready to blow, I’m shaking with the need. It’s like bathing in fire while soaking in the coolest, most welcoming pool.
Her back arches, head thrown back, all that hair sticking to her damp skin. I should close my eyes, because looking at her will have me filling this condom with the next thrust. But I can’t. Not when I’m hoarding every second of this for when she’s again off-limits to me. When I’m alone, with only my hand and memories for company.
Abandoning her hair, I clasp her hips, and plunge deep. Over and over, I drive into her, savoring each plunge, each suck of her flesh releasing and welcoming me, each cry that breaks on her lips, each shudder that courses through her.
I shift my hands lower, cup her ass…spread the cheeks, exposing the tiny hole I teased earlier. Just like then, it lures me, and I want inside so fucking bad. Dipping a finger to where we’re connected, I slide it through her soaked folds, and draw the drenched tip around the entrance.
Unlike last time, I don’t wait, but slip inside. Again, she stills, tenses, pausing mid-stroke so only half of my stalk is buried inside her. Her harsh, loud pants echo in the room, and I continue to press forward, inching more and more of my finger in her ass.
“Relax, baby,” I murmur, damn near choking on the groan as I slowly fill the narrow channel. It’s so small, so tight, I would have to work to stretch it so she could take me. My hips jerk at the thought, shoving more of myself inside her. She keens, low and deep, and electrical charges trip through me, marching up and down my spine, lighting me up. “Relax and push back against my finger. You can take me, just like before.”
Her head drops forward, her hair a dark curtain over her shoulders and hanging around her face. She does as I instruct, shifting backward, taking my cock and my finger. Watching it, I’m like a horse with blinders, unable to look away, completely focused on the sight of me sinking into both entrances. Jesus, how could I have gone twenty-nine years and not experience such mind-numbing pleasure? Before, sex has been about the finish, the orgasm, the oblivion. But now? Now, it’s about the journey and the ending.
About Eden.
Flexing my hips, I thrust into her, and push the rest of my finger deep into her. Her scream rebounds off the walls, and the piercing sound shatters my control. I fill both parts of her again and again, riding both her pussy and ass hard. And she takes it, fucking craves it as she backs into me, harder, faster, her sobs damn near incoherent. Shifting my free hand from her hip, I sweep it down her lower belly and between her legs, seeking out and locating her clit. One stroke, two, over the bundle at the top of her sex, and her slick muscles clamp down on me.
“Fuck,” I growl just as she comes, shaking, crying, her walls rippling around me, milking me. I drop down over her, pressing my chest to her spine, my palms bracketing her head. My hips snap back and forth, pounding into her, taking, claiming…
The orgasm barrels through me, snatching the air from my lungs, goddamn blinding me. It’s pleasure, agony, ecstasy. An abyss that I catapult myself into like an Olympic diving champion…or a suicide jumper.
And as I sink to the mattress, my arms wrapped around this woman who I’ve craved and loved for five years, fuck if I can tell which one.
Chapter Eleven
Eden
I curl my legs under me on one of my dining room chairs, cradling a cup of coffee between my hands, warming them. At seven o’clock in the morning, the heat hasn’t started to rise yet, the chill of the night still clinging to the hours after dawn. The low murmur of voices from the television I turned on after leaving the bedroom an hour ago keeps me company, providing much-needed background noise.
Much-needed because it keeps me from tumbling down the rabbit-hole that is the man fast asleep in my bed.
Unable to stop myself, I glance in the direction of the hall and room that I just spent the last few hours becoming a woman I didn’t know existed. He drew something out of me—something a little scary, a little confusing, a whole hell of a lot exhilarating.
Maybe it’s because we’re fucking behind our family’s backs, and it’s wrong, forbidden, and taboo. Maybe it’s the fact that he ripped away my inhibitions. Allowed me to do anything I wanted, no matter how dirty, how out-of-my-perceived-character, knowing no judgment would come from Knox. I can be free with him in a way I could never be with anyone else.
Including Connor.
I rub a palm over my heart, the ache there as real as if a sore, pink, newly healed scar marred my skin. Maybe because of my youth, because it’d been my first real relationship, because of my insecurities with my past, I’d become who Connor wanted me to be. No, that’s not fair. I’d become who I believed he wanted me to be. His cheerleader, his support, the good, obedient wife whose only goal was to please him. Oh God, I loved him. I still do. And I would like to think as we grew older—as I matured from that nineteen-year-old girl who had seen too much in her life but was still so painfully naive and innocent—that we would’ve done so together, and he would’ve appreciated the woman I’m evolving into. We’ll never know.
It doesn’t change that in that bedroom, with Connor’s brother, I discovered a side of my sensuality that emboldened me, empowered me.
I don’t really know what to do with this woman.
I don’t really know what to do with the man who showed me I like a little bit of dominance and a lot of dirty.
Guilt crawls under my skin, a place where the hottest of showers can’t reach. How can I expect anyone else to accept what I did with Knox when I’m having the hardest time doing it? The sense of betrayal—that Knox unleashed a need in me that my own husband never had—snakes around my heart, slinks through my veins so even the coffee smells and tastes bitter in my nose, on my tongue.
Setting down the cup on the table, I rise from the chair and cross the floor to the window that looks out on the street. The cool air in the apartment slips under the T-shirt I’d grabbed and pulled on. His T-shirt. Part of me itches to jerk it off; wearing his clothing imbued with his scent is too intimate. But the same impulse that had me tugging it on in the first place stills my hands, an impulse I don’t understand and am too much of a coward to question.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
I jump at the gravel-rough rumble behind me. Jesus. I hadn’t even heard him walk into the room. Turning, I meet an emerald gaze still a little hazy with sleep. Knox first thing in the morning, fresh from bed is…sexy as hell. Hair tangled from a pillow as well as my fingers; full, kiss-swollen lips; thick scruff; hard, inked, bare chest and arms; jeans unzipped and hanging low on his slim hips. Hell, even his bare feet conjure thoughts of him naked and sweating, hips working as he drives into me, gifting me with orgasm after orgasm.
“I know how hard sleep is to come by for you,” I reply to his question, avoiding the power of his stare by ducking around his big frame and heading for the kitchen. “I wasn’t going to disturb you. Besides, it’s my morning to open the shop.” Knox and I trade off mornings opening since we’re often both there so late in the evening.
Plucking out the pod I used to brew my coffee, I replace it with a new one, and press the button to start a fresh cup.
“I needed to go to the gym,” he mutters.
I look up from the utterly fascinating process of coffee spouting into a mug to catch him tunnel his fingers through his hair, drawing it back from his face. God, the man is just beautiful. Everything masculine, sensual, and raw. Those cheekbones could cut glass like the purest diamond, and his mouth… Whew. The phantom caress of it over my breasts and inner thighs has my belly twisting with renewed desire.
