Lauren Hawkeye - Playing Dirty

Most men stripped themselves out of their clothes as fast as possible. She usually did the same, so she’d never found cause to complain. It had never even occurred to her that watching a man disrobe could be so hot.

Ford knew exactly what he was doing to her. He knew just how good he looked. And damn if the arrogance on his face wasn’t hot as hell.

He let his pants fall to the floor, kicking them to the side. He stood there completely naked, smirking as she looked her fill.

Yeah, he knew she liked what she saw.

“You look awfully pleased with yourself,” she managed to pant as she crawled backward on the bed. She swallowed hard when he placed one knee, then the other, on the bed. He closed the distance between them quickly, and she expected him to range his lean body out on top of hers. Instead he placed his hands on her shoulders, stroked them down to cup her breasts. She arched into the touch, rising up on her knees to offer herself to him.

“I’ve just made a sexy woman scream my name,” he replied, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples with a soft touch that only made her crave more. “What’s not to be pleased about?”

He caught her piercing in the fingers of one hand, rolling it. The pleasure snapped through her as he explored the silver bar, growling out a sound of pleasure that told her how much he liked it.

“I’m going to play with this more later,” he promised, dipping his head to run his tongue over the bar and her nipple in one slow lick. Then with swift movements, he released her breasts, sliding his hands down to her waist. Grasping the soft curves tightly, he rolled her, settling himself with his back to the headboard. Her knees were on either side of his, straddling his lap, and she gasped as her wet, swollen cleft pressed against his erection.

“I’ll be more pleased when you ride my cock.” His voice was low enough that she had to duck her head to hear him.

“I like the way you talk to me.” God, did she ever. It made her hotter, wetter than she could ever remember being.

Something sparked in the brown of those wraithlike eyes, and she responded to it. Lifting her arms, she looped them around his neck, and she watched as his stare tracked along the colorful ink that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

“Why have you chosen to mark yourself like this?” She stiffened for a moment, but there was no censure in his voice. Just curiosity. It made her relax. She truly didn’t care if other people didn’t like her ink, but it still pissed her off when they judged her for it.

Yes, she had tattoos. She also had a brain. A family. A business. The ink on her skin was just one small part of her.

Ford wasn’t judging her, though she’d bet her nonexistent funds that he’d never been so up close and personal with inked skin before.

“Two reasons.” Her voice was husky, and she paused to clear her throat. “First. My sister Amy is a tattoo artist. When she started getting into it, my sisters and I were all drawn toward marking things that are important to us on our skin. Claiming it, I guess.”

Releasing him with one hand, she trailed her newly free fingers over her oldest tattoo, which slithered across her left forearm. It read Music Soothes the Savage Beast. She’d gotten it at eighteen, when she’d been full of emotions she didn’t understand and the only thing that had assuaged them were the hours that she spent at the battered old piano in their house.

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