Serious Ink (19 page)

It just felt so good, the way he stroked her clit with his tongue, working her desire to a fever-pitch before he sealed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked. That sent her over the edge every time, and this was no exception.

He didn’t relent as her hips bucked, body coming alive beneath his hands. The pleasure that started in her core radiated out into the rest of her, white-hot, making her fingers and toes curl. When he moaned, mouth still fixed firmly against her pussy, the sound and rumbling vibrations combined to send her climax spiking even higher.

When she came crashing back down, she was gasping.

He rose from between her legs, climbing back onto the bed. His unzipped jeans sagged around his hips, exposing half of his cock, which was pinned flat against his belly by the waistband of his underwear, a hard length of flushed and veined flesh that stood out vibrantly against the black and grey of his enormous tattoo. As he reached for her, her gaze caught on the drop of come shining on the tip.

Everything inside her drew up again, shooting sharp little aftershocks of pleasure through her. God, he was hot. The time they’d spent apart had nearly killed her. The first time they’d slept together again after working things out, she’d fallen into his arms, practically crippled by desire.

Things hadn’t changed much, especially not with him looking like that. Reaching for him, she worked his clothing all the way off of his body, touching and stroking every bit of skin she could reach until he leaned away from her to retrieve a condom from his jeans pocket.

She took it from him and rolled it down over his hard cock. When it was on, she reached below, cradling his balls.

He moaned, leaning forward and capturing her with a hand against the small of her back, finally unhooking her bra and hastily tossing it aside. When her breasts were bare, he lowered his face to one of them, capturing a nipple between his lips.

The pull of his mouth against and around her aching flesh was exquisite. Her pussy became wet all over again as he sucked, tucking a hand between her legs and pushing a finger inside her, teasing.

That reminded her how much more she wanted – how much more of him she wanted to feel inside her. Rolling his balls in her hand, she touched the smooth skin behind them, stroking.

He raised his head, kissed her briefly but thoroughly on the mouth, and lowered her onto her back, settling between her thighs like he’d been made to fit there.

Maybe he had. It certainly felt that way as he flexed his hips, pressing the head of his dick inside her, then more and more, until they were hip-to-hip and groin-to-groin, as tightly together as a lock and key. The pressure of his thickness against her inner walls was perfect – enough to make her ache, in a good way.

And then she was losing her breath all over again as he rocked into her, stretching her already sensitive flesh with each stroke.

Her entire body prickled with pleasure as he ran a hand through her hair, tangling his fingers in her locks as he bent his neck, pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss that followed was deep and long, but didn’t disrupt the rhythm he maintained below. And when that rhythm pushed her to the edge again, she slid her hands down his back, fingertips skating over his skin until they reached the muscular surface of his ass and she dug her nails in.

Anchored to him that way, she could feel every subtlety in his movement, the tension in his muscles as he thrust. It doubled her pleasure as her climax swept and broke over her like a wave, washing coherent thought from her mind. In that moment, he was all that mattered.

“Fuck,” he said when she breathed his name, more out of compulsion than any other reason. Still, the reaction was nice. His voice was low and a little rough, sweet scraping music to her ears. “Zoe…”

She said his name again and he replied in kind, gathering her up in his arms, rocking harder into her.

As he came, she held onto him, nails buried in the cleft between his ass cheeks and his thighs, pussy clenching tight around his cock. Each stroke was deliberate – deep. They were using a condom, as always, but knowing he was coming inside her was still sexy as hell – intimate in a way that took her breath away. Of course, that particular side-effect also could’ve had to do with the fact that he was hitting just the right spot inside her, reviving the fading pleasure of her recent orgasm.

When he slowed and stilled, head bowed, his forehead almost touching hers, she sighed. Maybe it was time to talk about giving up condoms and switching to another method of protection. She liked the idea of sex being something they did with nothing between them, of feeling the hot rush of his come inside her. After all, they were serious.

He brushed a kiss against her temple as he withdrew, muscles shifting beneath the black and grey ink that covered his torso, emphasizing the light and shadows that fell across his body.

She rolled over and stretched, watching as he dressed quickly, pulling on his boxer briefs and hitching his jeans up around his hips.

“My roommates aren’t due back
that
soon,” she said, missing the sight of his naked body already.

“I’m not worried about them. If they’re really determined to come barging in here and see what we’ve been up to, so be it.” He glanced at the closed bedroom door, then tipped his head toward the bed, where she sat with her legs hanging over the side. “That was good, but I’m starving.”

She smirked. “All that cooking, and you didn’t even sample the food?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get over here. Wanted a taste of you more than I wanted a taste of my own crappy cooking.”

“Your cooking’s not crappy.”

“You only think that because you can’t eat gluten. You’ve been subjected to so many lame food options that your tastes have been altered and you think I’m some kind of chef.”

She kicked his t-shirt as he reached for it, and it flew up, hitting him softly across the face. “That’s not true. My standards have only been lowered when it comes to a few things, like bread. For the most part, they’re pretty high.”

 “Now I know you’re delusional. You’re with me – remember?”

He grinned, and she knew he was only teasing.

“You could have any guy you want, and you choose someone with no cooking skills and a tailless cat named Schubert.”

“You’re the only guy I want,” she said, rising and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Besides, Schubert is part of your charm. He’s how I knew I could trust you.”

“Yeah,” he replied, touching the side of her head lightly. “Crazy. Definitely.”

“I’d have to be, to date my boss.”

“Well, I’m glad you are. I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Neither would I.”

EPILOGUE

6 Months Later

“You look so beautiful.” Noah’s eyes lit up as he let his gaze travel up and down Zoe’s body, leaving no doubt in her mind as to what he was thinking.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, indulging in a few blissful seconds of admiring the way his suit was cut to flatter every inch of his lean, sculpted body. “But this is just a bridesmaid’s dress. It’s supposed to look understated next to the bride’s.” Despite her dress’ simple style and modest cut, he was staring at her like she was floating around the room in the most exquisite gown ever created.

“I like your dress better than the bride’s,” he stage-whispered. “It shows more leg.”

She glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then play-hit him on the arm. “Shhh. Paul and Britney will be here any second. If Paul hears you talking to me like that, he’ll rescind your wedding invitation and try to turn the dance floor into a fighting ring.”

Noah grinned. “I can take him.”

Zoe arched a brow. “You wouldn’t raise a fist against Elite East’s welterweight champion, would you? I think that’d generate some bad PR for the company.”

“I guess not, since it
is
his wedding day and all.”

A soft cheer rose up from the small crowd inside the reception hall as Paul and Britney entered the room, Paul in his traditional black tux and Britney draped in a confection of white lace. Finally, they were husband and wife.

Zoe turned in her seat, facing her father, who sat in a wheelchair beside the table. “What do you think, dad?” She grasped his hand. “This wedding has been a long time coming, huh?”

Her father didn’t say anything, and although the two strokes he’d survived had affected his facial muscles, she detected the ghost of a smile. Speechless or not, he looked sharp in a tailored suit, and Zoe could sense his happiness.

She smiled too, holding onto his hand as the newlyweds swept across the room and took their place at the center of the table. The wedding had been modest, and the reception was too: the only guests were close relatives and friends.

It was the nicest wedding Zoe had ever been to, a meaningful ceremony pared down to what and who really mattered.

The size of the wedding had been a matter of preference, but also of necessity: Paul was intensely busy training for his next fight – an engagement he’d landed after becoming the Elite East welterweight champion. There just hadn’t been time for a huge, elaborate wedding, and he and Britney had been tired of waiting. He was no longer searching for a day job between fights – a fact that made Zoe’s heart feel light every time she thought about it.

Of course, there was also the fact that a small wedding was an affordable wedding. Paul had used his winnings from the tournament to obliterate the family’s debt to Azalea Hall – a fact that felt more like a financial victory than a loss. Finally, the Ramsey family was back in the black, and things looked brighter than they had in a long time.

“Dad,” Zoe said as a member of the catering staff lowered plates onto the table, “I chose the salmon for you. I hope you don’t mind – I thought it’d be what you’d want.”

He looked down at his plate, then back up at Zoe. “It looks good. I’ll have to save room for cake.”

Zoe grinned, squeezing her dad’s hand. “Definitely do that. I heard it’s chocolate.”

Heat feathered through Zoe’s hair, warming her cheek as Noah leaned in. “I hope you know I’m prepared to heroically forego cake with you, as a testament to my love.”

She met his eyes, barely suppressing a smirk. “You don’t have to – it’s a gluten-free wedding cake. I plan to have a slice. Heck, probably two.”

His eyebrows crept high above his jade-green eyes. “Just remember that I was willing to make the sacrifice.”

“My hero,” she teased, sinking her fork into her entrée.

Noah nodded. “Anything for you.”

“I hope you mean that, because I’m going to ask you to dance.”

He leaned back in his chair, dropping his fork and donning a pained expression. “Anything but that.”

“Come on. I know you can move – good footwork is the foundation of stand-up fighting, right?” At least, that was what Paul was always saying.

“Yeah, but dancing with a beautiful woman isn’t exactly the same as trying to knock another man out cold.”

“We have to dance. There aren’t that many guests here, and Paul and Britney will be counting on us to join them on the dance floor to help get things going.”

After a few moments, he finally picked his fork back up. “Okay. But only because I figure we need the practice, since we’ll have to dance at our own wedding someday.”

“Will we?” A spark of pleasure flared to life inside her, although this wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned marriage, or forever. Actually, he was pretty fond of doing exactly that.

“Yeah. You didn’t think I had any intention of letting you get away, did you? ‘Cuz I don’t. Someday we’ll be the ones making other people feel pressured to dance awkwardly at our wedding.”

“Some people like dancing. I happen to be one of them.”

“Good. Like I said, our day is coming.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was brief but full of promise. “Consider today a practice run.”