Tattooed Moon (18 page)

She reached for her sweater, and pulled it over her head. He followed suit, tossing his shirt to the side. Soon, his jeans followed…then, she just stood there, staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“Oh my God, you are
covered
in tattoos, Julian!” she blurted as she scanned his body. “And…they are beautiful! I’m…I’m sorry for screaming like that. I just never thought—”

“That you could find something like this sexy, right?” He nodded. He knew from the very first moment he laid eyes on her that they were different, but they had enough in common to cling to one another. He understood that his naked form was not something one would see every day. From his broad chest, down to right above his knees, Julian was a walking work of art. Most of the tattoos were devoid of color—simply rich, black ink against his skin, designs by illustrious tattoo artists from around the damn world. He took great pride in his body, and it was something he’d give away to the woman he was without a doubt falling in love with…

“Everything on my body, and inside of it, has purpose, meaning. Now, climb onto the bed. Sit in the middle of it with your legs crossed. I’ll join you in a second.” She did as told, then he briefly left her to bring the crystal, a long dark Eagle feather, a bag of sage and a lighter from the kitchen. He walked around the room, lighting the majority of the red candles he had placed about, then put a little ambient lounge music on.

“You like that?” he asked as he scratched behind his neck, under wisps of his hair that he’d pulled up in his signature sloppy bun.

“Yeah, that’s nice…” she said a bit timidly.

Her soft tone only turned him on further. Despite her apparent shyness, he knew that below that surface, he was about to take control of a very naughty woman and it pleased him deep within. He didn’t care if Milan was a bad girl, as long as it was only with
him…

Sitting in front of her, he mirrored her expression and set about preparing her for something he trusted she wouldn’t soon forget…

‡

M
ilan tried not
to stare, but it was no use. The man was stunning and the way his thick, long cock constricted against his dark gray boxer briefs made her pussy scream, ‘Lord have mercy!’

It had been a while; she felt compelled to tell him so. For days, she daydreamed about fucking him, and now, the dream was coming to fruition. Their mutual sexual attraction stood at its breaking point. She had to have him.

“I haven’t had sex in about a year,” she admitted, feeling like a fool once it rolled off her tongue, but she needed to warn the man to take it easy and not judge her rustiness too harshly. She thought of herself as a good lover, but everything takes practice and she’d been out of the loop.

“Oh…okay. It’s not an issue, baby.” His head down, he kept one hand on each knee, his legs crisscrossed, as if about to do meditation.

“Well, I just thought that would be something you’d like to know.”

“Okay…well, now I know.” He shot her a dark, lopsided smile—all knowing. The shit made her tingle. How could a man appear so caring, yet so dangerous at the same time?

“I want the same things that you do.” He caressed her knee ever so slowly with his index finger. “Right now, at this moment, I am addressing my needs and desires. Desires change; needs don’t, however. What I
need
in my life is a committed, monogamous relationship with someone who is a giver and receiver.”

She had never, in her twenty-seven years on the planet, heard a man say such things before a romp in the hay. Julian was blowing her fucking mind. It was like a slow torture, the way he spoke so leisurely. His touch, caring yet devastating and heated with desire. She drifted her gaze down to his dick again; the damn thing pushed like a snake against the fibers of his underwear. A line of downy, dark pubic hair started from his navel until it disappeared behind the material. If he had what she surmised, she was in for a real treat…

“I see a beautiful woman before me,” he continued. “Her skin is the color of a prairie sunset, or even more accurate, a flower pot…the old fashioned kind that is baked out in the sun.”

She grinned and looked down into her lap.

“I desire to touch her, to be deeply inside of her. I
need
to be with her. You see, all of the things you and I wrestle about—the astrology, numerology, reflexology, all those ‘ologies’, aside—there is one component that we agree on…and that’s love.”

“Yes, I concur completely.” She sighed as he continued to trace her flesh, slowly trailing his finger up her inner thigh.

“Love is simple, it’s not complicated. Case in point…” He cleared his throat. “The very first time I saw you walk into my shop, I looked at you and thought, ‘Wow, she’s really attractive.’ From physical attraction grows soul attraction. I found myself attracted to who you were.” He pointed at her heart.

“Because you were sharing with me, and they were things I could understand, agree with and relate to. They were personal things, words you hadn’t expressed, for whatever reason, quite that way, with anyone else. I was given those lyrics from your heart, as if they were a gift. And, they were a present, from you to me. You were wounded, we all are, but you were surviving, and that’s…that’s powerful.” He looked deeply into her eyes, pulling her into his web of mysteries, making every cell in her body jump. “Your suffering drew me to you. Your overcoming of such conditions is what makes me fall in love with you. From the top of your onyx-colored hair, to your cappuccino-colored eyes…” He traced the short bridge of her nose. “Down to your cute little nose, past your cupid’s bow, to those sweet, plump, naturally rose-colored lips, you are magnificent.”

She searched for the honesty in his eyes, for an inkling that she was possibly being misled. She knew the artist in him compelled him to say such beautiful things. He was a creator after all. His baby blues gleamed bright with sincere alertness, taunting her as she tried to talk herself out of the truth. The present was real, tangible. Her cheeks—her entire body—grew warm with the pleasure of his words, with the heat of his intense stare upon her partially covered temple.

She uncrossed her legs and brought her knee up to her chin, cradling it close like a favorite baby doll.

“Now, sit back.” His voice grew more serious, dripping with base like a damn subwoofer. That vocal energy that had lulled her into an easy trance was now gone as he sat back in his natural form, done with the lullabies. “Now, I want you to monitor your breathing. I want you to breath in and out, slowly…slowly… that’s good.”

She focused on him as he reached over to the side and picked up the pink crystal. As she sat there breathing, controlling her exhales and inhales, he took the tip of the large, pencil shaped gem and tapped it gently on her collar bone. It felt cool and smooth to the touch. He ran the thing slowly down her neck, back up and over one of her breasts, then back down until he’d reached her hips.

“I want you to fall into a memory, something pleasant. Something that makes you feel like you could almost float away. It could be the first time you went to the beach, the first time you fell in love; anything that is a pleasant memory, that brings you great joy will do.”

She searched her mind for such an account, but was left temporarily distracted by the man’s thick, dark lashes that masked his shimmering blue eyes as his face hovered above hers. The faint scent of cinnamon surrounded her. His skin glistened with what she assumed was oil, yet he didn’t feel slick to the touch. His face appeared practically flawless…

Damn, he is so fuckin’ sexy…

“Are you focusing?” He seized her out of her ornery deliberations, brought her back to the here and now.

“No…but I am now.”

He continued to trace the crystal up and down her body, and it never seemed to warm to match her body heat. Instead, it kept her mindful of its cool presence as he continued on the path, detailing her body as if she were a sculpture. So lulled into a pleasant trance, she fell into the recesses of her mind and plucked a memory like the petal of a golden rose, and brought it to her nostril for a hearty sniff…

She was sitting on her father’s lap in their living room. The television was on—the ‘Cosby Show.’ She was no more than six. While Dad hummed to her, Mom was cooking dinner. The smell of the food took her on a trip, for it was her favorite: spaghetti and meatballs. Mom had a special way of making it, and she always looked forward it…

The oddest thing occurred at that moment in time. It was as if she could really smell it. Suddenly, the scent of fresh herbs…pungent oregano and fragrant parsley got so powerful around her that she could almost
taste
them; even the garlic bread baking inside of the old oven.

The sounds grew louder, the sensations sharper. The television…Dad’s humming…the clicking and clacking of spoons inside of pots. Her bouncing lightly on Dad’s knee…

Milan gasped when Julian touched a feather across her shoulders. He went back and forth, but it was hard for her to keep her damn eyes open.

“It’s getting good to you now,” he whispered. “Your muscles are so relaxed…keep on.”

And she did; she played the memory out until her heart was overwhelmed with the shit.

I miss them!

Her soul screamed! But…through the misery, she was happy!
Dad and Mama are together again, now.

She wandered back into the wondrous memory as this man continued to administer his gentle touch all over her damn body—the crystal again, his fingers, his mouth…

The plaid chair her father was plopped on, his tawny skin covered in slight facial hair sprinkled with gray…

Yes, she could see it. The man loved her, adored her!

Dad was just a man’s man but that particular day, he picked her up from the ground, gave her a hearty kiss and a hug and took her over to the chair, as if she were his favorite person in the whole damn world. All the while, Mom sang her own song in the background while cooking…

Julian broke her out of her remembrances once again when she felt the softness of something brush against her skin. The touch of the feather jarred her as he traced it down her bra, and before she knew it, he’d plucked one breast out of the satin cup, and then the other. He didn’t massage them though; no, his fingers didn’t even graze her nipples. Instead, he leaned in close and slowly blew warm air against them, all the while tracing her with that damn feather, teasing her to the point of no return. It was the oddest of combinations, but somehow, incredibly erotic.

“Keep resting…keep your eyes closed,” he murmured.

He paused and got up; soon, she could smell sage burning. A familiar aroma as she’d bought sage incense once. He was back at her side, now running his fingers through her hair, but in no ordinary way. No, he dug his fingertips into her scalp, applying slight pressure as he moved them around, as if trying to increase the blood flow.

“Damn that feels good…” How could a head rub be so therapeutic and so erotic at the same time?

“Let me talk to you, about the moon…” he said, continuing his massage. “The moon holds the keys to our memories. It unlocks historical personal references of elation and condemnation. It is our personal healer. Tonight, there is a full moon. That brings out a person’s true nature, their animalistic side. The things that give us the most satisfaction oftentimes are tied to experiences in our early childhood.”