“I don’t do any of my own tats. I’m not that much of a control freak, no matter what Erin says. I have a friend in Portland. He and I trade services. I do his work, he does mine. Works out that he’s really good.”

She tiptoed up and licked over his nipple, the one with the ring.

“Not as good as you though?”

He liked the shape of her smile, liked that she was relaxed enough to tease.

“Well, not everyone can be as good as me.” He laughed. “But he’s good.”

“If I decide to get a tattoo, would you do it for me?”

He paused, touched. “I’d be honored to do it.”

He picked her up and she wrapped herself around him, bringing her nakedness up against his. Christ, that felt good. One-handed, she reached up to pull her hair free of the ponytail, and a shower of soft, pale hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. He hadn’t seen it down until that moment; it softened her, tousled her just enough that the need pulled at him even more.

He lay her back on the bed, crouched above her as he took her in. “You’re so f**king beautiful.” He meant it. Her ni**les pressed toward him and he dipped to lick across one, delighting in her soft sound of desire.

She arched up into his touch, her fingertips digging into the muscle of his biceps. He cruised over to the other breast, licking and nibbling there until she began to writhe in earnest. Her scent, rich and spicy, painted the air between them.

The muscles in her belly jumped as he licked his way down, past her ribs, past her belly button, past the scar marking the birth of her child. Everything about her outside was soft. Her skin was soft and sweet, her taste, everywhere but her cunt, was sweet as well. Here, he thought as he slid his tongue through the slick furls of her pu**y, here she was spice and tang. Here the muscles of her thighs might have trembled when he licked over her clit, but there was strength and resilience.

He could see, like the aftereffects of a camera flash, the ink on her skin. Starting at her hip bones and curling around her back, up her spine. Roses and ivy, strong and feminine, soft and thorny. He’d love to do her inkwork.

Right then, though, he wanted to make her come and then f**k her. And make her come again. Her taste was a lure, the feel of her against his tongue, filling him with sensation clearly all her. She was everything he felt just then.

Elise dragged in one breath after the other as she struggled not to drown in everything Brody Brown was. She liked sex, especially o**l s*x but Ken hadn’t been that crazy about doing it and as a result, wasn’t that good at it. But even a bad blow job was better than most things, so she’d been happy when he overcame his reluctance and did it.

But this man loved pu**y. He loved his mouth there, doing all those deliciously wicked things, and it showed. She felt it straight to her toes. He owned his intensity in a quiet way. He was so . . . in charge and yummy.

Each time his tongue dragged down and speared up into her gate, she shattered just a little bit more. Slipped down toward climax inch by inch, and then he’d move back to her clit and make her work to get back there all over again.

Until he tried it again, and she grabbed two handfuls of his hair and hauled him back to her clit with an insistent sort of moan. He chuckled against her skin, sending shocks of pleasure through her, but kept at it. Thank God.

And it hit. Hard and without surcease. She came and came and then she came some more, until her muscles were fluid and warm and she just sort of twitched and sighed in its aftermath.

“Do the words ‘reverse cowgirl’ mean anything to you?” he asked, that deep-velvet voice pulling her back from that quiet, pleasurable place she’d been floating in.

She smiled and got to her knees, watching as he put a condom on, and she realized he could make anything look sexy. “I think I can figure it out. Are you an ass man, Brody?”

One of his brows winged up and he grinned. “I like the line of your back as well as your ass. But I like that I can lay here and watch you in that mirror over my dresser too.”

She looked up then, saw herself and blushed at how disheveled and sexed up she looked.

“Stop that. You look hot. Now, I’m here all alone. You wanna keep me company?”

She straddled his hips and angled him to meet her body as she slid down. His entry hit lots of lovely spots within her and she sighed, happily full.

“Open your eyes, Elise. Look at how beautiful you are as you f**k yourself onto me.”

She did, mainly because he told her to and his tone had tightened her ni**les. But once she had, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his c**k disappearing into her body over and over. His hands looked so large as they lay against her hip bones, his skin tone olive to her pale—the contrast striking.

Her hair had grown a lot over the past two years, and she felt the cool tickle of it against her lower back. She tipped her head back, arching, taking him deeper, knowing too that the tips of her hair brushed against his lower belly.

He made her feel like the sexiest woman in the universe, bold enough to look at herself in the mirror and hold her gaze there. She still liked her body; she looked good for her age, fit, even as parts of her were broken down.

But the way he looked at her made her feel like a movie star.

She straightened and inched forward, experimenting with her range of movement to keep him within her while she moved. His hands on her hips tightened, so she supposed he liked what she was doing with the small swivel of her hips as she slid back, her body taking his c**k deep each time she moved all the way back.