Trashed (Stripped 2)
Page 25“Me neither,” I say.
Her head tilts to one side. “It’s not?”
I laugh softly. “No. Not even close.” I bring my hand to her face, and she presses her cheek into my palm. “Just because I’m an actor doesn’t mean I’m a player or a man-whore.”
“You’re just being…aggressive about this.”
I kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “When I see something I want, I make it mine.”
“And you want me?”
“Hell yeah I do.”
She bites her lower lip between her teeth and then releases it. “So…you’re making me yours?”
“Yes.” I tighten my grip on her hip. “Do you want that, Des?”
She blinks at me, and I can tell she’s deciding. Determination solidifies in her eyes, and she pushes at my chest. I take a step back, give her some space.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Don’t make promises you can’t or won’t keep.”
I smile at her. “That’s a basic life principle, for me,” I say. “I never make promises or commitments unless I’m one hundred percent sure I can hold my end up. And this, with you and me? All I know is I like it. I like you. I’m attracted to you in an insanely intense kind of way, and all I know is I want to explore it. I don’t know where it’s gonna go. I just want to try and find out. That’s all.”
She smiles, but it’s a little shaky still. “I can deal with that.”
And then, instead of reaching for me, or kissing me, or touching me, she turns her back to me, pulls her hair over one shoulder, baring her shoulders and upper back, and the zipper of her dress. She twists her head to look at me over her shoulder, and her gaze on mine is expectant. Offering.
Instead of ripping at the zipper like I want to, I sidle across the inches separating us, capture her biceps in my hands, and kiss the ridge of her shoulder. The round spot where her arm becomes her shoulder. Across the base of her neck. I tease the edge of her dress at her back; slide my finger between fabric and skin, following the path of my finger with kisses across her warm smooth flesh. She inhales sharply, and I pinch the cold metal pull of the zipper between finger and thumb. I drag my lips across skin, up her neck to behind her ear. She’s not breathing, and I’m not either; we are both breathless with anticipation.
The opening of the zipper is a loud sound in the silence. Her dress opens to the small of her back, baring an expanse of spine and the black band of a strapless bra, and the tattoo running across her back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.
The tattoo is simple, handwritten script, elegant and feminine. It says: The ache for home lives in all of us…
I run my hands over her ink, wondering what it means to her and not daring to ask. I feel her tense as I touch the tattoo, and I know she’s bracing for the question. So I slip my palms up her back and over her shoulders, down toward her cleavage. Another sharp inhalation, but I’m teasing her, playing games with her. I’m not ready to touch her yet, oh no, not yet, I have to see her first, have get her bare so I can soak up her beauty. I merely brush the cups of the dress away, run my palms between skin and dress to push the material down. It falls, pools around her feet. She steps out, and stands facing away from me clad in a strapless black bra and a matching black thong.
“No, I’m not—”
I don’t give her a chance to finish. I spin her, crash my mouth against hers to silence her protest. “Yes. You are.” I pull back to look into her eyes. “‘I’m beautiful.’ Say it.”
She turns to face me. “Adam, I—”
“Say it.” She blinks hard, bites her lower lip, and I can’t handle that, not at all. I take that plump lower lip between my teeth, stretch it out, let it go, and claim her mouth. “Des. Say it.”
“I’m beautiful.” She can’t help smiling as she says it. “Is that better?”
“A little.” I grin back at her.
I reach for her, but she dances backward. “You can’t get me naked without letting me have some of you bare, too.”
I hold my arms out. “Go for it, babe.”
She takes the corner of her lower lip between her teeth again, steps forward, slips her fingers under the stretched cotton of my undershirt. Instead of lifting it off me like I was expecting, though, Des does the unexpected: she unhooks the fly of my slacks, tugs the zipper down, and her eyes go to mine. Her hands slide under the loosened waistband of the slacks and then they are around my ankles and I’m stepping out. Her eyes drift down to my tented underwear.
I reach for her again, but she shakes her head. “I’m in nothing but my underwear, so I get to have you the same way.”
I laugh and let her peel my shirt off, and she tosses the white undershirt onto the pile of our clothes, hers and mine mixed together on the floor of the foyer. My eyes roam her body. Tan, taut skin, curves for days, legs long and strong, and her eyes, bright and liquid brown and feverish.
I take her hand, walk backward, leading her up into the bedroom. She hops up the last step, and her breasts bounce heavily. I don’t let her get two steps into the bedroom before I’m jerking her towards me so she stumbles into me. I slide my lips over hers, and she responds immediately, lifting up on her toes to deepen the kiss, and my blood pounds like thunder in my ears and my heart hammers in my chest. Her hands are moving in slow circles on my back, from shoulders to waist, shoulders to waist, each time dipping lower, as if working up the courage to grab my ass.
I find the hook-and-eye fastener of her bra, pull the edges together and loosen one eyelet, the second, and then the third and last. She’s pressed against my chest, so the bra is caught between us; I lean back without breaking the kiss, and the undergarment falls to the floor between us. Des’s mouth goes still against mine, her body tensing.
“Let me see you,” I say, stepping back and taking both of her hands in mine so she can’t cover herself.
I stare at her. Take in her beauty. God, I knew she had curves galore, but…damn. The girl is a goddess. Big, heavy tits, high and firm, round and peaked with dark areolae, thick nipples puckered into hard beads. Thighs I want to bury my face in, and her ass…goddamn. I’ve had my hands on it, but now that she’s bare, I have to touch it again. I step closer, slide my hands over her hips and clutch her full, round ass, which is delightfully bare except for the string of the thong.