She just shrugs happily. “That’s what I want.”
“Done. Come stand by the mirror.”
“I don’t get to lie down?” She pouts.
“Hell no, you get to watch.” I grin and lead her to the full-length mirror that hangs on the bathroom door and turn her so her back is facing the mirror, but she can look over her shoulder to watch.
I uncap the marker and start on her shoulder blades, drawing clouds and birds, a sun, and she gasps, bites her lip and watches with fascination.
“You’re good.”
“I like to doodle,” I murmur and keep focused on the task at hand. Once I turn her and start working on her breasts and sweet stomach, I’ll lose my concentration.
I continue to move the ink over her skin, adding an ocean and palm trees, sand, starfish. Along the bottom, across the top of her ass, I draw a music bar and add the notes to one of my favorite songs that I wrote called Wrapped In You. It’s a ballad, and one she’d know. We play it at every show.
“You’re writing music?!”
“I’ve already written this one, just putting it below the picture.”
I pull the marker down her legs in long swirls, drawing random designs on her white flesh.
“Wow, you’re good. Did you draw your own tats?” She asks.
“Some of them. Some I had done.”
“What’s up with the tats on your hands?” She’s watching my hand closely. She always traces the ink with her fingertip.
I shrug. “It reminds me to slow down.”
“But the word implies going fast,” she frowns.
“Exactly.”
“Who knew you were so deep?” She smirks and I smack her ass hard. She squeals and laughs. “I like to have my ass smacked you know.”
“I know,” I grin up at her and smack her again. “Okay, turn around.”
She obeys, and I smile in approval. The front will be a bit different. I draw another music bar, diagonal, running from her left hip, over her sternum, to her right shoulder, but low enough that her clothing will hide it.
I add the notes, from the same song on her back. When it’s finished, I start on the flowers.
Cherry blossoms, looping around the music, down her stomach, over her ribs.
She braces her hands on my shoulders; her eyes are pinned to the mirror over my head, watching intently. Her breathing is shallow, and I can smell her arousal.
She’s so fucking turned on. I can’t wait to sink inside her.
I finish the petals that weave around her pussy, and then, on her hip, I sign my name.
Not because I’m the artist, but because she’s mine.
I’m completely in love with her. I just don’t know how to tell her because I’m afraid that as soon as I do, she’ll run at full speed in the other direction.
“All done,” I murmur and stand back, watching her turn in circles, admiring the art in the mirror.
“It’s gorgeous. I thought you’d draw some stupid stick figures or ‘Leo Was Here’.” She laughs. Her face sobers when she sees my face in the mirror.
“I want you,” I tell her.
“I’m right here.”
I can’t stop looking at her. At the stark black lines on her soft white skin. At her pink cheeks, flushed with lust. At her hot blue eyes, raking over my own naked torso. Her eyes still on the stars on my hips, and then jump back up to mine, and I can’t stand it any longer.
I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bed, lower her gently to the mattress and shuck off my jeans to join her on the soft bed.
“It’s my turn,” she whispers.
***
~Samantha~
I push Leo onto his back and kiss his chest, his shoulders, down his ribs. I nuzzle his belly button with my nose, enjoying the way his muscles clench at my touch. Gripping his hips in my hands, I kneel between his legs and lower my lips to the blue and red star on his left hip, kissing and licking, tracing the lines.
“I fucking love these stars,” I whisper, and switch sides, paying extra special attention to the scar above the ink, tracing the line of muscle that forms that sexy as fuck V.
Leo grips my head gently in his hands, and swears softly and I grin as I plant kisses down his happy trail to his hard cock.
I lick from the base to the tip and suck him in, grip him in my fist, and fuck him with my mouth. He tastes delicious, smooth yet hard at the same time.
“God, Sam,” he growls and fists my hair in his hands, guiding me up and down his glorious dick.
I pull back and lick his scrotum, earning me another growl. He clenches his eyes shut and throws his head back, but I want his eyes on me.
“Watch,” I whisper and smile encouragingly when his eyes find mine. I kiss the underside of the tip and then lick it and sink down over it again, until I feel him against the back of my throat, tighten my lips around him and lift up, and repeat the motion over and over again until I feel his balls tighten and lift, and his legs become restless. He’s gasping for breath.
I fucking love the effect I have on him.
“Stop,” he whispers.
I ignore him.
“Stop, Sam, I don’t want to come in your mouth.” He grips my shoulders and pulls me on top of him, and kisses me deeply. “Your sassy mouth is gonna kill me.”
“Not a bad way to go,” I murmur and nip his chin. I straddle his hips and sit up, slide my wetness over his cock, and moan. He’s tracing the music drawn on my belly. “What is it?” I ask.
“Wrapped In You.” He smiles shyly and I gasp. That’s my favorite Nash song. “Do you like that one?” He asks.
I smooth my face and shrug. “It’s okay.”
Before I can blink, he grips my hands in his and reverses our positions, pushing me flat on my back, my hands held in one of his large ones over my head and his pelvis pressed to mine. “Admit it,” he whispers.
“Admit what?”
“You like it.”
I smirk up at him and try to pull my hands down, but he presses them harder against the bed. “It’s fine.”
With his free hand, he gently brushes loose tendrils of my hair away from my face, lowers his torso until his face is just inches from mine, and softly, so, so softly, begins to sing.
You make me tremble
When I hold you like this
You skin glowing in the moonlight
You have me all wrapped in you…
His voice is incredible. Even when he’s just talking, I can’t get enough of it, but when he sings, I’m lost to him.
He releases my hands and I caress his face gently with my fingertips, and pull his lips to mine and pour how I feel about him into this kiss, my hands on his face.
I am wrapped in him.
When he pulls back, I offer him a small smile. “That’s my favorite Nash song.”
“Really?” he breathes, his eyes are happy.
“Really. Who did you write it for?”
He frowns for just a moment and looks down at my lips, then back to my eyes. “I didn’t write it for anyone.” He kisses my nose. “But I think it fits how I feel about you. I’ll never sing it again without thinking of you.”
“You are so good to me,” I whisper.
“You deserve so much,” he whispers and kisses me again, deeper this time and I feel him reach over to his bedside to grab a condom.
“I want you inside me, babe.”
“I can do that.” He grins and pushes inside me, until he’s completely buried in me, and stops. “How’s that.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug and bite my lower lip, teasing him.
“Do you think you can do better?” He raises his eyebrows and then just as swiftly as he put me in this position, he reverses us again, so I’m straddling his lap and lying over his lean body. “Have at it.”
I gladly sit up and begin to ride him, clenching around him with every push and pull, up and down, reveling in his hands firmly planted on my ass, guiding me. His eyes are feral, pinned to mine
.
“Feels so good,” I mutter and lean forward to brace my hands on his shoulders, bucking my hips, grinding my clit against his pubic bone, and I feel the energy gathering in my core, ready to be ripped from me.
“My God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His hands cup my breasts and pinch my nipples, hard, and then he soothes them with the pads of his calloused fingers. He suddenly sits up, his face level with mine, and kisses me hard, bites my lip and slaps my right ass cheek.
I lean down and suck on his neck, bite the muscle at the top of his shoulder and go crazy when he pulls me down hard, circling his hips, and makes me come, my orgasm ripping through me.
“That’s it, baby.” He licks up and down my neck, and when I come down from the high, he slips his hand between us, and rubs my clit with the pad of his thumb, and I come again, making him groan.
I feel his body tighten, his arm clenches around me, and he comes with me, shouting my name as he lets loose.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper and chuckle when all he can do is smile. “I guess I don’t need that trip to yoga today.”
“Let’s go for a run later.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’ve missed running with you.”
“Okay. Are we staying here tonight? I’ll need some workout clothes.”
“I want to be with you, at your place, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” I grin. “I’ll head out, and you can make your calls and stuff and meet me there later.”
“Fuck that. I’ll take you. I’ll make my calls from your place later.” He kisses my forehead and lifts me off of him.
We’re not attached at the hip, and I start to tell him that being apart for less than an hour won’t kill us, but when he leaves me to throw the condom in the garbage, and the cold air hits my warm skin, I know that I don’t want to be apart from him.
I enjoy him too much.
Way too much.
Chapter Eleven
I stare at Leo as he drives through Seattle traffic late Friday afternoon. He looks hot driving this car. He’s pulled the sleeves of his gray blazer up his forearms, and I watch the muscles tighten and relax under the inked skin as he steers his supped up Camaro.
Even watching him drive makes me wet.
He’s dressed trendier tonight, with a gray blazer over a white Levi’s t-shirt, dark blue jeans and black Converse. He’s still sporting the beanie over his signature hair.
We’re heading out to dinner and then to a club to catch a band he knows.
Or, as I like to think of it, our first real date.
“Why a Camaro?” I turn to face him in my seat.
“What do you mean?” He changes lanes and smiles at me.
“You could have any car in the world. Why did you choose a Camaro and not something higher brow, like a Porsche or Bentley?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve wanted a Camaro since I was a kid. My dad had one.” He frowns as the memory runs through his mind. “You don’t like my car?”
“I like it, I was just curious.”
Leo’s phone rings as he stops at a red light and he pushes the hands-free button on the wheel.
“Nash.”
“Hey, it’s Eric.”
Leo smirks at me briefly. “Wassup?”
“Do you have an hour? The manager of that studio you called the other day just called me, and they have time to show us around tonight, if you can make it. Jake and I are in.”
He glances at me, his eyebrows raised in question, and I nod. “Sure I can swing over there. I have someone with me. Be nice.”
“That’s cool. I think Rick is coming too.”
“Okay, see you soon.” He disconnects the call and grimaces. “I’m sorry, babe. We shouldn’t be there long.”
“It’s cool.” I shrug and then can’t help but tease him. “But I thought you didn’t want me to meet your band.”
“Are you going to flirt with them?” he asks with a sigh.
“Probably.”
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath and I laugh, enjoying him.
He pulls up to the curb in front of the red brick building just across from my cupcake place. Eric and Jake are climbing out of Jake’s black Jeep Wrangler and cross to us.
“Hey, man.” They all do the man hand-shake-hug-thing that’s always confused me, and then both sets of eyes rest on me, waiting for an introduction. Leo wraps an arm around me and smiles.
“This is Samantha. Sam, these are a couple of the idiots in the band, Eric and Jake.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m meeting Nash.
“Hey, guys.” I smile warmly and shake their hands and keep my face completely neutral. I’m used to celebrities. I’m related to them.
For Godsake, I’m sleeping with one.
But I can’t help but do a little, tiny happy dance in my head.
“Come on, let’s look around and see what’s what.” Eric leads us inside, where a middle aged, partially balding man in a plaid shirt and khaki pants is talking with a younger, super skinny guy in skater gear.
“Thanks for coming, Rick.” Leo glances down at me and gestures to the balding guy. “This is Sam. Rick is our manager,” he informs me with a smile. I nod and smile and we’re all introduced to Skip, the skinny guy who manages the studio.
“So, what can I do for you guys?” Skip asks.
“We just want to take a look at the studio space, talk with you about setting up recording time, stuff like that,” Jake tells him with a grin. The female fans adore Jake. He’s tall and muscular, and has a killer smile. He always wears the same pair of sunglasses.
“No problem. There’s no one here now, so feel free to walk around and just ask me questions when you have them.” Rick turns to chat with Skip and the guys wander back toward the sound booths. Eric turns back and eyes me appreciatively, and I immediately realize he finds me attractive.
This could get awkward.
“So, are you from Seattle?” he asks with a grin. He really is cute. His jet-black hair is too long, and his eyebrow is pierced. He’s slim with strong arms. He’d have to be built to play as vigorously as he does for up to two hours at a time.
“Yep, born and raised,” I smile.
“Cool, me too.”
“Yeah? What part?” I ask, truly interested.
“Bellevue area,” he responds.
“Me too!” I lay my hand on his arm and grin. “What high school did you go to?”
“Excuse me,” Leo interrupts and I glance up into angry gray eyes.
What the hell?
“Skip, is there an office I can quickly use? I need to speak with you,” he murmurs to me.
“Sure, it’s down to your right,” Skip responds and returns to his conversation with Rick.
Leo links his fingers through mine and pulls me behind him to Skip’s office, shuts the door behind us and locks it.
“What’s the problem?”
He doesn’t answer, he just grips my upper arms in his hands and kisses me, hard, ravenous.
And I’m immediately caught up in him. I practically climb him, trying to get closer to him, to feel his skin on mine.
God, it’s always this way. One touch and I can’t get enough.
He lifts me against the door and grinds his cock against my center, kissing me to muffle my moans. His hands are rough, harsh. Hurried.
This is new from him.
I grip his hair and pull his head back from mine, both of us panting and gasping for breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Still no words, he spins with me in his arms and lays me across Skip’s desk, not bothering to move papers. He unfastens and yanks my jeans over my hips, freeing only one leg, frees himself and pulls a condom out of his pocket.
“You’re going to fuck me here?” I hiss at him, shocked. “There are people thirty feet away!”
“Stop talking,” he commands, his eyes feral and jaw tight, and damn if he doesn’t turn me the fuck on.
I’m already soaking wet.
I lean up on my elbows as he grips my hips and pulls me onto him, ramming himself inside my wetness.
“Oh God,” I whisper, my gaze caught in his as he pushes in and out, hard, fast, over and over.
“Mine,” he whispers and clenches his eyes closed. “Mine.”
“Damn, Leo,” I grip his face in my hands.
He pins me again with those eyes. “You. Are. Mine.”
And with that I come apart, biting my lip until I taste blood so I don’t cry out, spasming around him, and he follows me, coming hard and grunting softly.
He gasps for breath and leans down to whisper in my ear, “Do you have any idea how twisted up you have me? You’re mine, goddamn it.”
“Leo,” I begin but he pulls out of me and tucks himself back in, watching me stoically.
I adjust my clothes and clear my throat. “Were you trying to mark me?” I ask quietly, trying to understand what just happened.
“I don’t need you flirting with my band, Samantha.”
“Leo, I was being friendly.”
“You touched him.”
“So?” I look at him like he’s gone mad.
“Eric will…”
“Eric isn’t an issue,” I interrupt, pissed off. “Unless you let him become one.”
He raises an eyebrow and then laughs.
“Leo, I get along well with men. I always have. If you have issues with that, we need to talk about it now.”
He eyes me for a minute, and with a muttered curse scrubs his hands over his face.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah, but you’re hot, so I’ll overlook it this time.” I smirk and lean my ass against the desk, my arms folded over my chest.
“I didn’t like it,” he whispers.
“So noted.” We eye each other for a minute longer until he steps forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders, trapping my arms between us.
He kisses my forehead softly and smiles ruefully down at me. “Is this how you’ll feel about groupies?”
“Probably not,” I respond with a frown. “I don’t give a shit about groupies.”
His eyebrows climb into his hairline. “You don’t?”
“No.”