Jamison’s heart squeezed as his gaze fell over Ever. She was sprawled on her stomach on his bed, her hair falling all around her and a book in her hands.
She met his gaze and closed the book. The action drew his attention to her forearm and the square of gauze there.
He slammed the door. In two steps he reached the bed and sank to the mattress. Gently, he lifted her arm. “What the—” Had she been injured? She was still bearing the cuts and bruises from her time with the Raiders. If someone had hurt her—
She sat up and eased a fingernail under the tape holding the gauze to lift the edge. Relief flooded him as he realized it was ink.
She’d gotten a tattoo.
Damn, he wished he could have been here to watch Paxton take her tattoo virginity.
She pressed the gauze aside to reveal a large anchor in black and gray. The lines weren’t as thick as Paxton would have given a man, though the piece wasn’t the most feminine.
Ever was looking for his reaction.
He shifted his gaze to hers, tipping into the depths of her eyes. They glowed.
“It’s beautiful. Paxton did a fine job. What made you get the anchor?”
She curled her fingers around his wrist and turned it so his ink for her was face-up.
The breath left him in a whoosh. For five heartbeats his mind whirled. Finally, his voice emerged, as gritty as if he’d smoked ten packs of cigarettes in a day. “For me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Now that he knew, each line of the anchor became more beautiful. The rope curled around the inked steel, the end flipped up in a playful way. One spot just below her elbow was puffy and red, but it would heal beautifully.
Jamison leaned close, and her eyes fluttered. Her scent filled his head, adding to the way his heart pounded. “Why the anchor, baby?”
She brushed her nose over his jaw. “You know why.”
He caught her face in both hands and raised it to look into her eyes. “Show me.”
She crushed her lips to his. Flames ignited, and the kiss was out of control before they even opened their mouths. She dragged in a breath, and he thrust his tongue at the barrier of her lips. She parted them, and he drove inside with all the need of a dying man taking his last breath.
Slanting his mouth over hers, he let her pull growls from him. His cock throbbed.
As their kiss raged out of control, she straddled his hips. Soft breasts filled his hands, and she dug her nails into his back. Dark need claimed him. This was different—this was it.
What he’d been hoping for all this time—complete surrender.
She slipped her tongue over his until they were both moaning. The volume of Steinbeck she’d been reading thumped when it hit the floor. Jamison molded her breasts to his palms, craving a lifetime of this.
When he clamped his fingers onto her nipples, she cried out. He swallowed her sound and pinched harder. He had to know just how far he could push her. Until now their lovemaking had ranged between tender to erotic to rough against a wall. But he hadn’t yet given her pain.
He pinched harder.
She stopped kissing, stopped breathing.
“Look at me,” he grated out.
Her eyes were swimming with tears, but he didn’t think it was from the pressure he exerted.
He released her, and she gasped. “Get your clothes off.”
She was wearing a sundress, a lightweight denim that conformed to her curves and almost made him jealous. He watched her pull it over her head. Her bare breasts bounced free.
Aching, his gaze skated down over her body to the mere strings holding a scrap of lace over her pussy. He skimmed a finger down her spine to her round buttocks and then hooked his finger in the thong. He tugged it, which would give her a measure of pleasure on her sensitive backside.
Holding her gaze, he ran his finger up around the string riding on her hip. With a hard flick, he popped the threads. The lace fluttered away from her mound, revealing her trim patch of red curls.
He patted his lap. “Lay across my knees.”
Her mouth fell open, the plump lower lip glistening from their kisses.
Reaching around her, he delivered a pinch to her luscious ass. She squeaked but did as he commanded. She got off the bed and moved to lie across his lap, her neck twisted so he could see the need etched on her face.
“Every slap I give you will mean something to you. Is that understood?”
“Wh-what will it mean?”
Cock as hard as rock, he caressed her smooth cheek to the undercurve, so close to her pussy. Her ripe scents filled the room, and he couldn’t wait to drive his tongue into her slit and taste her sunshine.
He held back on the first slap.
Air rushed from her lungs, but she didn’t cry out.
He brought his hand down on her very white cheek. God, the crack turned him on. He could listen to that sound all night.
The next smack was harder, and then harder yet. His handprint rose to the surface of her skin, pink and then red. “So fucking gorgeous.” He rubbed the place he’d hit, aware of the intense heat he’d created. He was going to warm both cheeks with his hand and then drive into her from behind.
His balls clenched tighter to his body.
She took each blow as he’d hoped. He watched her face closely as a pink glow infused her cheeks, and she bit down on her lip. But she didn’t cry out. When he paused to rub her cheeks, she squirmed on his knee.
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