With Me In Seattle: Fight With Me Part 31

"You are so beautiful, Julianne."

"Touch. Me." I whisper again and he clenches his eyes closed for a heartbeat and looks back down my body again, raking me with his gaze.

"Nate." I get his attention with the strength of my voice. "You won't hurt me, my love."

He growls and plants his fists on the stairs at my hips and pushes himself up to kiss me, slipping his tongue in my mouth, tangling and sliding along mine. This kiss is urgent and needy. I wrap his hair in my fingers to hold him to me, but he backs away, panting, eyes on fire and says, "Elbows on the stairs."

"Oh."

Finally a FINALLY! a he slides his large hands up the outside of my thighs to my hips and pulls me forward to the edge of the step and lowers his head. He blows on my center, raising my skin in goose b.u.mps. He spreads my thighs wide, spreading my l.a.b.i.a in the process and licks me from my a.n.u.s to my c.l.i.t and back down again.

"Holy f.u.c.k!" My head falls back as my hips come up off the stairs. Nate holds my hips firmly, presses his face into my p.u.s.s.y and kisses me, plunging his soft, talented tongue inside me, swirling around and around, and presses his nose against my c.l.i.t.

Electricity is shooting through my core, up my spine, and out my limbs. I look down at him and his hot gray gaze is pinned on my face, alive with l.u.s.t.

"Oh G.o.d, babe, I'm gonna..." I can't finish the sentence. He moves that tongue up along my lips to press on my c.l.i.t and roughly pushes two fingers inside me, pressing down, and I come apart, my muscles pulsing and milking his fingers, my c.l.i.t throbbing against his tongue.

He kisses and nips at the inside of my thighs and my pubis, and then pulls his fingers out of me and sticks them in his mouth, sucking my sweetness off of them.

"You're delicious," he whispers. He reaches up and loosens my halter straps, letting the bodice fall around my waist, exposing my naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Jesus."

Nate leans in and circles one nipple with his nose. My breathing is still erratic from the mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m he just gave me, and that nose on my nipple sends fire straight to my core and I moan his name.

He wraps his lips around the tight bud, and worries the other with his fingers. I reach up with one hand and tangle my fingers in his hair, and he backs up and glares at me.

"Elbows on the stairs," he repeats.

"No, I want to touch you."

"I'll restrain you if I have to. Elbows on the stairs."

f.u.c.k.

I comply, completely turned on by his need to control me. To control this.

His mouth covers the other breast, and he sets about making me crazy again, writhing beneath him.

He suddenly pulls back, grips my hips and lifts me, and flips me onto my knees.

"I need you," he growls, and I hear him push his pants down his hips. "Now."

He slams into me, hard, and I cry out in surprise and just a little pain. The apa feels larger than usual, pressed against the very core of me.

"Jesus, baby, you're so wet and tight." He moves out and in once again, as hard as before, and I moan.

"Yes," I whisper.

"This is gonna be rough, baby."

"Good," I respond.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"Just do it, babe. f.u.c.k me."

He spanks my right a.s.s cheek and grips my hips roughly and begins to pound in and out of me in a fast, desperate rhythm. He spanks me again, twice, and I moan at the pleasure of the sting, loving that he is crazy with l.u.s.t for me, that I can make him lose himself in me.

"f.u.c.k, baby." He tightens his grip on me and slams into me one last time, his release pus.h.i.+ng through him, and takes me over with him.

He's panting and shaking behind me. He doesn't pull out of me. He leans over and kisses between my shoulder blades and rests his cheek there, his hands planted on the stairs by my elbows.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, making me smile.

"I'm fantastic. Are you okay?"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, babe." I kiss his bicep. "You rocked my f.u.c.king world."

He chuckles and pulls out of me, making me gasp as I feel that apa pull along the walls of my p.u.s.s.y.

"Jesus, I'm glad you're not afraid of needles." I turn and sit my bottom on the stairs, and look up into his bright gray eyes. He's relaxed now, the anger and frustration seemingly released with rough s.e.x and a hot o.r.g.a.s.m.

"You'd look amazing with a tattoo," he murmurs.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You were inside me less than thirty seconds ago and now you're being cruel."

"I'm not being cruel, I'm being serious."

I tilt my head and run my eyes over his s.e.xy tattoos, and for the first time in my life, I consider it. "Yours are hot."

"I have an excellent artist, if you ever change your mind." His eyes are warm and filled with l.u.s.t, his lips in a half smile looking down at me, and something s.h.i.+fts in me.

"Let's go talk to him tomorrow."

Nate's jaw drops and his eyes widen. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I'll consider it." I shrug, trying not to show how nervous I am at the thought of someone coming at me with needles in a gun-thingy, but he sees right through me.

He always sees right through me.

"You don't have to do that for me," he murmurs.

I shake my head. "Adding permanent art work to my body and undergoing torture at the hands of a needle is not something I'd do for any man. Maybe it's time to face a few of my fears."

He laughs and pulls me to my feet, throws me over his shoulder and slaps my a.s.s, then climbs the stairs.

"Shower," he says with a smile in his voice.

"Good idea."

"Are you sure about this?" Nate asks.

"No."

"Do you want to leave?" He grips my hand harder and kisses my temple.

"No."

"What the h.e.l.l, McKenna?" The tattoo-covered man smirks at Nate and smiles kindly at me. He's the guy with the weapons of ma.s.s destruction. "You're gonna be fine, sugar. What you're getting is tiny, and it'll take me all of ten minutes, tops."

"I can't believe I'm doing this." I close my eyes and lean my head back in the tattoo chair. Mr. Tattoo leans the chair back so I'm lying flat.

"Okay, pull your pants down."

"f.u.c.k, dude, really?" Nate glares at him and it makes me giggle.

"Just a perk of my job, man." He smiles and shrugs, and I relax until I see him pick up a gun-like thing and come toward me.

"Wait." He stops with his eyebrows raised. I lick my lips. "Um, how many tattoos have you done?"

"Thousands," he responds.

"Are you good with that gun-thingy?" I ask and he glares at me.

"This is not a gun. It's a machine."

Oh.

"Are you good with your machine?" I ask and a wolfish smile spreads across his handsome face and Nate swears under his breath again.

"Honey, you have no idea."

"I'm serious."

"Okay," he sits forward, his elbows on his knees, and looks me in the eye. "I've been doing this for almost twenty years. I majored in art in college, so I'm pretty good. I've never had an unsatisfied customer. You saw the portfolio earlier."

I nod and take a deep breath. Besides, he's right, what I've chosen is super small.

"Sweetheart, we wouldn't be here if I didn't think he's the best." Nate squeezes my hand rea.s.suringly again and I relax a little.

"Okay." I unb.u.t.ton my jeans and s.h.i.+mmy them down so my left hip bone is exposed. I point out where I want it. "Right there."

"No problem, just sit back and take some deep breaths." Tattoo guy a I've forgotten his real name by now in my panicked horror a rubs the stencil on my skin, pours the ink into little tiny plastic jars, and picks up his machine.

When he turns to me with it in hand, I feel my eyes go wide. "You're going to try to kill me with that thing, aren't you."

"No," he laughs hard and shakes his head. "This is going to be quick, really."

"Look at me," Nate says, his voice full of humor. I look up into his soft gray eyes and grip his hand more firmly as I feel Tattoo guy grip my hip with one hand. "Just focus on me, baby. What do you want to do when we leave here?" He brushes my hair off my face and smiles down at me. The machine starts up and I flinch.

"Um, I don't know."

"Let's go for a ride on the bike," he whispers in my ear and I close my eyes and focus on his voice.

"That's appropriate. Tattoos and motorcycles," I whisper back. He laughs softly and kisses my cheek.

"Here we go," Tattoo guy says and I feel a slight sting on my hip. I clench my eyes closed tightly and suddenly Nate is kissing me, softly, teasingly, running those soft lips over mine, nipping the sides of my mouth, and then taking the kiss even deeper. He's still holding my right hand in his tightly, and his other hand is cupping my face, holding me to him.

The stinging is persistent, but not too bad. Nate's lips are the perfect distraction.

"You're doing great," he whispers against my lips and I open my eyes to look into his. "He's almost done, Jules."

"How do you know?" I whisper back.

He smirks and kisses me again, with more fervor, until finally, I hear someone clearing their throat loudly.

"I think he's done," I whisper against Nate's lips and he smiles down at me.

"All done," Tattoo guy announces and sits the chair up. "Take a look before I cover it up."

He hands me a hand-mirror and I look down at the new little piece of art on my left hip. It sits low, so a bikini will cover it up. Only I'll know it's there.

"So, what does it mean to you?" Tattoo man asks.

"It's the ace of hearts," I murmur. It is a small red heart with an A above and to the left of it, like in the corner of a playing card. "It's Nate."

I look up and find Nate staring at my hip, his eyes dilated, his breathing has gone ragged and my breath catches. Jesus, he's all turned on and just looks so... primal.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"Fine."

"Don't you like it?"

Without looking at me, he says to his friend, "Cover it up so we can get out of here."

s.h.i.+t, he doesn't like it.

I wanted to get something that reminded me of Nate, without actually having his name tattooed on my body. The ace of hearts made sense; I call him ace all the time, and he has my heart, just like I wear his around my neck every day.

After my new tattoo is covered and I've been given instructions on how to care for it until it heals, Nate pays his friend and we walk over to his motorcycle.

"Where do you want to go for a ride to?" I ask and reach for my helmet, but Nate stops me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to him.

"Jules, I..."