Read Online Tattoos & Teacups by Anna Martin - Free Book Online Page B

he arched back off the bed so only his shoulders and feet and bunched-up fists kept the contact. I wanted to give him time, I really did, but he was pushing back onto me, and I had little choice but to go with it.
    “How do you like it?” I asked, my voice sounding lower, rougher, and inexplicably more Scottish as I bottomed out inside him. His legs locked around my waist, and I found his mouth with mine, kissing him desperately as we rocked together, carefully at first, learning each other’s limits one step at a time.
    “Hard,” he whispered. “Hard and fast. And rough.”
    I smiled. “Only if you look at me.”
    Blue eyes flickered with something raw and uninhibited as they met mine, and I kissed his lips once before rocking back and slamming deep inside him. His cry was enough to send a harsh shiver down my spine.
    “Fuck!”
    Despite my being years out of practice, it was like riding a bike, sort of, inasmuch as I hadn’t forgotten how to do it even if I wasn’t doing it particularly well. Chris didn’t seem to mind as I varied my thrusts, changing up the angle until his fingers dug into my arms tight enough to leave tiny crescents from his nails and one thumbprint-sized bruise.
    “There…,” he said, his eyes still wide but unfocused. “Right there.”
    Now that I had something to focus on, I pulled back up onto my arms, locking my elbows in tight and letting go, finding a rhythm that seemed to suck us both in. My eyes would flick to where we were joined, the incredibly erotic sight of part of me disappearing into part of him, to his cock, locked tightly in his fist, but always back to blue eyes wide with lust.
    His ass clamped down hard on me, and I knew he was going to come moments before he actually did. A red flush spread across his chest and up his neck as he screwed his eyes tightly shut and arched his neck, baring his throat to me as his own hand took him over the edge.
    I still watched as he continued to pump himself and thick ropes of white come painted his chest and stomach.
    “Shit,” I muttered and actually tried to get deeper inside him as I came too, feeling the aftershocks ripple through his body and set off my own.
    My muscles had turned to pudding, and my elbows gave out, causing me to slump forward onto him with an inelegant “Oomph.” Chris groaned, and I rolled off him enough to pull off the condom and dispose of it, then roll right back to him.
    Chris was wearing what one could only call a shit-eating grin.
    “I knew it,” he said emphatically, although the inflection was lost somewhere in the deep, panting breaths he was still taking.
    “Knew what?” I asked and realized my own breathing wasn’t a lot better.
    “I fucking knew you’d be great in bed,” he said, and slapped his hand down on the bed next to him as he cursed, although it caught a spring and bounced back up again comically.
    I laughed and found enough energy to roll over to him for a sloppy kiss. My feet kicked at the edge of the blanket that hung over the end of the bed, drawing it up over my calves until it was close enough to my hand for me to reach down and drag it up over us both.
    His breathing evened out over the next few minutes, and I found my own matching his. It was soothing, this breathing in synch business. Then he leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and rolled off the edge of the bed and started looking for his clothes amongst the mess on my bedroom floor.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Can’t find my underwear,” he grunted.
    “Were you wearing any?” I couldn’t remember. I didn’t think so. “And why? You can borrow some of mine if you don’t like sleeping naked.”
    Chris stopped dressing and looked at me. His appearance—one sock, his open shirt, and nothing else—was verging on ridiculous. When he didn’t say anything, I shuffled over on the bed.
    “Come back here, you silly bugger.”
    “You… fuck. You want me to stay?”
    “Yeah. ’Course I do.”
    He looked baffled, but