Page 68 of Sugar & Ink
My eyes burned.
Rome’s voice dropped lower. “And I see a sexy as hell woman who still doesn’t understand how beautiful she is.”
I groaned. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The glasses problem.”
Rome laughed softly, then shook his head. “I don’t have a glasses problem.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I see you just fine.” His gaze swept over me. Not quickly. Not hungrily. Just appreciatively. Like he was looking at art. He liked every piece.
I felt myself blush which was stupid, but there it was.
Rome smiled. “Cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“How about sexy?” His arms tightened around me.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and demanding, and I gasped against his lips. He tasted like sin, and I couldn’t get enough. His hands slid down my back, over the curve of my hips, gripping me like he needed to hold on or he’d drown.
“Rome-” I breathed, but he cut me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my knees weak. He worked my pants down, and I kicked them away.
“Up,” he growled against my mouth. “Now.”
He walked me backward until my ass hit the counter, his hands already working my shirt up over my head. I raised my arms, letting him strip it off, and the cool air hit my skin before his mouth did, trailing hot kisses down my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts above my bra.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumbs hooking under the lace and pulling it down. “Look at you.”
I wanted to cover myself, suddenly self-conscious of my softness, my curves, but he caught my wrists and pinned them to the counter on either side of me.
“Don’t,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Let me look. Let me see what I’ve been fantasizing about.”
He dropped to his knees, and I gasped as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to my stomach and down my thighs. His beard scraped against my sensitive skin, and I moaned, my head falling back. “Rome, please.”
“Please what, beautiful?” He looked up at me, those dark eyes burning. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” I whimpered, the words torn from me without shame. “Now. Please.”
He stood, tearing his own shirt off, and I got my first real look at him. Ink everywhere-sleeves of intricate black work, patterns I couldn’t make out, muscle rippling beneath decorated skin. He was beautiful. Dangerous. Mine, at least for tonight.
He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down, kicking them aside, and my breath caught at the sight of him. Hard and thick and straining toward me like a compass needle finding north.
“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” I said, as he lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing.
“You’re perfect.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest, and then he was kissing me again, his hands roaming over my body like he couldn’t decide what to touch first.
“Jesus, Josie,” he breathed, his fingers tracing the lips of my pussy, making me arch. “You’re so wet. So ready.”
“For you,” I gasped as he slid one finger inside, then two, curling them in a way that made my vision blur. “Only for you.”
