Page 55 of Down & Dirty: Rage

When she reached for her pants, he stopped her with, “Wait.” What he was about to do next was something he’d only ever dreamed about. A dream that was about to become a reality.

He stepped behind her and squeezed her shoulders before sliding his hands to the crooks of her neck and pressing both thumbs into her spine. When her shoulders dropped and her head fell slightly forward, he realized how tense she’d been.

Clearly, she was nervous. He needed to take shit slow with her and not be an aggressive bastard like he normally was. Because he usually wanted to just pound it out and move the fuck on.

She groaned and relaxed even more when he circled and pressed his thumbs into her warm flesh.

Since he’d learned when he was young how sacred a Native American’s hair was to them, he asked for permission to touch it first. “Gonna undo your hair, yeah?” She might only be a quarter Lakota, but she still valued her father’s heritage.

Nodding, she released a long, shaky breath.

He slipped the elastic band from the bottom of her braid and handed it to her so she could tuck it into her pocket for later. He then slowly unraveled the long strands, pulling his fingers through to free them. Normally, her hair was as straight as her father’s, but the French braid caused it to fall in soft waves. And now that it wasn’t bound, the length almost reached her waist.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair loose. When they were kids, possibly. Normally, she wore it like today or in double braids to keep it from becoming knotted or damaged.

He lifted the soft curtain, shoved his nose in it, and inhaled deeply. It was difficult to pick up the light floral scent because of the fucking shitty perfume that splattered him last night.

Lyric really deserved better than a man stinking like a cheap corner whore. She deserved a date, some flowers, and a really nice fucking dinner first.

Only, with him, that wasn’t what she was going to get. The best he could do would be to take his time and treat her with respect.

She shuddered when he announced, “Gonna touch the rest of you now.”

Taking it slow might kill him. If so, taking that last breath would be worth it.

“Need me to stop, you fuckin’ speak up, yeah?”

Again, she nodded.

He continued to stand behind her and peeled her shirt over her head. He had no idea what kind of top it was and he really didn’t give a fuck since it was about to land on the floor. He cared more about what was underneath it.

She lifted her arms so he could finish removing it and immediately pulled off whatever was containing her tits. It didn’t have the hooks like most bras did, and he’d seen plenty of them. It could be some kind of sports bra.

Again, what the fabric contained was more important than the contraption itself.

Hooking his thumbs in the elastic waistband of her pants, he worked them down her legs, along with her panties, exposing her ass, knowing all he had to do was circle around to the front of her and he’d see her in all her fucking glory.

But he was taking his time. He reminded himself not to be in a fucking rush. Especially since this would probably be a one-and-done thing and he didn’t want to waste a damn minute of it.

His gaze skimmed over her slender back, the indent of her spine, and the two dimples right above the ass he wanted to sink his teeth into. He paused in surprise since he had no idea her back was fully tatted. Unlike the full tattoo sleeves on her arms, her back had always been hidden by her clothes.

Unlike his own, her tattoos were feminine and full of color. Delicate green vines swirled around the canvas of her back, peppered with the colorful blooms of flowers made up of purple, pink,red, and blue.

Of course, her father had done every damn one of them.

Before him was true art. Both her and her ink.

He circled her slowly, visually taking in every damn inch of her.

Her arm sleeves were made up of more flowers, with the occasional honey bee, hummingbird, or some other creature peeking out between them.

The reality before him blew his fantasies about her right out of the water. Every curve and line, the detailed body art, her heated, dark eyes, and her long, dark hair, now free, spread behind her like a cape.

Anyone who didn’t know her would think she was breakable, but he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He locked gazes with her, but only for a second before focusing on the small patch of black hair where her thighs met.

She’d seen most of his body already. He hadn’t seen all of hers.