Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy 2)

It was that last possessive thought, as well as Katrina moaning his name against his lips, that sent him right to that sharp edge of a monumental orgasm. Wanting her with him when he climaxed—something else he normally didn’t give a shit about but that mattered with her—he reached between her legs and rubbed her clit nice and hard. Just how he knew she needed it.

Her body trembled as she came on a soft cry of pleasure, that heavenly pussy milking his dick, clenching and pulsing around him and triggering his own orgasm. The shocking climax ripped through him in the most sublime bliss he’d ever experienced, so intoxicating his vision blurred with the heated ecstasy coursing through every part of his body. Once he was completely spent, he collapsed against her backside with a replete groan. His weight pressed her into the wall as he breathed hard and tried to gain his bearings.

Except as soon as he could think clearly, the first thing that popped into his head was, what the hell have I done?

Every last bit of pleasure he’d just luxuriated in evaporated, replaced by a twist of unease coiling in his stomach. Fuck. He needed a moment to get his shit together, to gather his composure so he could deal with what they’d just done, even if the sexual frenzy had been two-sided.

He gently pushed away from Katrina’s smaller body, but she didn’t move from where he’d pressed her against the wall. Not a good sign at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered and escaped into the nearest bathroom, suspecting that she needed a moment to herself, as well.

He took care of the condom, fastened his jeans, and washed his hands. He didn’t dare look in the mirror, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to face the asshole staring back, because despite Katrina’s participation, he knew he had no business messing around with her. And he’d done it anyway, because he’d been unable to control his goddamn dick and the overwhelming need to finally have what he’d coveted for so many years.

The worst part? In his haste to bury himself in Katrina’s pussy, he’d taken her from behind like an animal. He’d missed out on looking into her eyes and watching her expression as she came all over his cock. And Jesus Christ, when had any of those things ever fucking mattered to him? Never.

Instead, she could have imagined that it was anyone but him who’d been balls deep inside of her, and might have done just that. The realization chafed him raw, especially when he thought about the words she’d spoke

n to him in the throes of passion.

I want this, she’d said. Not, I want you. She’d wanted the sex, but not him, specifically. Her reply was a pretty good indication that he could have been any random stranger he’d told her to hook up with before they’d arrived in Vegas. To get laid because she’d been too uptight.

His hands shook as he dragged all ten fingers through his hair, hating the guilt and self-loathing that twisted in his gut. It was one thing to screw around with women who were in it for the same reasons he was and he didn’t have to face on a daily basis, and another thing to take advantage of his best friend and the one person in his life other than his brothers who meant everything to him.

Jesus, he was such a selfish prick and a fuckup. So why would this situation be any different?

Knowing he’d already spent way too much time in the bathroom, he went back out to the small living area in the suite and found Katrina right where he’d left her. She had her leather pants back up and secured, and she’d just finished retying the front of her corset top, her hair a wild tumble around her bare shoulders. She wouldn’t look at him, so it was difficult for Mason to get a read on her emotions, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the soft flush on her face that he’d put there, and those damp, swollen lips that he’d kissed and still tasted in his mouth.

The awkward tension between them was nearly palpable. He’d engaged in what felt like a hundred one-night stands, but right now, with Katrina, he was completely out of his element. He struggled to find the words to make it right, if that was even possible.

“Katrina, I—”

She held up a hand and cut him off before he could say anything more and finally met his gaze. “Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it was, Mason,” she said, her tone even and indecipherable, as was her expression. “It was just sex, and we’re both consenting adults and went into it knowing what we were doing.”

He’d heard everything she’d said, but his mind was still stuck on the it was just sex part of her spiel. Those words felt like a blow—not to his ego or pride, but because she appeared so indifferent when he was still trying to deal with the emotional fallout of what they’d done. And he fucking didn’t do emotional.

She continued, seemingly oblivious to his turmoil. “The orgasms were great and just what I needed. Maybe now I won’t be so uptight,” she added with a too-strained smile before she walked the short distance to the door and opened it to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.”

Then she was gone, and the quiet in his room was deafening, leaving him reeling with confusion and a big, fat what the hell?

In the quiet minutes that passed after her departure, he came to a startling realization. This is what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a quick and dirty fuck.

And he didn’t like it. Not one goddamn bit.

* * *

Katrina waited until she was locked inside of her own suite before she sagged back against the nearest wall and allowed herself to really process what had just happened with Mason. Amazing, mind-blowing sex, absolutely. But for her, she knew without a doubt that that one blistering, unforgettable encounter with Mason, her best friend, had forever altered the way she’d judge sex with any other man going forward.

It was hard enough that she was in love with Mason and knew he didn’t reciprocate those romantic feelings, but now she had intimate knowledge of what it was like to experience the kind of exquisite pleasure she’d always craved. Fears and anxieties had always gotten in the way of her indulging in a relationship where she could give up sexual control to a man, which was why she’d always gravitated toward dating safe, nice guys who were equally safe, nice, and vanilla in the bedroom.

Trusting Mason, however, just came naturally because he’d been a part of her life for so long. She knew he’d never cross the line and physically hurt her. If she so much as uttered the word stop, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d do so immediately, which was why she’d asked him—no, begged him, she thought as her cheeks heated at the memory—to take her hard and deep and rough. And oh, Lord, had he ever delivered on her request. That one encounter with Mason had been, by far, the hottest and most satisfying sexual experience of her life.

Too bad it wasn’t going to happen again. Not only did Mason not do repeats, but she’d seen the panic etching his features after he’d come out of the bathroom, along with the guilt and regret in his gaze. The last thing she’d wanted him to do was apologize, or make excuses for his behavior, so she’d thanked Mason for the orgasms and reassured him that she was fully capable of treating their hookup like the casual encounter it had been.

Yeah, that lie had been excruciatingly painful, but so necessary to protect her heart and emotions. As if such a thing were possible. Her heart was already engaged, now even more so. And her body was forever ruined for any other man.

With a weary sigh, she pushed off the wall and headed toward the suite’s master bathroom. She had a long day tomorrow with pre-wedding activities with the girls and the ceremony in the afternoon. She needed a hot shower to help her relax, and then it was time for bed and sleep so she didn’t have dark circles under her eyes for the photographs. The last thing she needed was her friends asking her what was wrong. It was bad enough that she’d have to come up with an explanation for what had happened after Mason had hauled her out of the bar, caveman-style, over his shoulder.

After stripping off all her clothes, she stepped into the shower and beneath the spray of water, letting it soak her hair and beat down on her back. Closing her eyes, she brushed her hand along the arm with the butterfly tattoos. Her fingers absently traced the many scars the design concealed, the old wounds a constant reminder of why she gravitated toward more passive men in her dating life. And why she’d been so careful with her sexual partners.