Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy 2)

He searched her expression, and she loved that he cared enough to be concerned about her physical and emotional well-being. He must have seen the assurance he was looking for, because he finally reached behind her with the belt. As he held her gaze, he looped the leather strap around her wrists and through the buckle, securing it tight enough to restrain her but loose enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable.

The position pulled her shoulders back, which in turn thrust her breasts out like an offering. He took them in his hands, squeezing her flesh and rolling her nipples between his skillful fingers until that tugging and pinching became almost too much to bear. She moaned, her sex clenching as he rubbed his thumbs in slow, torturous circles around her areolas.

“Jesus, you are so goddamn beautiful and perfect,” he said, his tone shockingly possessive as his gaze followed his hands as they skimmed along her waist, then disappeared around to her backside. “Every single fucking inch of you.”

She treasured those sweet uncensored words, because it wasn’t often that she thought of herself that way when she was so emotionally and physically flawed. But right now, with Mason, she felt imperfectly perfect, and yes, beautiful, too.

His hands splayed over her bottom, gripping her ass as he hauled her forward, until the lips of her sex were pressed against the length of his shaft in a hot, wet, intimate kiss. “Feel that, baby?” he asked as he rolled his hips, grinding his cock against her drenched folds and coating himself with all the slick moisture from the last orgasm he’d given her. “I already came once in your mouth, and I’m already so fucking hard for you again.”

She bit her bottom lip as he continued to rock against her core, the pressure and friction making her body come alive all over again. With each intentional stroke, the ache between her thighs became an unrelenting throb, and she gyrated her hips against his erection, giving him a dirty, filthy lap dance that had him clenching his jaw and his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths.

A dark, dominating growl rumbled in his chest, and his fingers dug harder, deeper, into the soft flesh of her ass. “That’s it, Kitty-Kat. Rub your soaked pussy all over my dick. Make yourself come on my cock.”

His wicked words and the command in his voice were like a direct link to her clit, making those sensitive nerve endings scream with need. She wanted to grab ahold of his shoulders so she’d have some kind of anchor when she flew apart, but since that wasn’t possible, she dug her nails into her palms as she continued to rub herself all over him. The lust swirling inside of her magnified, and when she met Mason’s glittering blue eyes as he watched her with such heat and desire, there was no holding back the orgasm that crashed over and through her, or the shuddering moans that escaped her lips.

Before she had a chance to fully recover, he’d rolled on a condom, and then his hands were gripping her waist and lifting her up on her knees so that he could position the head of his cock at her opening. Then he pulled her down on his shaft, plunging so hard and deep she cried out at the initial shock of it.

She was impaled to the hilt, and he didn’t move. When she opened her eyes and looked into his, she realized he was giving her a moment to adjust before he let loose, and there was no doubt in her mind that she was in for a rough ride. She could feel the tension in his body from holding back and the pulse of his cock inside her, could see the muscle in his cheek tick as he slowly slid his hands down to her hips.

Unexpectedly, his expression changed to confusion, and he frowned as his fingers feathered back and forth over her left hip. It took her a moment to realize what he’d discovered, that he could feel the multitude of thick, ugly, jagged scars that were embedded there. She’d kept them hidden from him for so many years, along with the painful and humiliating secret that had come with those permanent marks on her skin.

He only knew about the scars on her arm that were now covered with the butterfly tattoos, and believed she’d never cut again after she’d gotten that initial help after her stepfather’s abuse. She saw the questions in his gaze, and she tried not to panic.

“Katrina?” His voice was so gentle compared to the physical war she knew he had to be battling with his very aroused body.

She shook her head frantically. “Not tonight, Mase,” she said, making it clear that particular topic was off-limits. “I just need you to fuck me and make me feel good, and give me that ten you promised.”

That prompted a smile out of him, which she’d been hoping for, and he nodded in understanding. “That I can do. But this conversation isn’t finished,” he said.

She had no doubt he wouldn’t let the subject go. But for now, she wanted to forget, so she rocked her body into him, redirecting his thoughts back to the pleasure they both craved.

* * *

Mason lay next to Katrina in the king-sized bed in her suite, her soft, warm body tucked in front of his, and his arm around her waist as she slept. Having been best friends for twelve years, it wasn’t the first time they’d cuddled, but it was certainly the first time they’d done so completely naked.

That made him grin. It was after two in the morning, and he knew he needed to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to separate from Katrina just yet, because once he walked out that hotel door, this would be over. He’d never experienced closeness on this level before. This connection to a woman that was more than just a physical high and release needing to be satisfied. More than an addiction and adrenaline rush he’d spent so many years chasing in order to keep painful memories of the past at bay.

For all his random sexual encounters, Mason had never, ever felt so sated, and knew it had nothing to do with the half-dozen different ways he’d fucked Katrina. This feeling was . . . different. He felt calm inside, content in a way that was foreign to him. They’d thrown some very hot sex into the mix of their friendship, and if he were a better man instead of a selfish asshole, he never would have allowed them to cross that line. But they had, and right now, in this quiet moment when Katrina was all his, he had absolutely no regrets. . . and hoped she didn’t, either.

But that didn’t change the fact that they both had agreed to leave this fling behind in Vegas, which he knew was for the best. Phenomenal, mind-blowing sex was one thing. Giving Katrina what she needed emotionally was something he just wasn’t equipped for. He didn’t do relationships for a reason. Hell, he was damn lucky that they’d remained friends for the past twelve years, that she’d put up with his shit for that long, and he’d be a fool to screw that up for the sake of being fuck buddies. There was no way they could continue to have sex and at some point not have it interfere with or complicate their friendship, not to mention conflict with her working for him at Inked. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

Bottom line, Katrina was too important to him, and the thought of her not being a part of his life on a regular basis made his stomach twist with dread. She was his person, the one who kept him centered and accepted him, despite all his stupidity, his less-than-stellar choices, and all his emotional hang-ups, and he’d be lost without her in his life.

But he had to admit, the fact that she insisted on limiting what happened between t

hem to Vegas bothered him. Usually it was he who made those kinds of demands. And despite the fact that he needed the same rules, that their friendship could only survive if they didn’t have a repeat performance, a part of him wanted her to want more.

He tightened his arm around her waist and moved closer to the heat of her body, taking what he could before it had to end. She sighed softly in her sleep, obviously dead tired after all the orgasms he’d wrung out of her. Burying his face against her neck, he inhaled the light perfume of cloves and spice mixed with the headier fragrance of sex—with him. His scent was all over her, and he couldn’t deny that he liked it. More than was wise.

Tamping down the arousal stirring through him, he absently stroked a hand over her hip and frowned when his palm encountered those scars he’d felt earlier. They weren’t fresh wounds, and he had no idea how long she’d had them, but the disturbing fact that she’d hidden the cut marks—or more importantly, that she’d starting cutting again after her stepfather had no longer been a part of her life—concerned him. What had caused her to fall back on that emotional crutch that was so self-destructive, and why hadn’t she confided in him?

As best friends, he thought they’d shared everything. She knew all about his shitty past, even the deepest, darkest parts that had too much impact on the man he’d become. And once he’d learned about Katrina’s stepfather’s abuse, he’d made it his mission to protect the vulnerable girl she’d been. To make sure that no one ever hurt her again. And he’d honestly thought that he’d succeeded in keeping her safe and protected.

These scars, and her reaction tonight when he’d discovered them, indicated otherwise. And while he respected her choice not to talk about them, he hated that something had triggered that past behavior, and for some reason, she hadn’t been able to confide in him. He’d been okay dropping the subject tonight, but at some time in the future, he needed to know what had happened and why. Had he failed her? That thought worried and scared him the most.

With those thoughts tumbling through his mind, he stayed with her for another half hour, then decided he needed to leave before he fell asleep, too. As much as he wanted to wake up with her, there was no reason to put the two of them through an awkward morning after. They’d both agreed how tonight would end, and the last thing he wanted to do was get caught sneaking out of her room by Tara or one of his brothers.

Chapter Eight