Inked in Lies (The Fallen Men 5)

I slid one hand up from my groin, the other down from my throat and let them meet in the middle where they cupped my breasts. Then, leaning forward as if to offer them to him like overripe fruit, I bit my bottom lip and let him take another photo of me.

“I get off on the artist too,” I admitted.

He pursed his full mouth, his shadowed jaw an acute angle I wanted to test with my teeth. “You know the difference, Li, between beauty and art?”

“Is there one?” I breathed as he got on his knees in front of me and angled the camera up to my face so he could capture the fullness of my breasts and the detail of the tattoos painted beneath.

He looked good there, his dark hair waving away from his forehead, his tattooed fingers strong on the big camera, body casting a huge, black shadow behind him in the bright studio lights.

“There is. A flower is beautiful as it is, transient, full of colour and life for the time it blooms, but it’s simple, shallow even. A flower is just a flower. But art? Art is a flower painted so it won’t die. A flower on the skin of a woman with depth and texture to her soul? It’s the context that gives it beauty,” he spoke in a voice like velvet rubbing against my sensitive skin.

He watched his own fingers reach out to run down my thigh as if mesmerized by his inability to censure himself around me.

When he looked up at me, a lock of dark hair fell into his brown eyes, brown as the earth beneath the mountains, rich as the soil I tilled in the yard for my flowers, more beautiful than any others I’d ever gazed into.

“The artist is the tool,” he finished, drawing his fingers higher, splaying them out until his entire big hand spanned my whole thigh just beside my pussy. “You are the art.”

Our gazes locked like magnets, an electric pulse rising between us so strong the hair on the backs of my arms stood on end.

In that moment, I’d never needed anyone as much as I needed him.

Against me, in me, on me.

We reached for each other at the same time. He tugged me down, and I went willingly, landing hard on his torso, legs moving around his hips so I was settled firmly on his lap. One large hand dove into my hair and pinned me so he could plunder my mouth, eating at it with his full lips and wickedly talented tongue.

But I wanted him. Wanted him in a way that moved through me like a storm.

So I grappled with him, rocking my hips to push him onto his back, pinning his hands over his head using the element of surprise to hold him there as I bit into his lower lip and started to work my way down.

His throat was hot and rough with stubble, the skin slightly raised with the whorls and scores of tattoos patterned up his neck into his hairline. I sucked and bit at his throbbing pulse just to feel it beat harder against my tongue.

“Mi girasol,” Nova groaned as I went lower still, impatiently rucking up his tee to get to the tight tapestry of inked skin over hard, bulging muscle.

I sat back on his thighs to ogle the long expanse of his torso, how it narrowed at his waist and was completely carved as if from rock. I tested the give of his pectorals beneath my nails and flicked the silver barbell through his left nipple just to hear him hiss.

He still had the camera in one hand, and he lifted it as I went lower, snapping a photo of my lips at the ridge of his erection, mouthing him through the fabric. Another click as I lowered the zipper with my teeth, and another click when I pulled his thick cock into my hand and tested its weight.

“So big,” I whispered as wet pooled between my legs. “I wonder if I can get it all in my mouth.”

I’d thought of that over the years. Having Nova in my mouth, rocking his world with my tongue, lips, and teeth. I wanted to feel his big, beastly body tremble beneath me.

I wanted to see his resolve, the same resolve that kept him from noticing me as a woman all these years, crumble into dust at our feet.

I wanted to remind him in a way he would never forget that I was a woman now, and I could please him better than anyone else ever could.

So I licked at his leaking crown as I looked up into his heavily lidded eyes, and I asked in a sweet voice, “What do you think, Nova? Do you think I can take this big thing?”