Bad Intentions (Bad Love 2)

“The obvious being that you’re my fucking girlfriend and you need a place to live. I don’t want you to run, Lo. Do you think I can’t see it in your eyes? That you’re three seconds from bolting? Because it’s written all over your face.”

The word girlfriend echoes in my head. Is that what I am? His girlfriend? He said he wanted a relationship before, but everyone knows declarations made during sex should be taken with a grain of salt. What he’s saying makes sense, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong by taking him up on his offer.

“What if I paid rent? Like, with a real written agreement and everything.”

Dare blows out a harsh breath, and I feel it on my exposed skin. “If that’s what you need.”

“I’ll talk to Jess.”

Dare nods his head, wiping down my thigh. Before he starts back up, I roll onto my back and tug him toward me by his sleeve.

“Thank you,” I say, looking into those sad ocean eyes. I reach up and pull him into me, pressing my lips to his. His right hand comes down beside my head to brace himself as he kisses me—slow and deep—uncaring that we most likely have an audience. I feel the kiss right between my legs, and I clamp them together.

Dare pulls back, adjusting the crotch of his pants before sitting back in his chair. He goes back to work on my thigh, and there aren’t any more words. It takes another twenty minutes or so before he announces that he’s finished.

Nerves twist in my stomach as he cleans me up. He helps me sit up before handing me a handheld mirror. I stand, ass facing him instead of flashing the rest of the shop, as I take in the reflection.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. It’s a flower with strings of delicate beading hanging below like a chandelier. It’s feminine but somehow badass at the same time. The shading and detail are incredible.

“You said to choose something that represented you,” he says, his voice unsure. Maybe even vulnerable.

“You think I’m a delicate flower?” I laugh.

“It’s a lotus. They grow from mud.”

Sounds about right, I think. But he continues.

“They’re born from darkness. But they bloom anyway—rising above the mud, still remaining beautiful and pure. That is you.”

Tears instantly prick the backs of my eyes, my nose stings, and I feel a lump in my throat. I can’t speak, can’t do anything to stop the tears. Instead, I throw my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He lets me cry, his hands rubbing my back, and his gentle touch only makes me cry harder.

“Let’s get you wrapped up back here,” Dare says, leading me to the drawing room. I know it’s his way of giving us some privacy.

“I’m sorry,” I say, smoothing my palms across my wet cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” I lean against his drawing desk, and Dare kneels, applying some ointment to the fresh ink before covering it in plastic wrap, securing it with tape on each end. Once he’s done, he kisses the inside of my knee, then stands, walking behind his desk to grab something. He rounds the desk, kneeling in front of me again, as he peels my leggings down, taking my underwear with them.

How stupid must I look? Crying over a tattoo with my pants down. I laugh then sniffle at the ridiculousness of it all. He holds up a pair of black basketball shorts for me to step into.

“You thought ahead.”

“Wishful thinking.”

When I lift my left leg, he surprises me by leaning in, face flush against my center as he gives me a long, flat lick. My eyes roll back, and my ass hits the edge of his desk. My leg is still half-bent, suspended awkwardly, and Dare grabs my knee, lifting it higher to have better access. I bury my hands in his messy black hair as he eats me, alternating between sucking and nibbling and fucking me with his tongue.

I have the sudden urge to please him. He’s always making me feel so good. I want to do the same for him. Clenching the collar of Dare’s hoodie, I pull him up before dropping to my knees in front of him.

“Careful,” he says huskily, probably referring to the tattoo, but I can’t feel anything other than him. I have his belt buckle undone and his pants unzipped in seconds, then I’m jerking his jeans down below his ass. I grip his hips over his white boxer briefs, seeing his thickness straining against the fabric. My tongue darts out to lick the outline of it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping his head back. “Pull my cock out.” I love this side of Dare. Dirty and bossy with a side of needy. I do as he says, sliding his boxers down until his hard length bobs free. I lick the underside of his shaft from bottom to sensitive tip, and Dare groans, hand landing on my ponytail, gripping it tightly. He tugs, pulling me away, while his other hand circles his cock.

“Open.”

I feel myself clench at his command. I open my mouth, and he slaps the head against my tongue twice before he slides inside my mouth. I close my lips around him, and Dare jerks forward with a harsh breath. He controls my movements with the hand wrapped around my hair, pulling me back, then forward. He moves slowly at first, but he picks up the pace, and I steady myself by holding on to the front of his thighs.

Without leaving my mouth, he spins us both around, so my back is facing the desk. Letting go of my ponytail, he brings his hands to rest on the edge of his desk as he pumps his hips into me, fucking my mouth. His lean, tattooed torso is stretched above me, his muscles flexing with each thrust. His lips are parted, head dipped down between his shoulders, eyes clenched shut.

I slip a hand between my own thighs, unable to resist, causing me to moan around him. His eyes fly open and flare with lust. “I want to touch you.”

I release him with a pop, holding the base of him, and shake my head. “This is for you.” I work my hand up and down his length, holding his gaze as I close my mouth around his head.