Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

"Being here."

"Always."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Good." He unwraps the blanket and pulls me closer.

My hands go to his hair. My eyes fix on his. They're still beautiful, dark, filled with trust and affection.

I believe him.

That he'll be here.

That he'll be mine.

That he'll accept all of me.

He runs his fingertips over my cheeks and chin. Then he's cupping the back of my head with his hand.

He pulls me into a deep, slow kiss.

His tongue slides into my mouth.

Bit by bit, my body wakes up. The heaviness of the day fades away until I'm floating on a wave of desire.

Walker pulls my hoodie over my head.

I push his leather jacket off his shoulders.

He pulls me closer. Sucks on my bottom lip. Softly. Then harder.

It's so fucking good, but it's not enough.

I need every ounce of him. Every bit of his flesh against mine. Every hint of intimacy I can get.

I pull his t-shirt over his head. Then my tank top. My bra. My hands roam his shoulders, chest, stomach.

He feels so good against my palm. Warm. Hard. Alive.

But I need more.

I need all of him.

My lips find his. My kiss gets harder. Deeper. Needier.

All that affection pours from him to me.

And from me to him.

There's trust in his touch. Trust I don't deserve. Trust I desperately need.

His palm plants between my shoulder blades. Slowly, he drags his lips over my cheek and chin, down my neck, along my collarbone.

He takes my nipple into his mouth.

Fuck. That feels good.

My hands go to his hair.