The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola Marsh
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in my own skin, I took on a new one.
And having a woman like Abby judge me as just another deadhead rebel because of my tats really pissed me off.
‘This would be looking at them up close,’ I growled, trying to tamp down my anger and failing as I unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged it off. ‘Here. Take a good look. See if you can figure me out.’
I stood in front of her, hands on hips, defiant and oddly vulnerable. I shouldn’t care what she thought of me. After Remy was back on his feet, I’d be outta here and back on the road, heading to Bangkok or Ibiza or Munich, creating successful clubs that would define me more than my tats.
But I did care. And that was what pissed me off the most.
I shouldn’t give a flying fuck what Abby thought of me.
Yet I did.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her apology soft and uncertain, her gaze riveted to my chest. ‘I’ve offended you.’
My anger dimmed a little as she scanned my chest as if studying for an art exam. Her hungry gaze gobbling me up and coming back for seconds. She couldn’t look away.
I’d never been studied so closely, her scrutiny disconcerting. It felt like she could see through the tats to the real me beneath, the scared little boy I’d once been, desperate for approval.
‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, taking a step closer to study me, gnawing on her bottom lip a little, the innocuous action making me want to throw her down on the sofa and take her.
Not ‘the tats are beautiful’, but ‘you’re beautiful’, her simple statement deflating what was left of my resentment.
Had it been a slip of the tongue or had she meant it? Because no one saw past my tats and a few moments ago she’d been like the rest, judging me for them.
‘May I?’ Before I could react she touched me, the briefest brush of her fingertips skating across my skin, tracing every inch of ink.
The Buddha. The peace sign outlined in flowers. The phoenix.
Symbols of my past.
My search for clarity.
My quest for harmony.
Rising out of the ashes of my childhood.
I held my breath as she moved lower, skirting around the pirate. Her fingertips light as air but making my skin burn.
‘Seen enough?’ I said through gritted teeth, regretting I’d let my anger get the better of me and done this.
Because daring her to look and expecting her to blush and turn away was far different from having Abby touch me like she wanted to explore my tats.
All over.
Her gaze lifted to mine and the blatant lust darkening her eyes to indigo blew me away.
Fuck, I was in trouble. So much trouble.
‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured before placing her hand flush against my straining cock. ‘All these pretty tattoos are an insult to your manhood, so you better show me that pirate’s peg leg so my faith in you is restored.’
Laughter burst from deep within me as I held onto the last of my self-control.
‘Abby, this is a bad idea. You’re Remy’s protégé and when this all turns to shit—’
‘It won’t,’ she said, stroking me lightly through my jeans, shredding the last of my resolve. ‘One night. That’s all I’m asking for.’
She removed her hand and I inwardly cursed my misplaced chivalry. ‘Though in fairness, I should disclose I haven’t had sex in over a year so I may break you.’
I could resist the snooty princess.
I couldn’t resist this playful, honest woman who stared at me like she could devour me in one gulp and come back for seconds.
‘Fuck, Abby, you’re making this hard—’
‘I sure as hell hope so.’ She cupped me again, firmer this time, and I lost it.
I dragged her forward and crushed her to me, grinding against her so she was in little doubt to exactly how this would go.
Hot, sweaty animalistic sex. Fast and furious and so fucking good.
She reacted like I’d set her alight. Slamming her mouth to mine. Pushing me against the nearest wall. Climbing all over me.
It was the hottest frigging thing ever, having someone like her want someone like me so damn much.
Her tongue stroked mine, shy and darting one second, bold and commanding the next, as her hand sneaked between us to touch me.
She kissed aggressively, long, deep sweeps of her tongue totally at odds with the aloof front she usually presented. It turned me on even more, the contrast between fire and ice. Hot and cold. So frigging hot.
She’d go off when I entered her, I just knew it, and my cock ached with wanting to be inside her.
I palmed her breast, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, drawing a deep groan from her. Sensitive breasts, I liked that. I needed to feast on them, to suck on those nipples until she screamed.
But my mind momentarily blanked as she slid her hand inside my jocks. Wrapped her fingers around my cock. And squeezed.
‘I want to see you,’ she murmured against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip while continuing to squeeze me. Stroke me. Undo me.
‘Right back at you.’ I hissed out a breath as her thumb rolled over the head of my cock, and I stilled her hand, withdrew it before I embarrassed myself.
There was something incredibly hot about a shy, reserved woman taking charge, and having her go for my package served to ratchet up the desire pounding through me to a relentless beat.
‘Turn around.’
If my guttural growl frightened her, she didn’t show it. Instead, her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip before she pouted. ‘But I want to see the pirate. All of him.’
‘You will, babe, trust me.’ I flashed a wolfish grin. ‘But first, I need to see all of you.’
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, so I hit the dimmer switch, willing to do anything to make her more comfortable.
Anything but stop.
Because I’d ditched my reservations around the time she’d ditched hers and stuck her hand in my pants.
I couldn’t stop this. I didn’t want to.
Not when she’d articulated exactly what this was. A rebound fuck. We both knew the score and that made it okay.
She didn’t expect hearts and flowers.
She wanted hard and fast.
After over a year of celibacy—I didn’t have a frigging clue how that had happened considering how damn gorgeous she was—she wanted to use me to break the drought.
The good girl wanting the bad boy to make it all better, even if it was only for one night.
This I could do.
The moment she’d taken emotion out of the equation and shown me exactly what she wanted, I couldn’t say no.
I understood wanting to obliterate the past with something a tad wild, something not entirely good, something to make you forget. Boy, did I understand.
‘I want you,’ she said, the vulnerability of a moment ago fading as she eyeballed me with unabashed hunger. ‘Real bad.’
‘The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.’ I spun her around and homed in on her zipper. Slid the tab down, the rasp of metal against metal meshing with her soft pants of anticipation.
I imagined