Ten Thousand Words (13 page)

Crawling between her legs once more, I gingerly laid my weight on top of her. Her eyes met mine, bright and burning.

Shifting my weight, bracing myself on my left forearm, I traced my right hand up her thigh and hip, up higher under her shirt and jacket, and over her rib cage until her plump breast filled my palm. Her bra felt as plain as her panties. The steady, hard beat of her heart bounded up my arm, a sweet tempo my heart swiftly synchronized with.

“Let me take off the rest,” I begged.

She nodded, and I helped her to sit up. Peeling the arms of her jacket down, I divested her of that and then pulled her T-shirt up over her head. Gently, I pressed her back, and she didn’t look away as I pushed myself off the bed to look down on her.

No, she was nothing like the others.

Fucking glorious.

She had a strong body with a layer of softness that promised to welcome me with warmth and comfort. The muscles in her thighs would grip me hard into a pelvis that wouldn’t stab and rub me raw. Her stomach had definition in the upper abs, but a tender swell below would press sinfully into me. I couldn’t wait to turn her over and see what her backside offered.

She hummed lightly, and my eyes traveled slowly up the lovely length of her to her face. It struck me anew just how drop-dead gorgeous she was.

“Your turn?” she asked, arching her brow.

I smiled. “Will you help me?”

Sitting up, she got to her knees—
good God
—and made her way toward me. Her tits really were fantastic. I couldn’t wait until I released them from that bra.

Standing still, bowing my head, I watched her fingers stretch out to unbutton my shirt. Her eyes were focused on her task. When she got to my waist, she tugged the shirt out of the waistband and continued until each button was free. Her breath caught, and she hesitated to make a go for my slacks.

“Do it,” I whispered.

Staring at the bulge threatening to burst out, she did as I’d told her, and there was something so endearing about it to me. I liked dominating women in the bedroom, but with Xanthe, it was something…
other
. She was so strong, so opinionated, that it was much more of a turn-on.

When she finished her task, I took her hands in mine, and she looked up into my eyes.

I raised her hands to my lips and kissed them. “Thank you, Xanthe Love.”

Her pupils were huge and shining, sucking me down into them. I was looking into a hell of a lot more than her eyes, and what I saw was soul-shattering.

“Beautiful,” I whispered, not even aware that I had.

She blinked, releasing me from the spell. I took a step back, and she sank back to sit on her heels, her hands resting artlessly in her lap.

I wished I could take a photograph of her just like that. I’d frame it and place it on my office desk, so I could gaze at it while in need of some inspiration at work.

Shrugging off the suspenders and out of the shirt, I then stripped off my slacks, letting all of it drop to the floor. I stood before her in my boxer briefs, not caring that my groin was threatening to bust out of those.

I stepped close, and Xanthe responded by rising up onto her knees once more. Reaching around, I unclasped her bra, slowly pulling the straps over her shoulders before completely removing it and tossing it aside.

We were but a breath apart. The heat from her body shimmered around me, drawing me into her. I traced my fingertips along her collarbone, seeing the feather tattooed in all its glory. A true piece of art, it was actually a quill, the point of it stopping along the outer curve of her left breast.

I wanted to commend Ricki Conklin for his masterpiece—and break his hands for actually being allowed to touch that breast. It wasn’t rational, but it didn’t change that fact.

Just as I had imagined them, her breasts were soft and large, slightly overflowing in my hands. Her nipples were a dusky rose and
pierced
. Barbells speared through the pebbled nubs, and while I had never really thought much for the things, on Xanthe, they were perfect. Crowning silver beads delicately decorated the soft mounds. I wanted to suck them into my mouth and flick my tongue over them.

Swallowing hard around the dryness in my throat, I asked, “Do you have anything else pierced?”

“No,” she replied, smiling wryly.

Good.
The nipples were enough for me.

Releasing her breasts, I lightly traced my fingertips up her chest and over the pulse points in her neck before sliding them into the hair at the back of her head. Gently, I pulled, so her head tilted back. I just wanted to see her reaction, see what she’d allow me to do.

She didn’t resist.

Descending, I kissed her sweet mouth until the passion shivered in the air around us. My cock was going to explode; it begged me to press it against her, needing to feel her warmth, her life force holding it close.

“Lie down on your belly,” I commanded. “Ronen said he tattooed your back. I want to see.”

“I thought you believed only crazy people have tattoos,” she stated while complying.

“You already told me all writers are slightly insane. Your tattoos only prove it,” I joked.

Folding her arms, she rested her cheek on her hands, and I continued my inspection.

My God
.

She was perfection. That arse was the most amazing counterbalance for her tits. I was going to smack the shit out of it one day soon. It would bounce and bear my red handprint like a curved canvas. I was going to sink my teeth into it, too, and leave an imprint.

“Fuck,” the word left me on an exhale.

She sighed.

“Do you know how stunning you are?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. I had the impression, it wasn’t something she really thought about, and, fuck, that was hotter than anything else.

Stretching out beside her, I propped my head in my left hand and reached out with my right to trace my fingers up her spine, delighting in how she shivered and erupted into goose bumps.

Ronen’s work was just as masterful as Ricki’s. The crows on her back were crafted in intense detail, their black feathers reflecting rainbows. Witnessing these, my respect for Ronen grew. She obviously only allowed the most gifted of artists to mark her flesh.

The two birds faced each other but weren’t mirror images. Their stances differed, their wing placements complementing the other.

“What’s their meaning?” I asked.

“They carry the deaths of my mother and grandmother for me. Wherever I go, they’re with me.”

How sad that she had to know such a thing at all. Never in my life had I experienced the loss of a loved one. But my Xanthe Love had, and it had shaped her into this amazing woman.

“If you could go back and change it, would you?”

She sighed again, and I looked down onto her face. Her eyes were closed.

“It’s not something I would change. It was simply their time. The natural order of things. To waste my time wishing for something that could never be changed…they wouldn’t have wanted that.”

My heart ached but not with sadness. It was pride from the privilege of having the chance to be with her, just like this—nearly naked, allowed to touch and caress her. She blew my mind.

Leaning over, I pressed a kiss to the closest crow, my beard rasping against her satin skin. She tasted so fine; I had to go back for another and another. Xanthe released a pleased breath, making me pulse deep in my groin.

“I think I’ve been fantasizing about you since you first smiled at me,” I told her. “I wanted to know what you were hiding…”

Her spine stiffened. “There are things you should know about me, Ollie.”

“And I can’t wait to find out, but right now…” I sighed. “You’re stunning, Xanthe. Absolutely breathtaking.”

She swallowed thickly. “I’ve always thought you were stunning.”

Her quiet admission had me closing my eyes, joy coursing through me on my pulse. I knew I was a good-looking man, but to hear it coming from Xanthe gave it a whole different meaning somehow. Perhaps it was because she didn’t allow so much male attention in her life. It meant that she was attracted to me for more than what I looked like.

“Roll over,” I commanded softly.

She complied, and I grinned, knowing that she was eager to continue what we had started. I was, too.

When I was between her thighs once more, she wrapped around me, our mouths fusing hotly. It wasn’t long before that passion caught us up, and we were writhing and straining against each other. Grinding down, I rubbed myself between her legs, moaning at the feel of her damp heat soaking through my boxers.

“God, Xanthe…”

Our bodies created the perfect storm of friction and warmth.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, arching into my rocking pelvis.

Her neck bowed, tilting her head back, exposing the vulnerable tender flesh, offering me up a taste. Below her ear, her scent was the strongest. Her pulse beat wildly against my tongue.

“Ollie…I’m going to come,” she said, breathless.

Pulling back, I snuck my hand down the front of her drenched panties, my fingers slipping easily through the slick lips of her sex. The musk of her was doing my head in. She was hot, dripping wet, as I pushed two fingers into her pulsing core.

“Touch me, Xanthe. I’m so close. I want to come with you.”

Her hand snuck beneath my boxers, her fingers curling around the length of me. The air exploded out of my lungs, and I dropped my forehead to hers. Her strokes were timid, unsure, and so very, very correct.

“Harder,” I panted, grinding the heel of my hand against her, reaching in deep.

I reared back just in time to watch her come. Her eyebrows knit together while her jaw dropped, her lips forming an O. Briefly, I imagined what it’d be like to have my cock slip into her mouth, and the head of it tingled as my balls drew up tight.

The inner walls of her clenched down hard around my fingers as she imploded with her orgasm. Her cry was such a wonderful sound; it was far too much for me, a sensory overload. Like the night before, I erupted so intensely just from the thought of all the things we could do with each other. Tensed and shaking, I cried out my own release into the air.

Wet and sticky, we withdrew our hands and clung to each other. I wanted to smear her all over me, wear her essence as a triumphant sign that this woman was my own.

She had claimed me, and she didn’t even realize it.

I had to wonder if I had claimed her just as much.

After that, I left her.

“I’m coming back,” I promised, pulling up my slacks without my boxers.

She looked as though she didn’t believe me.

“I’m just going to clean up. I want to sleep next to you,” I explained.

“Sure,” she replied, nonchalant.

I didn’t blame her. Had she been any other woman, I’d have had no inclination of sharing my sleep with her.

But she wasn’t any other woman, and I wasn’t going to leave her hanging. I quickly kissed her, one last taste before I had to leave her company, and then I snagged her room key from the desk.

“You get cleaned up, too,” I told her. “And don’t put on anything too sexy, all right? Otherwise, I’ll be making you jack me off all damn night.”

She laughed, lighthearted once more.

Up in my room, I felt the loneliness of my existence. I didn’t want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary. I took a fast shower to rinse off the traces of my orgasm
. Fuck, that was incredible
. Then, I quickly got dressed in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. I grabbed my travel bag because I really might not be able to help myself and could use the extra underwear, and I headed back down to room 1013.

Xanthe had showered, too, and was wearing a white ribbed tank top and black sweatpants. I could see her nipple piercings through her shirt, and, holy hell, that was just so fucking sexy. Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, she had the leather-bound book in her left hand and a pen in her right.

“Is that your diary?” I asked, dumping my bag on the floor and placing the key on the desk.

One side of her mouth curled up into a half-smile. “No. It’s just something I write in when I get ideas for my stories.” Closing it, she placed it on the nightstand. “Speaking of which…”

“What?” I asked.

“My stories.”

Kicking off my trainers, I made my way over to her. She straightened her legs, and I grabbed her ankles, pulling her down the bed. Her thighs parted, welcoming me back. I happily settled on top of her, loving the sight of her smiling face. Behind the hipster glasses, her eyes sparkled, and she let out a giggle that warmed my jaded soul.

“You’re the cutest dork I’ve ever met, love.”

“And you’re distracting me from having a conversation with you.”

“I know, but I can’t think with my upstairs brain right now.”

She busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it; I started laughing, too. We had found each other in this crazy world. For so long, we had lived in the same city, never crossing paths. It took me being a prick and a transatlantic flight to find out that there was truly a woman of my dreams.

I couldn’t believe my luck that Elaine H. Ford had picked a photographer for her covers. If it weren’t for her, I’d never have known just exactly what I had been missing in my life.