By interesting, I mean hot as fuck because it’s on her skin.
Ligaya does the last thing I expect. Of course she does.
She turns around and leans her forearms on the counter. The pose makes her curvy backside stick out and the light shine on the tattoo.
“Go ahead.” She sounds as breathless as I feel. “Give it a look.”
Fuck yeah.
She’s a feast on that kitchen counter. My eyes track the elegant line of her spine and the subtle way her shoulder blades undulate under her skin. The tattoo sits on her lower back, right above the waistband. I trace a finger over the curve that dips ever so slightly. That subtle, perfect hollow is the sexiest sliver of skin I’ve ever seen. I follow the intricate lines of the seashell and hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Goddamn, your skin is silk.”
She glances over her shoulder with hooded eyes. I wrap my fingers around her waist. She closes her eyes and moans. Confident that my grip is welcome, I run my thumb over the tattoo in firm circles.
“Tristan?”
“Yes, Ligaya?” I splay my fingers over her lower belly.
“Don’t stop.”
“I don’t plan to,” I answer, doubling my effort so both thumbs frame her spine with massaging motions. The movement positions me behind her. I keep my hips back, but Ligaya leans further, grazing her ass cheeks against my steel cock.
“Goddamn, Ligaya,” I mumble, amazed by how well our bodies fit. My cock pushes angrily against my zipper.
“I’ve been meaning to get a massage,” she quips.
I run my hand to the front of her body and urge her up so her back is pressed against my chest and I can pin her hips between me and the kitchen cabinet.
“Lucky for you, I’ve been dying to give you one.”
She gasps at the press of my full arousal.
“Liar. You’re far from dying,” she says with a playful movement of her ass.
“Glad you noticed,” I whisper against her ear.
She moans and throws her head back to give me access to her delicious neck.
“You’re hard to miss,” she mumbles. “Like a warning label.”
The words make us both pause. We are entering uncharted territory. I don’t want to stop, but doesshe?
Ligaya turns around to face me. Her brown eyes are blown into wide black circles.
“Why did you leave the other day?” she asks.
“I would have stayed too long.” My answer is instant and honest.
“What’s wrong with staying longer?”
“I just moved back into town.”
“What does that have to do with me?” she asks, her brows pinching in what looks like genuine confusion.
She waits for my response, casual and infuriatingly unbothered. Then her eyes narrow like she’s putting two and two together.
“Wait a minute. When you mentioned ‘staying longer,’ did you think I was going to ask you to, what, be my boyfriend? Maybe move in?”
