Addison
I'm completely disoriented when I wake up. At first I think I'm back in my apartment in Santa Barbara. Then my eyes adjust to the weak morning light filtering in through the windows, and my skin registers the warm, hard muscle against me. I shift in his arms, careful not to wake him, and rest my cheek and chin on my palm. This is kind of my thing, lying here in the morning and staring at him while he sleeps. Seriously, I know. I have issues. But he's so beautiful. Lying on his back, covers off, and I get to inspect every inch of him. From his feet, his hard calves and lean thighs, which are lightly sprinkled with hair, to his cock, which is at that halfway point to hardness I love so much. My mouth waters as I contemplate waking him up the old-fashioned way.
He stirs, and my gaze drifts to his hip bones. They rock my world, so bitable, so perfect to grip when I'm doing that old-fashioned wake-up thing. His stomach is truly six-pack heaven, covered in tongue-tracing ink, but not in a bodybuilder way. Just deliciously lean. And then, you know, there's the face. The face that caught me back when we were idiot kids, and the face that never left my memory bank when I fucked up and he bolted. Now it just makes me equally love him and hate him because I can never get enough of it.
Maybe I'll kiss him first. Just once. Those lips are calling to me. Then I'll head south. My gaze drops once again, but this time, instead of seeing where we are in the woody department, it comes to a halt on his right hand. At first I'm not sure I'm seeing correctly. Or maybe I'm still asleep. My heart swells inside my chest a little as I follow the line work down his thumb. He's inked my name in his skin. He's inked my name into his skin? How didn't I see that yesterday?
Oh, I don't know, my brain razzes me. Maybe because you were acting like a lunatic. A sex-crazed lunatic who was desperately afraid her man would bolt if he knew how far over the moon for him she was.
Needing a moment to process, I slip out of bed and put on one of Rush's t-shirts. The sun is starting to rise for real now as I walk into the kitchen, and I stop for a second to bask in a particularly warm pool of it near the table. I love this room. It has killer light, and a view that makes you want to stare out the glass for hours. I check out things in the fridge, then follow an amazing scent to the oven. Ahhh, he had dinner waiting on us last night. Well, we're just a few hours late. No worries.
I start pulling stuff out and placing it on the already-set table. It's a pretty fancy to-do with all the crystal and copper and silver, and I feel kind of bad we didn't get to experience it with the moonlight streaking in, and that breeze he gets here.
He inked my name into his skin.
I hold on to the back of the chair and just say that again in my mind. And he told me he loved me. Clearly he wants me in his life for longer than a hot minute. So what's my problem? What's my fear?
Strong arms encircle my waist, and hard cock through thin cotton boxer briefs presses against my barely-covered ass. "Don't do me like that, Ads."
His breath on my neck sends tiny shards of heat straight to my well-worked-over bits.
"I have to wake up without you all week long. It fucking sucks."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He chuckles softly against my neck. "No apology needed, baby. Just a promise, all right? And you know I'll make it worth your while."
I smile, and those shards of heat turn all electric inside my pussy. I glance down, see his right hand splayed on my stomach. See my name there. For good. For always. The thing screams up at me. The dude loves you, idiot. Stop with the cold play and tell him how you feel. Tell him just how crazy he makes you. How weak and vulnerable you feel when you guys aren't together.
I sink back into him, gently grind my ass against his dick.
"Awwww, damn," he says on a quick intake of breath. "Can't. Fucking want to so bad. But can't." He turns me around and kisses me hard and hungry. When he pulls back, he looks like a sullen teenager. "I have a short day today at the shop, but I have to go in early."
I give him my most seductive look, which is really just a sort of pout-plus-eyelash-batting thing. I'm pretty sure it's not very effective. "You sure?"
He kisses my nose. "We have a guest artist. She's booked all day, and I need to open up and do the owner thing."
"Does she do tats?"
"Piercings."
"Oh. I might like that. Maybe my nose or my eyebrow."
For a second, I swear I see a flicker of panic cross his features, but then I blink and it's gone. I chew my lip thoughtfully. "Course I do need to go on interviews after graduation. Maybe I should wait."
He nods. "You should always think through any changes to the body." His brows lift a fraction and he whispers, "Especially your body."
I reach down for his hand, the right one, and lift it up for us both to see. "Did you think this through, Rush?"
He doesn't look at it-his hand or my name. His eyes are locked to mine, and they're pretty heavy with affection. "Every damn day you weren't with me, baby."
This is it. The perfect moment, if that even exists. To tell him. Right now, while we're stuck together and our stomachs are making strange-ass noises because we haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. But I don't want to rush things either. I know he's got to go. But-and this is really inside my head now-I also know he's coming back.
His hand still in mine, I lead him over to the table. "Sit down. You gotta eat before you go."
"Fine." He watches as I fill up his plate, then grabs a fork. But when he notices I don't take the seat beside him, he frowns. "Aren't you hungry, baby?"
I nod. "Starving."
"Then come."
As he stuffs a piece of naan into his mouth, I pull my t-shirt up over my head, then toss it somewhere behind me. Fork in hand, Rush stares at me, watches me as I walk over to his chair and kneel down in front of him.
"The only one coming this morning is you," I say, slipping my fingers into the waistband of his black boxers and easing them down just enough so that I can take care of business.
As I wrap my fingers around his cock, I glance up at him. His nostrils are flared, and the veins in his neck, even under all that ink, are popping. But he's still holding the fork. I lean in and run my tongue from thick base to wet tip.
"Think you can do two things at once, Merrick?" I ask, then take him slow and deep into my mouth.
"Fuck," he groans as metal fork hits hardwood floor. "No."
