“The Iron Giant.” He rose, sliding his hands around, pulling her back against him. “Favorite movie?”

She laughed easily. “Oh, I like it well enough. But that line stuck with me. Decided maybe I’d keep it with me as a reminder.”

“Hmmm . . .” He slid one hand up, up, up until he could trace his finger over the triquetra inked onto her chest, dipping low between her breasts. He wanted to turn her around, press his mouth just there—where the softly rounded point disappeared between those lush curves. His cock pulsed and she reached back, cupping his hips in her hands, tugging him closer.

No. He better not do just anything yet—

Control. Find some control first.

Voice raw, he reached around and trailed his fingers over the tattoo where it ran between the valley of her breasts. “This one?”

“My first one.” Something of humor touched her voice and he slid her a look. She angled her head back, met his eyes. “I was feeling all wise and philosophical. Read that it had something to do with beginnings and endings and how they were all connected. Part of me wanted to get something that signified a slamming door—as in kiss my ass—but then I got to thinking about how I needed to remember how something ended, so I wouldn’t go back there. It’s all connected.”

That humor faded, and fast. Because he didn’t want whatever had moved through her mind to come between them, he leaned in and nuzzled her neck. “I’ve got to tell you—whatever it means, why ever you did it . . . it’s sexy as hell.”

*   *   *

His voice stroked all over her skin, almost like he’d run his hands along her body instead of that light brush across the tattoo. She wanted him running his hands along her body.

And she wanted him naked.

Wiggling around until she faced him, she reached up and toyed with the top button of his shirt. “What about you?” She lifted a brow. Her mind went hot and hazy as she remembered the day she’d seen him running—and she knew it had been him, but she wasn’t about to point out how she’d all but drooled over the quick look she’d gotten as he pounded the pavement outside her library. “You got any ink?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her upper chest, right at her collarbone.

“Going to make me work, huh?” Ressa gasped as he flicked the skin with his tongue, felt her pulse kick up when he nibbled his way up her neck. “I’m good with that.”

He straightened, staring down at her, his gaze hot, raw, and so intense, it threatened to steal her breath. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, taking her time as she moved down and took care of the second, then the third button. Unable to resist any longer, she smoothed one hand past the cotton of his skirt and laid it flat against his chest. Skin, warm and firm, met her hand, and when she scraped her nails over his flesh, a rough noise escaped him.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged.

His hand twisted in her hair when she would have pulled back. “Come back here,” he said, and his voice was rougher now, lower.

Her nipples drew into tight, hard points just at the sound. When he stroked his tongue across her lower lip, then dipped inside her mouth, she felt her toes curling.

Enough with taking her time. She finished the rest of the buttons in a rush, but instead of shoving the shirt off his shoulders, she curled her arms around him and pressed herself tight against him.

He responded to that by falling backward on the bed, taking her with him. Delight whispered through her and she automatically shifted, placing one knee on either side of his hips and undulating against him. The length of him, the heat, the way she could feel him pulsing inside his jeans—something liquid and fiery spread through her veins, coalescing between her thighs.

Dying to have him inside her, she sat up and shoved at his shirt. Strong, hard lines, toned muscle. He was lean, skin stretching over firm muscles, his belly flat with a ribbon of hair running down to disappear behind his jeans, but his chest appeared to be bare of any tattoos. “Hmmm. No ink here,” she murmured.

“Maybe you’re just not looking.” He came up onto his elbows, a grin crooking his lips, and then he cocked his head as her fingers danced along the line of his abdomen.

Arching a brow, she shifted her attention down. Black ink, something rounded, peeked above the waistband of his jeans, situated just above his hipbone. “Well, now. I need to take a look.”

“By all means.” His voice was steady, but as she unbuttoned his jeans, she heard his breath skip.

She was watching him, his face, the way his blue green eyes went dark, then started to blaze hotter as she dragged the zipper down and tugged at the waistband.

The hunger was eating her alive and she didn’t give a damn about the ink, didn’t care, she just wanted to get him out of those damn jeans—absently she flicked a glance over at his hip.

Ressa stopped. Cocked her head as she studied it.

“Is that like . . . a warning or are you bragging?” She slid him a sly look as she stroked her finger over the number inked onto him and to her delight, a faint blush crept over his face.

He snorted and then, as a laugh spilled out of her, he reversed their positions. “You can’t mean to tell me you aren’t familiar with that number,” he said, pressing his mouth to her neck and then moving lower.

“Well. Maybe. Although I was kinda hoping you were . . . advertising.” She groaned as his tongue slid along the scalloped lace edge of her bra. His fingers danced along her side, moving lower and lower until she was arching up against him. More . . . “Are you telling me that you tattooed 9¾ on yourself because you’re a Harry Potter fan?”

“Well, you tattooed a robot on your ass.” He flicked at the catch between her breasts and she caught her breath as he sat up, straddling her thighs. “I figure you don’t have much to say about my Harry Potter tattoo.”

“I . . .” She had a comeback for that. Really. But in the next moment, her brain went blank and her lashes drifted down. Long-fingered, skilled hands cupped her breasts and she instinctively arched into his touch. Her hands came up to cover his, a whimper falling from her lips. “Trey . . .”

The bed shifted under her and she opened her eyes just in time to see him bending down. She didn’t quite manage to muffle her cry as he caught one nipple in his mouth.

*   *   *

Her hands cupped his face and she held him like the thought of him stopping would just absolutely end her. Trey could have told her there was nothing to worry about there—the need inside him was a vicious scream. Take take take . . .

No. He wasn’t going to rush this. He focused on the scent of her skin, the way her hands tangled in his short hair, the way she arched close, like she couldn’t stand any sort of distance between them.

Stretching his body out against hers, he slid one hand down and cupped her, pressing the heel of his palm against her. She was wet—he could feel it through the silk of her panties. His cock gave a hard, demanding jerk.

“Please . . . just . . . will . . . Trey!” Broken words, none of them connecting or making sense, fell from her lips, but the hunger behind them, that he understood.

Trey pushed himself to his knees, ripping his shirt off and throwing it away. Then he caught the bra that was still tangled around her shoulders, tugging it away before he hooked his hands in the panties that rode low over the sweet swell of her hips. “Condoms. Where?”

She blinked, her gaze unfocused, hot. Then she pushed to her elbows, her tongue sweeping out to wet her lips as she looked around. “My bag. I don’t . . .”

He shoved off the bed and spotted the deep purple leather lying a few feet from the door. He snagged it and was back on the bed in seconds. She caught it in her hands and upended it with an urgency that might have made him smile if he hadn’t been tempted to start pawing through everything that came tumbling out.