First ink, p.8
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       First Ink, p.8

         Part #1 of Wicked Ink Chronicles series by Laura Wright
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Chapter 8



  The morning light out here near the Red Rocks is so different than just twenty minutes away in Vegas. It almost looks like it's made out of crystal. And the sky is so damn blue. As I come up on one elbow and take a gander out the window, I think this might be the most perfect morning I've ever seen.

  Or maybe it's the exact same as every other morning, but I got this girl in my bed.

  I sniff and shake my head. I slept maybe an hour last night. I had this crazy-ass urge to keep watch over her. You know, like some jerkoff roaming the desert was going to find his way up here and try to break in. Steal shit.

  Steal my girl.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa, dickhead, I tell myself. Don't do that. For your own fucking sanity, don't do it.

  My eyes cut to her. She has her back to me, a sheet at her waist, and that light I was going on about a moment ago, it's hitting my tat so perfectly my fucking guts roll over.

  What the hell am I going to do? One-night-onlys happen more often than they probably should for me, but one night bliss sessions with the former love of your fucking life? Addison came here for two reasons: to tell me the truth about why she dumped my ass for another guy in front of an entire puberty-infested gymnasium; and to apologize for it.


  That memory used to kill me. She'd said she was sick that morning, didn't feel good enough to go to the dance. Sure I'd rented a tux and my stepdad was going to spend the night drinking so he'd offered me his car, but it wasn't like it was prom or anything. Just homecoming. And since neither of us played a sport or carried pom-poms, I didn't care. Thing was, I cared for her. I'd opened up a can of Campbell's, and brought it over to her house. The chick who answered the door was really forthcoming with the information, grinned when she said it and everything.

  The Campbell's had gone into the bushes and I'd gone to the school. Ads and me, we never really tried to be friends with anybody else. We were so tight. I think that was the kick in the 'nads for me. We were best friends, and there she was-so not sick-and slow dancing with that buttoned-up vanilla douche from the wrestling team.

  Cops would've been called that night if Addison hadn't stepped in, told me to take a walk. Course, my walk was a lot farther than she or I expected.

  Next day, I packed all my shit and took a bus to New York. Refused every goddamn attempt Addison made to contact me. Like Ads said, we're all morons at seventeen.

  My eyes move over her skin. Everything's different now. Our lives, our futures. And yet, this thing between us hasn't died. If anything, it's gained in strength like a tornado or a tsunami. Vanilla was a test, a break in the weather. But now. . . what?

  She said she still loves me, but she never said anything about a second chance. About us trying this again. For all I know, she's got someone back in Cali.

  Once again, my guts plummet, rollercoaster-style. I never asked if she was seeing someone. Maybe I should've. Or maybe I should just go with the I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck attitude.

  She moves then, stretching, arms up, back arching, butt lifting my way.

  Blood surges, heavy and painful, into my cock and I drop onto my back, lock my hands behind my head. Granted, I'm a horny motherfucker, but I've never wanted a girl like I want Addison. It's always been like that. Even after I left town. I'm not proud to admit it, but I couldn't stop my mind from dropping her face and those eyes a few times when I was with someone else.

  Thing is, back in the day, I'd known. I'd known we belonged together. Not just until grad, but for the long haul. We were just, as the old folks say, meant for each other. But like anything partnership-related, it takes two.


  She utters my name all sleepy and sexy and turns over, drapes herself across my chest and groin, snuggles in tight. My cock lifts against her thigh and instantly, she lowers her leg and wraps her hand around my shaft.

  I forget everything, even my name-Joe? Darrell? Bob?-as she begins to stroke me off. At first it's just light, sensual petting, Easy Like Sunday Morning kinda thing, but as I pump into her hand, and as the head of my dick sports a few drops of come, she tightens her hold.

  Her head is tucked into my neck, and as she works me over, she bites and laps at my skin.

  "Tongue tracers," she whispers, licking down my neck and over my collarbone as she jacks me.

  "What?" I manage to kick out.

  "Your ink," she says, moving farther, running her tongue around my nipple.

  Shit, if she's going to be using her mouth that way I need to get that thing pierced, like yesterday.

  Speaking of using her mouth. . . I groan as her head snakes down over my belly and lands dead center. My cock is throbbing in anticipation. It loves her hand, needs her pussy. But right now, it wants her mouth.

  She looks up at me, her lips resting on the head of my prick.

  "Fuck, I hope you're thirsty, baby. "

  "Parched beyond reason, Rush. " She grins, then sticks out her pretty pink tongue and licks into the slit.

  I groan. "You remember how much I come?"

  She nods, her eyes bright and excited, like it's fucking Christmas morning.

  I thrust gently toward her. "Every drop then, Addison. "

  Her nipples bead as she nods again. Then her head drops and she sucks me deep, taking me all the way to the back of her throat. I curse, loud and guttural, going momentarily blind. Shit, her mouth is hot and wet. Then she retreats, her lips just covering the head now. Her eyes lift to mine and they shine with sexual power.

  Go to it, baby, I want to say. Take whatever you want, however you want it. But my voice is lost. Gone on a voyage far, far away.

  She pushes her lips all the way over the head now, slowly working her way to the root. And when she gets there-what does she do? Grab my fucking ball sack. Come beads at the tip of my dick and she licks it right up, moaning when there's nothing left.

  As she gently massages my testicles, she works her tongue up and down my shaft, Popsicle-style, then drops her head and sucks me deep. I thread my fingers in her hair and start pumping into her mouth. That really gets her going. She moans and closes her eyes and rubs her gorgeous tits against my thigh. Breathing hard, my gut clenching, my gaze lands on her upper back, the artwork I put on her-my brand-and stays there.

  I come hard, my balls pulling up, my dick swelling. I know it's a river I'm pumping into her, but she drinks me down like I'm the best goddamn thing she's ever tasted.

  And maybe I am. Because to me, she's the best I've ever had. The only thing I want.

  As I keep thrusting, slower and slower, she eases back and starts licking me clean, tending to me all sweet and shit. After going all night, I swear to god I should be soft and done, but it's Addison. She's my candy, my addiction. My dick stays hard for her. It knows her. It wants her. Again and again.

  I reach down and grab her under the shoulder blades. I lift her up, then slowly, inch by inch, place her down on my shaft. Her honey walls instantly curl around me, cream around me.

  I watch her as she rides me, as her fingers dig into my chest-as her goddamn eyes cling to mine. Right now, I'm not clear. Right now, my heart is having trouble knowing the difference between sex and love. And that's got to be because with Addison there is no difference.

  When she starts to really pick up speed and my hands grope at her perfect ass, I close my eyes and swallow the words that are fighting to get out of my mouth.

  I love you too, Ads.

  Never stopped.

  Her walls clench around me.

  Never want to stop.
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