With Me in Seattle Bundle One (124 page)

“Gimme.” She extends her arms, wiggling her fingers, her sweet face all happy and glowing, and she looks like a kid.

I hand her the bag and stuff my hands in the pockets of the jeans I threw on before heading downstairs.

“Why are you nervous?” She tilts her head to the side, watching me.

“I’m not.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Uh huh. Sure.”

She knows me too well already.

“Open it.”

She tosses the white tissue paper on the floor and pulls the soft white T-shirt out of the bag, snaps it open and stares at the front, her mouth gaping open.

“It’s a Nash T-shirt,” she whispers, her eyes traveling over the photo of me and the guys on the front.

“Yeah, you were in Tahiti.” I shrug.

She immediately strips out of my shirt and pulls the tee over her head, looks down at it and back up at me with a wide smile. “I love it.”

“Good. I love seeing my name on you,” I whisper.

She launches herself into my arms and kisses me soundly. “It’s really soft,” she murmurs. “Do you have a Sharpie?”

“Probably, why?”

“Will you sign it?” She’s bouncing again, like a fan, and it makes me still for just a moment.

I don’t need a crazy fan-girl as my girlfriend.

And then I remember. This is Sam. She’s no one’s fan-girl.

“Why?” I ask again.

“In case I want to sell it on eBay.” She bats her lashes at me, and my stomach loosens. I dig around in my computer bag and pull out a black marker.

“Where do you want me to sign it, smart-ass?”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. She’s so getting spanked. “On my boob!”

“On your boob!” I pinch the bridge of my nose and laugh.

“Like you’ve never signed boobs before.” She smirks.

“Oh, I’ve signed my share.”

“I figured. So mine shouldn’t shock you.”

“I love your boobs.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. She has great tits.

“So sign them.” She steps back and thrusts her breast toward me, and my cock immediately strains against my jeans.

I slowly sign her shirt, right over her breast, my eyes on hers. She bites that plump bottom lip of hers and sucks in a breath, her eyes dilating.

God, she’ll be the death of me.

“All done,” I whisper.

“Thanks,” she whispers back, and then blinks, pulling herself out of the sexy trance. She tugs the shirt over her head, folds it carefully and places it back in the bag and walks over to her clothes.

“Stop,” I order her.

She glances at me with surprise. “What?”

“Come here.”

She frowns and stands in front of me again.

“I’m not done.”

“You signed the shirt.”

“Yeah.” My eyes follow her curves, her lines, and her nipples pucker under my gaze. “But I’d like to play.”

“With the Sharpie?”

I shrug.

“You want to draw on me?”

“You are a beautiful blank canvas, sunshine.”

She blinks at me, mulling the idea over, and then smiles slowly. “Okay, but then I want something, too.”

“What would that be?”

“I want to lick your stars.”

“You don’t need my permission to do that, you know.” My stomach clenches at the thought. When her lips and tongue touch my hips, I about go out of my mind.

She just shrugs happily. “That’s what I want.”

“Done. Come stand by the mirror.”

“I don’t get to lie down?” She pouts.

“Hell no, you get to watch.” I grin and lead her to the full-length mirror that hangs on the bathroom door and turn her so her back is facing the mirror, but she can look over her shoulder to watch.

I uncap the marker and start on her shoulder blades, drawing clouds and birds, a sun, and she gasps, bites her lip and watches with fascination.

“You’re good.”

“I like to doodle,” I murmur and keep focused on the task at hand. Once I turn her and start working on her breasts and sweet stomach, I’ll lose my concentration.

I continue to move the ink over her skin, adding an ocean and palm trees, sand, starfish. Along the bottom, across the top of her ass, I draw a music bar and add the notes to one of my favorite songs that I wrote called
Wrapped in You
. It’s a ballad, and one she’d know. We play it at every show.

“You’re writing music?!”

“I’ve already written this one, just putting it below the picture.”

I glide the marker down her legs in long swirls, drawing random designs on her white flesh.

“Wow, you’re good. Did you draw your own tats?” she asks.

“Some of them. Some I had done.”

“What’s up with the tats on your hands?” She’s watching my hand closely. She always traces the ink with her fingertip.

I shrug. “It reminds me to slow down.”

“But the word implies going fast.” She frowns.

“Exactly.”

“Who knew you were so deep?” She smirks, and I smack her ass hard. She squeals and laughs. “I like to have my ass smacked, you know.”

“I know.” I grin up at her and smack her again. “Okay, turn around.”

She obeys, and I smile in approval. The front will be a bit different. I draw another music bar, diagonal, running from her left hip, over her sternum, to her right shoulder, but low enough that her clothing will hide it.

I add the notes, from the same song on her back. When it’s finished, I start on the flowers.

Cherry blossoms, looping around the music, down her stomach, over her ribs.

She braces her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes are pinned to the mirror over my head, watching intently. Her breathing is shallow, and I can smell her arousal.

She’s so fucking turned on. I can’t wait to sink inside her.

I finish the petals that weave around her pussy and then, on her hip, I sign my name.

Not because I’m the artist, but because she’s mine.

I’m completely in love with her. I just don’t know how to tell her, because I’m afraid that as soon as I do, she’ll run at full speed in the other direction.

“All done,” I murmur and stand back, watching her turn in circles, admiring the art in the mirror.

“It’s gorgeous. I thought you’d draw some stupid stick figures or write ‘Leo was here.’” She laughs. Her face sobers when she sees my expression in the mirror.

“I want you,” I tell her.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t stop looking at her. At the stark black lines on her soft white skin. At her pink cheeks, flushed with lust. At her hot blue eyes, raking over my own naked torso. Her eyes still on the stars on my hips, and then jump back up to mine, and I can’t stand it any longer.

I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bed, lower her gently to the mattress and shuck my jeans to join her.

“It’s my turn,” she whispers.

***

~Samantha~

I push Leo onto his back and kiss his chest, his shoulders, down his ribs. I nuzzle his belly button with my nose, enjoying the way his muscles clench at my touch. Gripping his hips in my hands, I kneel between his legs and lower my lips to the blue and red star on his left hip, kissing and licking, tracing the lines.

“I fucking love these stars,” I whisper, and switch sides, paying extra special attention to the scar above the ink, tracing the line of muscle that forms that sexy-as-fuck V.

Leo grips my head gently in his hands and swears softly, and I grin as I plant kisses down his happy trail to his hard cock.

I lick from the base to the tip and suck him in, grip him in my fist, and fuck him with my mouth. He tastes delicious, smooth yet hard at the same time.

“God, Sam,” he growls and fists my hair in his hands, guiding me up and down his glorious dick.

I pull back and lick his scrotum, earning me another growl. He clenches his eyes shut and throws his head back, but I want his eyes on me.

“Watch,” I whisper and smile encouragingly when his eyes find mine. I kiss the underside of the tip and then lick it and sink down over it again, until I feel him against the back of my throat, tighten my lips around him and lift up, and repeat the motion over and over again until I feel his balls tighten and lift, and his legs become restless. He’s gasping for breath.

I fucking love the effect I have on him.

“Stop,” he whispers.

I ignore him.

“Stop, Sam, I don’t want to come in your mouth.” He grips my shoulders and pulls me on top of him and kisses me deeply. “Your sassy mouth is gonna kill me.”

“Not a bad way to go,” I murmur and nip his chin. I straddle his hips and sit up, slide my wetness over his cock, and moan. He’s tracing the music drawn on my belly. “What is it?” I ask.

“Wrapped in You
.” He smiles shyly, and I gasp. That’s my favorite Nash song. “Do you like that one?” he asks.

I smooth my face and shrug. “It’s okay.”

Before I can blink, he grips my hands in his and reverses our positions, pushing me flat on my back, my hands held in one of his large ones over my head and his pelvis pressed to mine. “Admit it,” he whispers.

“Admit what?”

“You like it.”

I smirk up at him and try to pull my hands down, but he presses them harder against the bed. “It’s fine.”

With his free hand, he gently brushes loose tendrils of my hair away from my face, lowers his torso until his face is just inches from mine, and softly, so, so softly, begins to sing.

You make me tremble

When I hold you like this

Your skin glowing in the moonlight

You have me all wrapped in you…

His voice is incredible. Even when he’s just talking, I can’t get enough of it, but when he sings, I’m lost to him.

He releases my hands, and I caress his face gently with my fingertips and pull his lips to mine and pour how I feel about him into this kiss, my hands on his face.

I am wrapped in him.

When he pulls back, I offer him a small smile. “That’s my favorite Nash song.”

“Really?” he breathes, his eyes are happy.

“Really. Who did you write it for?”

He frowns for just a moment and looks down at my lips, then back to my eyes. “I didn’t write it for anyone.” He kisses my nose. “But I think it fits how I feel about you. I’ll never sing it again without thinking of you.”

“You are so good to me,” I whisper.

“You deserve so much,” he whispers and kisses me again, deeper this time, and I feel him reach over to his bedside to grab a condom.

“I want you inside me, babe.”

“I can do that.” He grins and pushes inside me, until he’s completely buried in me, and stops. “How’s that.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug and bite my lower lip, teasing him.

“Do you think you can do better?” He raises his eyebrows and then, just as swiftly as he put me in this position, he reverses us again, so I’m straddling his lap and lying over his lean body. “Have at it.”

I gladly sit up and begin to ride him, clenching around him with every push and pull, up and down, reveling in his hands firmly planted on my ass, guiding me. His eyes are feral, pinned to mine.

“Feels so good,” I mutter and lean forward to brace my hands on his shoulders, bucking my hips, grinding my clit against his pubic bone, and I feel the energy gathering in my core, ready to be ripped from me.

“My God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His hands cup my breasts and pinch my nipples, hard, and then he soothes them with the pads of his callused fingers. He suddenly sits up, his face level with mine, and kisses me hard, bites my lip and slaps my right ass cheek.

I lean down and suck on his neck, bite the muscle at the top of his shoulder and go crazy when he pulls me down hard, circling his hips, and makes me come, my orgasm ripping through me.

“That’s it, baby.” He licks up and down my neck, and when I come down from the high, he slips his hand between us, and rubs my clit with the pad of his thumb, and I come again, making him groan.

I feel his body tighten. His arm clenches around me, and he comes with me, shouting my name as he lets loose.

“Holy fuck,” I whisper and chuckle when all he can do is smile. “I guess I don’t need that trip to yoga today.”

“Let’s go for a run later.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’ve missed running with you.”

“Okay. Are we staying here tonight? I’ll need some workout clothes.”

“I want to be with you, at your place, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” I grin. “I’ll head out, and you can make your calls and stuff and meet me there later.”

“Fuck that. I’ll take you. I’ll make my calls from your place later.” He kisses my forehead and lifts me off of him.

We’re not attached at the hip, and I start to tell him that being apart for less than an hour won’t kill us, but when he leaves me to throw the condom in the garbage, and the cold air hits my warm skin, I know that I don’t want to be apart from him.

I enjoy him too much.

Way too much.

Chapter Eleven

I stare at Leo as he drives through Seattle traffic late Friday afternoon. He looks hot driving this car. He’s pulled the sleeves of his gray blazer up his forearms, and I watch the muscles tighten and relax under the inked skin as he steers his souped-up Camaro.

Even watching him drive makes me wet.

He’s dressed trendier tonight, with a gray blazer over a white Levi’s T-shirt, dark blue jeans and black Converse. He’s still sporting the beanie over his signature hair.

We’re heading out to dinner and then to a club to catch a band he knows.

Or, as I like to think of it, our first real date.

“Why a Camaro?” I turn to face him in my seat.

“What do you mean?” He changes lanes and smiles at me.

“You could have any car in the world. Why did you choose a Camaro and not something higher-brow, like a Porsche or Bentley?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve wanted a Camaro since I was a kid. My dad had one.” He frowns as the memory runs through his mind. “You don’t like my car?”

“I like it. I was just curious.”

Leo’s phone rings as he stops at a red light, and he pushes the hands-free button on the wheel.

“Nash.”