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“Foreplay?” I blinked, confused. “I’ve been ready for you for at least five weeks now.”
He chuckled, plastering his forehead against mine, kissing me hard. Our teeth clashed, and I fumbled with his Henley, jerking it desperately off him. As soon as it landed on the floor, I pushed him back, panting. “Let me take a look. I’ve been wanting to ogle you peacefully since I was fourteen.”
He unpinned me from the knives and stepped back, his pecs and abs so taut they looked hand-drawn. Almost every inch of him was inked, covering sculpted muscles and skin. Macabre tattoos of Cambros, and a skull with a chef hat, and more. I now knew they were all designed to hide the scars his father had left behind. A constant reminder of what Row had had to endure as a child.
It was that last tattoo that gave me pause, though. Of an anatomic heart with flowers spurting out of it. I remembered him telling me I reminded him of such a thing. And now I understood why.
Because the flowers spurting from the heart weren’t just any flowers.
They were callas.
I swallowed hard, burning the tattoo into memory. He ran a hand over the tattoo self-consciously, obstructing it from view. “Not getting any younger here, Dot.”
But I couldn’t brush it off. I hopped off the counter, standing next to him. His eyes followed me as I lowered myself and pressed a kiss to his tattoo silently. Words weren’t needed. Just the silence between us that told him I heard his message, loud and clear.
I rose up to my full height. Which still barely reached his belly button. “Turn around.”
He frowned. “Wh—”
“Trust, remember?” I raised my eyebrows.
He did, spinning on his heel, his face toward the door. His back was tattooed too, but I could still see the white, jagged belts of scars on his skin. I pressed a kiss to a bumpy wound between his shoulder blades. His skin budded with goose bumps. A small hiss escaped him. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my lips chasing the constellation of scars under his ink. “Not just handsome, beautiful. In a dark, terrifying way.”
He was very quiet as my hands roamed his muscular arms, as I kissed every scarred inch of him. He looked like his body was dipped in gold, and still, he had no idea how beautiful he was. I had a feeling Row didn’t know how to accept love. He only knew how to give it to Dylan and Zeta. When I was done, I pressed my forehead between his shoulder blades and rasped, “You can turn back now.” He did, his eyes molten, burning with something I recognized because he kindled it in me too.
“I want us to fuck,” I admitted, somehow full of confidence and resolute. “I don’t want it to be sweet and soft. I want it to be frantic and all-consuming.”
He said nothing, giving me a moment to change my mind. I wasn’t going to. I knew what I wanted. “I’m clean.” I arched back, my center pressed against his erection.
“Yeah? Well, I’m about to dirty you up.”
He grabbed me by the waist, flipped me around, and pushed me against his cooking station. Bending me over the surface by holding the nape of my neck, he flipped my dress up and ran his hand between my legs. “Palms against the butcher block, Dot.”
I complied without question.
Row reached to move a hand over my glistening center. “Look at that delicious pussy.” He fisted his cock, running the tip in circles around the tender, swollen lips. “Begging to be fucked.”
I pressed my forehead to the surface, unsure how much more teasing I could take. “Row, please.”
“Close your legs for me.” He caught my waist from behind, kissing my neck and running the fat crown of his cock up and down my slit. It was damp with warm precum. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m clean too?”
I would, if I were able to form one coherent thought. I pressed my thighs together, choking out, “Are you?”
His nose disappeared in my hair, and he slid halfway into me from behind. Already, I felt unbearably full, the combination of his size and my position with pressed thighs making him almost too much to handle. “Yeah. I’m clean.”
He drove into me all at once. And he was so much. Too much. I cried out, clawing my fingernails on the counter. “Ahhhh.”
“Very eloquent, baby.” He bent his knees to accommodate my height when he pressed into me again, pushing to the hilt this time. He was so big, his tip probably tickled my kidneys. He covered my palms on the counter, lacing his fingers in mine, and a dangerous zing of heat ripped through me.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned, beginning to thrust inside me. The walls of my pussy resisted his size, his width, but he still pushed through. Through his roughness, I learned my ability to endure.
“That’s exactly what I said when I tried to squeeze into my high school jeans this morning.” My head lolled in elation.
“So sassy.” He gave the back of my shoulder a tender bite. “Your smart mouth always made me make stupid mistakes, Dot.”
I grunted each time he drove inside me, the position making my hip bones dig into the hard surface. Each time they ground against the butcher block, I hissed out as my skin chafed. We were acting out his fantasy, and more than I was delirious with joy about getting fucked, being full, I enjoyed that he’d finally gotten his wish.
“Poor little Dot. Here. Let me help.” He grabbed me by the hip bones, sliding me up the surface so I was flung over it, feet in the air. There was something about that angle that made it so much filthier and wilder and hotter. Like I was a ragged, inflatable doll he’d haphazardly tossed on a piece of furniture so he could plow into it.
