The Dream Crafter by Danielle Monsch Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes, and then she let her fingers help with the exploration. The skin on his chest was the same gorgeous shade of brown as his arms, and though her fingers itched to pull at his pants to see if that shade was universal, the lure of his tattoos won the temporary war for her attention.
    Four black lines curled around each side of his waist, twisting around the muscles in his chest and stomach as if placed to highlight each firm stretch. Underneath her fingertips, the tattooed skin was velvet, lush and luxurious with the slightest roughness, a roughness that only highlighted the decadence of feeling.
    Amana circled around him. His back was even more covered by tattoos, as the thick black lines curled over his shoulders and down his spine in addition to circling his torso. From the way the tattoos looked against the waist of his jeans, there was no doubt they were drawn even farther down his body.
    She pressed herself against him, reveling in the feel of the skin against her as well as the sharp intake of breath. Her fingers clenched against the denim of the jeans. “These need to go as well.”
    His head shifted so he could speak back to her. “Are you going to return the favor?”
    “I’m going to do many things, but the first thing I need is to see how much of your body these tattoos cover and trace every inch of it with my tongue.”
    The answer was a groan and a deep breath, and in moments his jeans and underwear pooled around his legs, where he kicked them off and stood before her, his back still to her, naked.
    The tattoos swirled over his ass and hips before moving downward over his thighs and calves. While the majority of his skin was covered, to her eyes it wasn’t overdone. The balance between ink and skin was perfect.
    She pressed close, wanting to sear the feel of his skin on hers while she breathed in the clean, salty tang of him. He was still beneath her fingers, his body rigid in waiting for her. “You are beautiful,” she whispered, forehead resting against his back and her lips so close to his skin that the puff of air released with her words ricocheted off his body and landed on her nose.
    His voice was strangled, but low, even, still controlled. “While I have no objection to your plan involving the tattoos, do you think we could postpone that? Because I’m having a hell of a time not grabbing you up and stripping you naked.”
    She smiled, and delight filled her at the shiver that shook his spine over the sensation of her lips on him. “I’m not as pretty as you are.”
    “I guarantee you’re more so. And if you let me turn, I’ll prove it.”
    “Far be it from me to not let you prove it.”
    Merc turned, similar to their first meeting, but this time she kept her hands on his back and waist, letting the slow movement of his body lead her over the indents and hard ridges and learn him by touch. He was stunning, a statue by the masters come to life, lean lines and palpable power.
    Now he faced her. Amana’s gaze wandered over him with shameless appreciation. Beautiful didn’t begin to cover it. He was as stunning as she had ever seen, as close to perfect in her eyes as possible. Pressing her hands flat over his pectorals, she took a more active role in discovering the firm flesh, stroking over his chest, up to his shoulders and down the corded muscle of his arms, only to reverse course. Move to the shoulders and the chest, but now she didn’t stop there. Now she went lower, the muscles of his stomach bunching under her fingertips while she traveled still lower, stroking her thumbs over the V of his lower stomach muscles which led to the pubic hair. Her hands stopped, but her eyes kept moving, taking in the thick cock which jutted upward, tempting her to use her hands once again.
    “Is it my turn yet?” Merc’s words were rough and raw, and swallowing the minimal moisture in her mouth, she nodded her answer.
    His warm, calloused hands settled on her shoulders, twisting in the thin straps of