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|Resist Me(Men of Inked #5) by Chelle Bliss|
“Those were boys, Izzy. I’m a man. I remember how hard you came with me, how many times you came on my c**k and in my mouth. You f**kin’ loved it.”
“I was drunk,” she protested, stroking the space between her br**sts with her fingertips as she moved them up to her neck and traced the same path down toward her belly button.
Sweet f**king Jesus, watching her touch herself made me want to the throw my brilliant plan out the window and f**k her senseless.
Her olive skin was highlighted with tattoos. Most of her tattoos were hidden from public view. They were for her personal enjoyment. She had a dragon down her left ribcage with the word “Gallo” underneath. Near her left breast, she had an intricate hibiscus flower in vibrant reds and oranges. The leaves and vines wrapped around her breast, almost cradling it. For a tattoo artist, she hadn’t overdone the artwork yet.
Her piercings captured my attention the most. Her ni**les and the hood just above her clit were pierced. I wanted to yank on it with my teeth and scrape against her clit, causing her to chant my name. The small piercings hanging from her ni**les had me fantasizing about the ways I could put them to use. I imagined restraining her using those alone. Fuck, I needed to stop thinking about f**king her.
“Not an excuse. I didn’t take advantage of you,” I said, pulling on the tip, running my fingers over the apadravya. “And I know you loved feeling this,” I declared as I gave the piercing a tug, “stroking you from the inside.”
“I’ll admit, the happydravya is a nice touch,” she conceded, pursing her lips.
“Happydravya?” I asked, tightening my grip around the shaft.
“It’s a nickname for that type of piercing.”
I released my cock, too close to coming, and placed my legs in the bed as I swiveled around. “Go to bed.”
“Yep. That’s it, doll. You won’t get my c**k until you’re on your hands and knees, begging for me to f**k you. It won’t be as a ploy to untie your hands.”
“I’ll f**k you there too. I’m taking all of you the next time I sink my dick in you balls deep.” I punched the pillow, resting my head against the lumpy mess.
“You’re so full of yourself,” she whispered as she lay on her back and pulled the covers over her br**sts.
I smiled, knowing that she was right. I was an ass**le and full of myself, but she was right there with me. The girl had confidence and bullshit down pat. She was a master and could get her way with any man—anyone but me. I was impervious to her charms.
“You’ll be full of me again someday soon.”
“Fuck off,” she hissed.
“Good night, Isabella,” I crooned as I switched off the lamp and closed my eyes.
She didn’t reply. I could hear her breathing, jagged at first, begin to slow. Once she was asleep, I allowed myself to think of making her mine as I drifted off.
Isabella Gallo wasn’t an easy target, but nothing worth having ever is.
She didn’t know it yet, but I had my sights set on her, and I always got what I wanted.
Chapter 5 - Lying to Myself
My body was covered with sweat as I kicked off the sheets. James had invaded my goddamn dreams. Motherfucker had gotten into my head last night with his smug bullshit.
The brown ’70s alarm clock on the nightstand read eight. The drapes were closed and blocking out the sunlight, but the illumination of the television made James glow like an angel. Not an angel sent by God, but a fallen one put on Earth to torture me. The numbness in my arm had woken me from the wet dream I’d been having. Once again, I’d been denied the orgasm I needed and wanted.
The blankets had shifted as he slept. One leg rested on top, the other still underneath and hiding. I sat up, placing my back against the headboard, and took in his wicked beauty.
He was exactly how I liked him best—silent.
I’d never had the chance to really look at him. I couldn’t bring myself to give him the satisfaction of drinking him in. He towered over me. He was wide too, more than twice my width, and he easily overshadowed me. Not only was he bigger than I was, he was cockier too.
He looked like a giant in the tiny-ass bed. The man needed a California king to look like a normal-sized person. His feet touched the end and almost hung off as his head rested just below the headboard. Even when he was sleeping, when his muscles should be the most relaxed, everything was taut and hard.
His washboard abs looked like a product of Photoshop, and flexed with his breathing. His black hair was longer than the last time I’d seen him. It lay across his forehead in a wild mess, touching his eyebrows. His lips twitched slightly, and I ached to touch them. They were full and made to be kissed. It was a shame they usually spouted such smug shit.
I admired his tattoos, which flowed down his shoulder and ran up his ribcage. He must’ve spent hours in the chair. It wasn’t colorful artwork—all of it was black with gray shading. Waves stretched across his side, reaching from his hip to just under his armpits. Riding the waves were koi fish and Japanese-inspired flowers. His shoulder piece was as unique as the other. The claws of the dragon touched his pec, ran down his shoulder, and ended a couple of inches above his elbow.
Each one of my brothers had a dragon tattoo, and even I had one on my ribcage. It was a family thing—a symbol of our togetherness and all that bullshit. I’d just thought it was a kick-ass tattoo.
The fact that James had a dragon tattoo could enter him into the Gallo brotherhood without needing extra ink. I hoped he never discovered that simple fact. He’d probably go off about how we had been made for each other. Yada, yada. The man probably thought he was God’s gift to women.