Polished Slick (Natural Beauty) by Holley Trent Page B

you’re going to grow old and die with that tattoo. What are your kids going to think?”
    He shrugged again. “There’s a such thing as shirts , pixie. I have a bunch of them. People in this society like it when you wear them in public.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t like being made fun of. Then again, she didn’t much like feeling like a tart, either. What had gotten into her? All she knew was that they were alone, there were no witnesses, and he wouldn’t likely kiss and tell.
    Climbing onto his lap had been an impulse she couldn’t suppress, and kissing him had been a dare to herself. This was what modern women did, right? They made the first move if they wanted to have sex, didn’t they? And God , she did. Now she was being scorned for it? Dreadlocked jerk.
    “Are we going to play fair here, or am I the only one getting naked?” He pulled his shirt the rest of the way over his head, and leaned back in a very relaxed posture, completely unabashed about his arousal.
    Her fingers trailed over the washboard abs mottled with little mermaid tarts, and up to the pink nipples that begged to be pinched. So, she did, and drew her hands back as if they’d been burned.
    Jesus, Trinity, what’s wrong with you?
    “Um…”
    “Do you want me to help?” Now his fingertips trailed lightly along the line of her jaw, and that gentle touch conveyed affection she couldn’t possibly hope for.
    Her nipples hardened into tight, aching nubs inside her bra, sending jolts down her spine with each shift of her shirt. She swallowed. Nodded.
    “I want to see you.” He fingered the top button of her short-sleeved blouse, and worked them deftly through their holes without even looking. His gaze remained locked on hers until he reached the very last mother-of-pearl fastener, then he pressed his palms flat against her belly and encircled her waist. “Pretty.”
    What am I doing? Am I really doing this? Seducing Jerry? Or is it the other way around?
    She shimmied the shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
    Now she was in her bra—the plaid, padded one she’d bought from the junior’s department.
    What am I doing?
    His fingers grazed slowly up her spine, both tickling her and sending a jolt straight down into the matching panties he couldn’t see. His eye contact was intense, and she wanted to look away, but something kept her gaze locked there as his fingers worked the clasp of her bra and freed her breasts. Bra shed, she instinctively slapped her arms over her chest.
    “Stop hiding from me, pixie.” Something in his voice indicated he didn’t just mean her chest.
    He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her down, pressing her mouth against his and pulling at her lips, flitting his tongue into her mouth with practiced control.
    Things down below ached for attention as she imagined him doing the same thing to her most private place. Eyes closed, she moaned when he pulled away from her mouth and kissed the sensitive skin of her neck.
    He eased his back against the recliner, and studied her. This time, she pressed her arms against her sides and looked away.
    His gaze on her skin seemed nearly as sensual as his fleeting caresses, and some of her arousal gave way to feelings of utter inadequacy.
    She’d never model anyone’s bikini. She didn’t have enough of the right parts. Sure, she had a big brain, but you couldn’t show those off in tiny bathing suits.
    She expected him to say something, to mock her—criticize her, and girded herself for it.
    That never came. Instead, a warm flick from his tongue on her areola, then the slight scrape of teeth as he pulled her breast into his mouth.
    My god.
    Eyes closed, she put her head back as his fingers raked through her short hair.
    His laving of her nipple ceased only for him to drag his tongue across the valley between her breasts and find the other.
    Impulsively, she ground her crotch against his front, hoping to satiate her throbbing clit, and his