Page 40 of Preacher Man

She let go of a pelvis-deep moan.

Intoxicating kisses. She couldn’t get enough. Now that she was in she was all in and twitchy to experience everything Preacher.

Hands went to his shirt, began pulling it out of his jeans, and helped slide his leather cut off massive shoulders, her fingers took the tour over his muscles, along his chest and down.

“Eager, beautiful?”

No point in playing coy. Besides, she sucked at it. “Yes.”

“Good. Really, good. Stand still, baby. Let me take this sexy contraption off you,” he began peeling her shirt up and up until it was tossed onto a chair. Preacher sucked in his breath, the shirt hadn’t allowed for a bra and her girls were also excited to see him.

He palmed both breasts, stroking his thumbs against her nipples. “I’ve waited forever to touch you, Ruby. Fucking forever. Let me enjoy it.”

“Forever? You don’t need to flatter me, Preacher. I’m here with your hands all over my boobs. I’m pretty much a sure thing at this point.” She laughed.

“I mean it.”

Intense eyes held hers, every shade of green hypnotizing her, clearly, she could see he was telling the truth. Belly muscles clenched. She ached unbearably between her legs.

She wanted him.Badly.

A little more kissing, Ruby moaned when he pulled back long before she was ready to give up his tongue.

“Tell me something, tiny dancer. Did you shave your pussy specially for me, ‘cause you knew you were coming here, or you always that bare?”

Shit.

She turned her head away only to have it brought right back in his eye line with his fingers grasping her chin lightly. “That’s what I thought. I like you did it for me, now let me get out of these clothes so I can worship all your slippery fucking bare wetness with my tongue.”

A distinct hardness digging into her ribs.

“Oh, God. Yes.” She began pulling at his belt.

It was going to be anything but polite sex.

Ruby would think long and hard later just how easy it was to shift into such an intimacy with Preacher. It came rapidly, with ease, as if she’d always been that way with him.

In movies, removing clothes is sexy, slow and sensually. The way they ripped into each other she’d have to consider in a while if her clothes were even decent enough to put back on. Fingers clawed at his zipper, but her hands dropped away when he tore his shirt off over his head and she just stood there, mute and staring.

Good god. The man was built with a capitalwow.

His torso, as wide as it was, as hard and ribbed as it was, covered every inch in dark ink. Not a hint of color.

Every single fucking inch of skin.

From one sharp angled shoulder to the other, all down his torso and belly and both of his arms, the ink cutting off at the wrists.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. She had a thing for ink.

Amazing. Sure enough, when she circled around him, compelled to check back there as well, his back was the same, no patch of skin left untouched by an artist’s needle, the pattern intricately tangled up in each picture and quote. As she knew any amount of body-art took time, this must have taken weeks and a lot of pain control.

Her fingers reached out tracing over one design that bled into another and so on. Sexy as hell, the ink turned her on. “This is ... Wow. It must have taken a long time.”

“You like ink?” She was busy taking her fingers up along a python that hung off his arm, curling his bicep and ended on his pec, almost as if the head of the beast was in 3D looking at her menacingly. A hungry snapping creature that looked deadly and at home on Preacher’s chest wall.

“I used to dabble in tattooing a while ago until I sold my place. Big Si has it now.”

“That’s who the club uses for our tatts. I didn’t know that used to be yours.” Distracted by his club brand on his spine, the grim reaper brandishing his death scythe. She’d seen the design many times on the biker’s leather vests and jackets, to see it embedded permanently into his skin meant Preacher was in the club for life.