Free BornontheBayou by Lynne Connolly

said. “I want
to see where that dragon goes.”
    Flashing her a wicked grin, he did as she asked, giving her
an even better view of the tattoo in motion when he bent to sweep up his jeans
and dig in the pocket for a condom.
    The dragon wound around his left biceps, swept across his
back and followed the length of his spine down to his mouth-wateringly curved
buttocks. The tail curled around the right one, its end spear-shaped, pointing
between his legs. He glanced over his shoulder. “Satisfied?”
    “Not nearly,” she said, deciding to talk about something
else entirely. “But that tattoo is amazing.”
    He laughed. “I know. It took a few sittings. He offered to
color it but I like the starkness of the monochrome.” He flexed his shoulder
and the creature rippled as if alive.
    Before tonight ended, she’d lick all the way down that
dragon and let it lead her where it would.
    She’d never been so wet for a man before. Taking courage
from his attitude, she opened her legs and didn’t change position when he
turned around. He came to her, pulled back the comforter and stared down at
her, a slow, sweet smile curving his lips. “You’re a man’s wet dream,” he said.
    “Glad I’m yours.” She wasn’t sure what precisely to say, but
that seemed appropriate.
    “I’m just the lucky one who got here first. Didn’t you see
how many people watched you today?”
    “Because I was with you.”
    Slowly, he shook his head. “Like fuck, it was.” He glanced
down and used the condom to sheathe himself with a skill that spoke of long
practice, then he raised his eyes back to hers.
    As if drawn by something out of his control, he bent to her,
moving slowly, lifting one knee on the bed, then the other, so he straddled
her. He didn’t touch her anywhere but stared at her, scanned her body, watching
her so closely she had nowhere to hide.
    Beverley recalled all her flaws, panic rising inside her
with each recollection. She twisted her arms so the insides were hidden. He
noticed the movement and frowned. “What’s wrong?
    She gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not perfect.”
    “Good.”
    “You are.”
    “No, I’m fucking not.” He sat up, still not touching her,
and turned his arms so she could see the insides. Scars marred the tanned skin,
tiny marks and lines she hadn’t noticed before. “Tracks,” he explained. “Hard
living. So let’s see yours.”
    Feeling foolish, she turned her arms so he could see the
inner forearms. “Nothing so romantic. Ovens.” The scars from years of pulling
hot baking tins out of ovens had left reminders. She’d look at them sometimes
almost wistfully, but not now. Not when he gipped her wrist and drew it up to
his mouth. He kissed one scar, then another, brushing his lips over them with
aching tenderness.
    “It shows you’ve lived,” he murmured, smiling, then put her
arm back against the crisp sheet and came back down to her. “Nobody is forcing
me to be here. I want this, as you do.”
    This was a night out of time, shared by two people, and then
life would resume.
    He kissed her. His cock and balls grazed her skin. She felt
no pressure, but heat seared through her where he touched her. Slowly he
lowered the rest of his body onto her, keeping his weight on his elbows. It
seemed so right, as if they were about to embark on something big.
    Apart from the size of his genitals, she couldn’t let
herself think that far. Dreams were one thing, but this was reality.
    Reality meant lying on a bed in one of the best hotels in
Baton Rouge with a man half the female population coveted, and the other half
didn’t only because they hadn’t seen him yet. She had him now, and only now
mattered. She curved her arms around his back and smiled up at him.
    “I’ve wanted you all fucking day,” he said. “For half of it
I watched those gorgeous nipples, then I saw the full glory of your body when
you had that outfit on, the one from the department store.”
    “I thought you didn’t like