Page 70 of Red My Lips

“Billiards,” I state, my tone chiding him for assuming otherwise.

“Hmm,” Gage’s voice hums deep in his chest as he gazes down at me. His fingertips gently brush a tendril of hair from my face before his strong hand cups my cheek. “You play pool?”

“Like you don’t already know,” I tease, but he simply tilts his head with an expression that insists he’s not sure what I’m referring to. We both know better, but I play along. “I play a little.”

A little is an understatement. I’ve been playing pool since I was tall enough to reach over the table. My dad basically lived on barstools growing up, and my mom worked nights, so I was practically raised in dive bars like this. Tommy taught me how to play pool to pass the time.

“I’m not going to let you win,” Gage says arrogantly with a smirk. I bite back my own smile and maintain my innocence—I’m sure he can see straight through me.

“You better not.” I lean up to press a soft kiss on his lips. “It’ll feel so much better when I do it myself.” Pulling away from him, I turn to start racking up the billiards.

I’ve never considered playing pool a sexual experience until I played with Gage. Watching the man lean forward to line up a shot is hypnotic, with his gorgeous arms flexing, and every ball he sinks into a pocket is like an aphrodisiac. I can feel his ravenous eyes on me every time I bend down to do the same. Our banter is a mix of trash talk and flirting until the air around us remains charged.

I play it cool for the first few shots, keeping my hits simple and even throwing a few so he doesn’t realize exactly what I’m capable of. But that only lasts so long until my competitive nature takes over.

“I never figured you for the kind of girl who would play dumb to appear weaker to a man. It’s beneath you,” he comments. I drop the pool stick with one hand to flip him off, making him throw his head back and laugh. Still grinning, he saunters towards me.

“Duh-dun, Duh-dun,” Gage starts singing the Jaws theme song under his breath as he walks around the table behind me while I bounce my cue ball off the side and sink two balls with one shot. “Duh-dun.”

“I’m not a pool shark,” I argue, biting back a smile, but it’s pointless. “You’re just not as good as you thought you were. That’s not my problem.” Lining up my next shot, I take out another two balls. At this rate, I’ll win in the next three shots.

“Oh, I’m good,” Gage counters. “I just don’t pretend I’m bad to mess with people’s heads.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, leaning forward to cue up the ball. Only I don’t make it very far before a muscled arm is yanking me around, and a body is pressing to mine until my ass hits the pool table.

“You wanna try that again?” Gage asks deeply, getting in my face to check my attitude. His dominance is so fucking hot—it makes my pussy throb and my heart flutter.

“I love you.” My tone pretends like it’s what I said in the first place, but the words have his expression sharpening. When I move to turn back to the game, one of his hands grips my jaw to halt my movements and force my eyes back to his.

“Don’t fucking play with those words, Menace. If you don’t mean them, don’t say them.” His voice rumbles with conviction, making my humor drop as I really look at him. That’s when I see it—an image in the ink on his chest.

“Is that my switchblade?” My fingers tug at the neckline of his shirt to get a better look. I’ve seen a lot of tattoos, and it could be any knife. But it’s not, I’d recognize my blade anywhere. There aren’t any coincidences with Gage. The tattoo is hidden amongst all of his others, and it makes me wonder. Are there more?

Gage allows me to tug at him—pulling his shirt down, and lifting both of his arms to search the sleeves of ink covering them. That’s when my gaze catches on a pair of pretty eyes inked on the inside of his forearm. They’re green and feminine.

And mine.

He has my eyes tattooed on his body?

One glance up at his face confirms it, his gaze on me never wavering in its intensity.

“Take off your shirt,” I demand, pulling at the fabric in my way.

There have to be more.

Gage obeys without hesitation, lifting the shirt over his head and tossing it on the pool table behind me, leaving his magnificent chest bare. His rippling muscles jump beneath my hands as I trace over the images painted on his skin in search of anything else recognizable.

And I find them.

Black cherries, a red lipstick, a pinup devil that looks exactly like me—The more I look, the more I see pieces of myself woven into his tattoos. My favorite things and little pieces of my personality intertwined with his.

“Are there more?” I ask, my eyes trailing down to where his ink disappears beneath the waistband of his pants, before my gaze clashes with his. He nods. “Why?”

“I needed you with me.” His words have every muscle in my body stilling with realization. His hand reaches up to cup my face, caressing it sweetly before lowering to tow me in by my jaw.

“You love me, don’t you?” The unspoken truth calms my restless soul as the question leaves my mouth. My eyes gaze into his, searching for confirmation. What I find is so much deeper, it rocks me to my core.

“Love you? From the second I laid eyes on you, there has been an itching in my veins that only the sight of you can ease. Without you, the world has no art, and I have no purpose.” I swallow hard against his hand, the breath halting in my chest as his words seep into my bones. “I don’t just love you, Jill. I worship you. I bleed you. I am for you.”

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