Page 141 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“What exactly is all the ‘red’ stuff supposed to be?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off my cock.

It had risen to the occasion as soon as I’d heard the shower door open, so she was able to see every inch of it.

My tattoo artist had said it was the most unusual request he’d ever had in his twenty-year career.

I didn’t doubt that.

“I’ll show you,” I said eagerly, reaching out the shower door and drying off my hand on the towel hanging on the hook before I grabbed my phone. I pulled up the picture I’d taken that night.

“See. It’s almost an exact replica,” I told her, showing her the shot.

She blinked slowly, her cheeks reddening as she glanced from the photo to my dick...and back again. “Is that?—”

“My dick the night you gave me your virginity?” I asked cheekily. “Why yes, yes it is.”

I understood it was a bold move, getting evidence of someone’s virginity tattooed on your cock. But I was hoping she would think it was impressive. Rumor had it that Ari, Lincoln, and Walker’s ladies had been very impressed with their own dick-orations...after the shock had worn off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as surprised as I am right this very second,” she whispered, finally dragging her gaze back up to my face.

“Is this a good surprise or a bad surprise?” I said carefully, feeling faintly nervous for the first time.

She was silent for a long moment before a small smile spread across her lips and she wrinkled her nose at me. “Does this—does this mean that when you said you loved me that night...that you actually meant it? Because this seems kind of like a big thing when you just like someone.” Anastasia feigned, glancing behind me at my ass. “Or is this something you do, tattoo intimate parts of your body for girls you have sex with?”

I grinned then, too. I’d thought she was never going to bring that up, and I’d been desperate to say it again. I just hadn’t wanted to scare her off.

But if the dick tattoo in her honor didn’t do it...a little “I love you” wasn’t going to either.

“You love me,” she whispered, her eyes growing suspiciously shiny again. My girl was so soft. Everything made her choke up. It was one of my favorite things about her—how deeply she felt. I was sure it was one of the reasons she was such an amazing dancer, because she felt the music and the movements so intensely.

“I love you,” I rasped, my voice sounding choked, because I was feeling pretty emotional as well.

“I love you like nothing I could have ever dreamed. I love your laugh, and your smile, and the way you care. I love how you light up every room you walk into. I’m obsessed with your body and your talent, and even the way you breathe. Everything you are, is everything I want, little dancer. Forever.”

She sobbed, wiping her eyes, a smile lighting up her entire face. “That’s a really big word, Camden James,” she sniffed. “A really big word.”

“As big as a dick tattoo,” I teased, because even when she was crying because she was happy, it still hurt my heart.

She pressed her face against my chest, her tears wetting my front as the rain continued to pelt my back.

“Do you have anything you want to say to me too?” I asked gently, knowing I was being a bit of a jerk for putting her on the spot.

But I couldn’t not find out. I was desperate to hear her say it. Besides my mother, she was the only person I’d ever cared about loving me. The only person I’d ever wanted to in fact. It felt wrong to sit in this obsession by myself. I wanted her right along with me for the ride.

If she didn’t love me, I knew I would eventually win her over.

But I was pretty sure that she already did.

She took a deep shuddering breath before she lifted her head, staring at me with her star-flecked eyes, a galaxy I wanted to live in forever and ever.

“I love you, Camden,” she finally whispered, so much hope in those eyes too...but also a plea that was written there as clear as a handwritten note.

Don’t hurt me, they were saying. Don’t make me regret this.

Only time would prove it to her, so I didn’t bother to address what she was silently saying.

“Thank fuck,” I said instead, the most eloquent thing I could come up with at the moment because there was so much relief washing through me.

“Kiss me,” she begged, and I immediately obeyed, my lips sliding against hers unhurriedly as I tried to take a mental snapshot of this moment.

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