Page 111 of Tell Me It’s Right

“It’s beautiful.” I feel his gaze on my face as I go back to exploring. There doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to most of them—a snake, an olive branch, a constellation. “Which one is the first one you did?”

“Above my right knee.”

I scoot down to see. “Oh, the butterfly?”

He laughs as I lean in to inspect it. “Don’t look too closely at it.”

“Why? It looks great to me.”

The bed shifts as he sits up. One hand rests between my shoulder blades as the other points to the edges of the tattoo. “See how it’s kind of blurry? The lines aren’t that clear? It’s blown out. Went too deep.”

I hum. Now that he pointed it out, I see what he’s saying, but I never would have noticed it on my own. “You designed all of them though, didn’t you? Even the ones you didn’t tattoo yourself?”

He nods.

I smile, shaking my head.

“What?”

I throw my hands up. “That’s socool.” I go back to inspecting the ones along his thighs. “You’re so talented.” I glance at him when he doesn’t respond, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he looked a little red.

I climb onto his lap again and take his face between my hands. That finally gets him to smile, and he leans down to press a kiss to my collarbones.

“You think you’ll ever get one?” he murmurs against my skin.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of afraid of how much it would hurt.”

“You’d be fine.” He kisses my throat. “You’re tough.” My jaw. “If you did get one, would you let me do it?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t trust it with anyone else.”

He beams like a kid opening a Christmas gift, and I laugh. “If I got one, where do you think I should put it?”

He hums like he’s thinking about it, tightens his arms around my waist, then flips me onto my back. I let out a breathy laugh as he pushes my shirt up to my stomach, then leans in and presses his lips to the dip inside my hipbone.

“Maybe here,” he murmurs. Slowly, he trails his mouth up my stomach until he presses his lips to my ribs right beneath my breast. I shiver as his breath ghosts across my skin. “Or here.” He links his fingers with mine, then lifts my arm so he can kiss the inside of my wrist. “Or here.” He finds the spot beneath my elbow next. “Here.”

I squirm against the bed, my breaths coming in fast now. I know he notices, but he just continues his leisurely perusal of my body, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to each new spot he finds—below my collarbone, inside my ankle, the outside of my forearm. Finally, he finds his way back to my mouth, but the kiss is brief, sweet, not what every cell in my body is screaming for right now.

His eyes flick between mine. “How are you feeling?”

My eyebrows pull together.

“About last night,” he adds.

“Good,” I say, my voice quiet and small, but I force myself not to look away, even as I feel my cheeks heat.

“No regrets?”

Regrets?“Of course not. Do you…?”

“Not at all.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “I just wanted to make sure. Are you okay? You sore at all?”

“A little,” I admit. “But I’m fine.”

“Can I make you breakfast?”

I nod, trying not to let my disappointment that he’s getting up show on my face. Especially now that he has my body wound far too tightly for comfort.

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