Page 23 of Until We Fall

“How about here?” I smooth my thumb along his bicep, on the outside of his arm, a few inches under his t-shirt. Warm, freckled, smooth skin.

I could pick somewhere else, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

He nods, one tiny tick of his head, gray eyes wide, but dark and serious.

Okay, okay. I don’t know if this means anything to him. But I’ve got to get through it without fucking anything up.

Just put the tattoo on him.

Friends can adhere temporary tattoos to other friends with their mouths, right?

Right.

I calm my shaking hands enough to peel back the plastic covering. My pulse is echoing in my ears. My breathing shallows as I finally get it off.

“Don’t move,” I say, speaking loudly so he can hear. I step to his side then bend to place the pineapple correctly, holding the paper an inch from his skin. He pulls up his sleeve, and I eyeball his shoulder like eight times, not wanting to give him a lopsided tattoo, then press it to the curve of his arm, the white square held by my fingertips.

I take a breath. Then meet his eyes. Do I really get to do this?

It’s his arm. A part of him I’ve seen a million times. But, Jesus, the thought of what I’m about to do.

“I’m ready,” he says, and my insides are quivering. I don’t know where Carter and Theo are—I think they left. But honestly, I don’t care. I’ve got one focus right now.

I lean forward and carefully press my lips to the paper, holding it with my fingers while I smooth my tongue once across it. The paper’s thick and not damp enough to adhere the tattoo to his skin.

I lean back and swallow to build more saliva. “I need to wet it more.”

He nods. “Okay.”

I lean in, and then lick, using the flat of my entire tongue this time, wetting the paper as much as I can.

He squeezes my arm, and I automatically flex in response. My stomach is tightening, my shoulders and thighs, too. My cock subtly jumping as I lick again, and Ifeelhim moan. It moves through his body, his head rolling back, his hips shifting forward.

Holy fuck. I can’tthink. I can’t reason.

I’m half aware of the heat of bodies around us, the music, the heavy thump in my chest.

I don’t know if I should question what we’re doing. I don’t want to question.

I want to do it.

The tattoo is plastered against his skin now, probably good enough to be done, but I suck on it, opening my mouth wide, tasting salt and sunblock, the tinge of sweat and the paper, and a sweetness that I can’t place.

His fingers curl into my arm, his body leaning closer, and I just… slip my lips up, the paper still adhered to him, nearly forgotten. I tug at the sleeve of his shirt with my teeth, and then I’m at his neck.

Hewhimpersas my tongue slides along the tendons that rise up the side of his neck.

What are we doing?

But he’s pulling me closer, and his taste fills my mouth as I lick across his throat. His head tips back, and I close my lip over his small Adam’s apple. The thump of the music continues, the crash of bodies around us, the heat from the day still lingering.

My cock is throbbing now, my arms aching to circle him.

I want him closer.

I pick him up.

Holy fuck,I pick him up. Some kind of fantasy unfurls through me—one I wasn’t even fully aware I had. His legs wrap around my hips, his thighs squeezing. My dick’s shoved against him, aching for contact as my lips move up to his chin.

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