Page 52 of Virgin Skin

“Right. You can get as many or as few tattoos as you want.” Admittedly, there’s a selfish part of me that wants to convince him to get a tattoo… to letmetattoo him. Fire sears my veins and a possessive, greedy feeling swells in my chest. I can’t keep Milo for myself, but I can at least give him something to remember me by if he’ll let me.

He hums thoughtfully, his eyes still fixed on me. His t-shirt—myt-shirt, which he’s wearing—rides up, showing off the lean lines of his belly. I imagine the way his muscles would tense and flex as I draw the needle over the swell of his rib cage, etching my mark there in dark ink that will never wash off. As if he can read my mind, he absently drags his fingers over that exact spot. I’m not sure how I manage to finish painting all ten of his toeswithout covering him in nail polish, but I do. I recap the bottle and set it aside, keeping his feet in my lap.

“Would you tattoo me?” he asks.

He must see the heat that flashes in my eyes, because a slow smirk spreads over his lips. We hold each other’s gazes silently for a minute before he turns his head and looks back up at the TV.

“Sure, if you want me to.” I try to sound casual and fail epically.

“Maybe,” he says casually, so fucking casually, like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest waiting for his answer. The way his lips twitch again, I know he knows what he’s doing to me.

I grunt and squeeze his foot.

I can’t keep him, but maybe he’ll let me have this.Maybe.

Chapter 18

MILO

I don’t even haveto be fully conscious to know the vibes are totally different this morning. I’m still wrapped up in Piston’s sheets with the smell of him surrounding me, but I can hear the faint sound of traffic this morning too. A loud motor is running outside, rattling the windows and taunting me with the knowledge that the world has been jump-started back to life.

I groan and bury my head under the pillow, willing the clouds to gather for another blizzard. The morning sun is streaming through the windows when I peek my head out again. I might have to write Oprah a strongly worded letter. If I can’t conjure a snowstorm with my thoughts alone for the sole purpose of indulging in more naked shenanigans with my hot, tattooed roommate, then I have serious doubts thatThe Secretis real at all.

I sigh and fling the pillow aside, kicking off the blankets with more force than necessary. A petulant kind of irritation prickles all over my skin, making me want to stomp around a little for good measure and maybe throw in a pout or two. Seems like theperfect way to convince Piston that I’m a mature adult who can make his own decisions about his dating life, right?

As much as I want to steal Piston’s clothes again, I resist. It would be hard to explain why I showed up to Ink Slingers wearing his shirt this morning. I slow my steps on my way past his dresser and a devious smirk plays over my lips. It would be hard to explain a shirt, but how would anyone know what I have on underneath?

I hook my fingers around the silver handle on the middle dresser drawer. It’s creepy to take someone’s underwear though, like proper weirdo behavior. I chew on my bottom lip for just a second before yanking the drawer open.

“Perv, perv, perv,” I admonish myself as I grab a pair of teal boxer briefs right off the top of the pile, wadding them up in my fist while looking over my shoulder like Piston’s going to materialize out of nowhere and scold me.

With my prize in one hand, I snatch my clothes up from where they’ve been lying on his bedroom floor for two days and dart down the hall to my own bedroom. I dump my clothes right onto the floor next to my bed and then step into the briefs. A hot thrill ripples through me as I pull them into place, comfortably cradling my junk. They’re actually really nice boxer briefs, made of some kind of soft material that must be expensive. Their waistband has rainbow lettering with the name of the brand. I make a mental note of it then finish getting dressed in my own clothes. Boo.

By the time I step into the kitchen, there’s a full pot of coffee waiting for me but no breakfast and no Piston. He wouldn’t have left early just to avoid me, would he?

I pour myself a cup, then shuffle through the living room to peek out the front window. I breathe a sigh of relief seeing Piston outside, pushing a snowblower up and down the driveway to clear us a path out. For all the hassle of the snowstorm, it lookslike it’s already starting to melt. Water is pouring off the roof as the sun beats down on the glistening snow drifts filling the yard. I’m guessing it’s not so different from Colorado—just because there was an early blizzard doesn’t mean the weather won’t turn back around for a month or two before winter comes for real.

I stand at the window sipping my coffee and watching Piston for a minute before impulse takes over. I set down my steaming coffee mug and stuff my feet into my sneakers.

“Motherfucker,” I gasp when the cold air hits me.

I wrap my arms around myself and step out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind me. The thinky parts of my brain haven’t actually caught up with whatever impulsive goblin plan my subconscious has come up with yet, so I’m not surewhyit’s so important that I freeze my balls off instead of waiting for Piston to come back inside, but it feels vital.

I ignore the goose bumps pebbling my skin and the tremble working its way through me as the cold sinks all the way down to my bones. The sidewalk has already been cleared, so at least I don’t have to wade through knee-deep snow to get to the driveway. Piston has his head down, completely focused on the task at hand, so he startles when I plant myself right in front of the snowblower. Icy bits of flung snow cling to my skin and hair, and my ears ring with the thunderous roar of the engine until he frowns at me and turns it off.

“Where the fuck is your coat?”

I sputter a laugh, and a warm feeling floods my chest, chasing away a little bit of the cold. I ignore his question though and hold my head a little higher, doing my best to look calm, collected, and mature.

“Can we talk?” I tighten my arms around myself a little more, hoping he won’t notice the shiver that works its way through me.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, reaching for the zipper of the puffy, not-at-all-badass coat he has on.

“Piston, forget the coat.”

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to catch pneumonia or something.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

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