Page 72 of Under the Ink

And he did it over and over to each tattoo he found. When he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans to find the ones on her hips, followed by the ones all found under her waistband up to the top of her pubic bone. These were little skeletons dancing, playing, laughing. Her tattoo artist had questioned her taste, but Naomi had simply asked her again to design them.

After all, she’d had to pay her well.

And today, as Sage was discovering, every single fucking tattoo on her body covered up the misery she’d inflicted upon herself, having found that each cut out of the millions on her body had given some modicum of relief…even though it had meant that later she had to hide it all.

As he continued living her truth through touch and kiss, Naomi felt a lightness running through her body, as if lifting her off the bed. Sage followed the story down her thighs, peeling her jeans off until he dropped them to the floor.

But Naomi kept her eyes closed…because what if at some point he changed his mind? What if he actually saw the ugliness underneath?

Kissing his way back up her body, one of his hands now gliding along her ribcage toward her breast, he touched his nose to hers.

Then she had to open her eyes.

What she saw in his was maybe what she’d always been looking for and never found.

It was something unconditional.

Unable to stop herself, she crashed her lips into his, wrapping her arms around his body, relishing his warmth.

His soul.

And the tears squeezed out of her eyes once more like a rushing river. But there was no sound. There was never any sound.

Long ago, she’d forgotten how to cry. How to mourn.

And maybe she didn’t need to try anymore.

“I see your beauty, Naomi,” he whispered. “I will never hurt you.”

Searching his eyes, she nodded, blinking away the tears. Then he brushed a piece of her long bangs off her face and kissed one of the drops falling down her cheek again.

This time the kisses felt warmer as he moved down her neck, down her chest once more, but now his fingers brushed over the cup of her bra, teasing the nipple softly before letting his lips slide down her belly again.

Farther down, he took the sides of her panties into his hands and gently pulled them down her legs, dropping them to the floor. Somehow, she didn’t feel any more naked than she had. Kissing her right thigh again, the more heavily tattooed one, he settled his body between her legs. And because he’d loved and respected her flesh thus far, she powered through the urge to jump up and run to the bathroom to hide.

As he kissed her inner thigh, she felt her pussy tighten—but she wasn’t sure if it was from desire or fear. And maybe that didn’t matter. Her head had been messed up for so long, she sometimes hadn’t been able to distinguish between them.

But she was trusting him.

When his tongue touched her there, she let out a slow breath—because even though they’d had sex once before, she hadn’t allowed him to get that close. After all, there was a difference between his manhood in a condom and his tongue on her private parts.

It was nothing short of frightening.

But then she remembered.He sees me…and he still wants me.

And she was able to let go.

Each soft, slow stroke of his tongue felt like forgiveness.

Acceptance.

Compassion.

And love.

And when she reached climax, she wondered if maybe she could be saved after all.

If nothing else, she wanted to try.

---