Page 110 of Stealing Sunshine

“Do you have a spot you want it?” she asks against my mouth.

“I trust you to choose.”

Her next inhale is shaky, and I kiss her once more before leaning back. “I’ll need access to your thigh.”

“Pants off, then?” My voice is so breathy, the temperature suddenly cranked in the large space.

“Yes. Then hop up on the table, and I’ll get the stencil on.”

I swallow past the ball of nerves in my throat and reach for the button on my pink, baggy jeans. Bryce watches my every move with what looks like envy in her eyes. All she’d have to do is ask, and I’d let her take them off herself.

Once my jeans are open, I start shimmying them down my legs. “How do you want me to sit?”

“Just on the edge. Face me.”

I squat to grab the jeans at my ankles and lay them on thetable before doing as she said. The leather is cold beneath my bare legs, and I suck in a sharp breath.

“Sorry. I should have warned you that it would be cold.”

“It’s fine.” I’m already warming up because of our proximity.

Bryce rolls a stool over to the table and snaps a pair of black medical gloves on. She reaches for the stack of antiseptic wipes laid out on the cart beside her and rips one open. The wipe is colder than the leather was, but as she leans over my lap, her hair tickling my arm, I don’t so much as blink at the sensation.

“I’m going to put it here,” she explains with a swipe of her gloved finger over the outer part of my upper thigh. “Are you okay with the length of the design on the stencil?”

“You could tattoo an eggplant on my cheek and I wouldn’t have anything bad to say about it, Frosty. The length you chose is perfect.”

She rolls her eyes and curls the side of her mouth into a half smile. “No eggplants.”

“No eggplants,” I agree.

“I’m going to shave the area and then apply some gel to help with the transfer.”

“Okay.”

The razor she grabs comes from a bulk-sized box of cheap ones, which I imagine is because they’re only good for one use. She plucks the cap off the blades and starts to swipe it down my skin. It takes only a few seconds, and then another wipe runs down the area, cleaning away the tiny hairs.

I watch with weighted breath as she works, the focus on her face captivating. Even with something as boring as prep work, she’s tuned the world out.

When she wheels the stool back and starts riffling through the rest of the supplies, I pinch the hem of my shirt and shift on the table. My reactions to her passion and adoration for tattooing, combined with her closeness and the fact I’m in only my shirt and underwear, are extreme. I’m flushed from the tips of my ears down to my toes and everywhere in between. Mynipples are tight and sore, and the space between my legs is wet, so much so that I worry she’ll be able to tell if she comes close enough.

This isn’t supposed to be a sexual act. It’s sweet and thoughtful and is my chance to see Bryce in her element. Yet, I have to press my thighs together while she’s busy and fight back a shiver at the pleasure that sparks.

She hasn’t given me an opening to touch her in the same way she’s touched me yet. I don’t know if that’s because we agreed to go slow or if I haven’t been obvious enough in my interest in exploring every inch of her body. Either way, I’m struggling with it more and more as the days go on. It’s not surprising that I’m turned on right now or that I’m contemplating lunging off this table and pushing her onto it instead.

“—now I’ll put the stencil on, and you can tell me if you like the placement.”

I clear my throat and look down at where she’s bent over my lap again. There’s gel on my thigh and the stencil hovering above it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes. Continue, please.”

With slight hesitation, she drops her stare and smooths the stencil over my thigh. When she pulls it off, the design is in place.

“Do you want to go look at it in the mirror?”

I don’t have to think about my answer. “No. It’s perfect.”

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