Page 23 of Liar's Heart
But the sphinxes. On his chest. Flapping. They’re like the Greek ones with the wings, not the Egyptian ones with the beards and the mummies. So maybe it’s not a death thing. Maybe it’s a riddle thing? A mythology thing? Maybe he just walked by a tattoo studio one day, saw it on a flash sheet, and said, “Hey, I’ll take two!”
I doubt that. All of my intel has always pointed toward Ender being an intentional person. Yeah, sometimes he’ll react first and think later, but a spontaneous tattoo? Unlikely.
Maybe the sphinx’s riddle is me sitting here wondering why he has them, and I have to figure it out so I don’t get eaten for getting it wrong.
Woah.
Okay, but death by Ender eating me might be worth it.
Is it a vore fetish if they only ingest your cum?
I’mnotgoing to google that later.
“Hey,” Ender says softly, so softly. Like feathers. “Come here?”
He holds a hand out to me. The same hand his wedding ring is on. That hand. I kind of liked that hand.
STOP.
Merrick.
Stop with the hand.
I shake the thought out of my head and ask, “Why?”
“Because I want to talk, and you’re very far away. I like you close. Indulge a man on his wedding day?”
He is kind of far away. And itishis wedding day. I shift up to my knees so I can move closer and take his hand, but with one swift tug, he’s pulling me into his lap, my back against the arm of the couch, feet propped up on the seat I thought my ass would be in.
Huh.
I pull my gaze from my feet to his eyes and send back feathers of my own. “Hey.”
One corner of his lip slowly begins to sheepishly tug itself up. “Hi.”
“You wanted to talk?” I prompt.
“Yeah, I, uh… sorry,” he says. “This is so fucking awkward, and I am too fucked up right now to figure out how to save it.”
Pink blooms on his cheeks, and the combination of his honesty and embarrassment is disarming. Not that I was working with a full line of defense to begin with, but I'm relieved to hear that I'm not the only one struggling here. “You know,” I say, “this might have been a little less awkward if you hadn’t stripped me the second we were alone together for the first time.”
He groans, and his head hits the back of the couch. “In my defense, I didn’t know you didn’t have anything on underneath. I just wanted you to be more comfortable.”
A scoff comes flying out of my mouth. “Sure. I’m sure it was completely selfless on your part.”
His head comes back up. “If taking care of my wife has any additional benefits to me, that’s not my fault. Besides,”—his hands slide around my waist as he brings his mouth to my ear—“I’ll take just about any opportunity I can to touch you.”
A chill runs down my spine. There is so much heat in his palms and his words, I’m threatening to burn. I have to pivot this conversationnowbefore I end up doing something stupid, like licking the man I’m going to murder. Scrambling for a throw pillow, a fucking wall, anything to put in between us, my eyes land on the charcuterie board on the table in front of us. I pick up the tray and practically hoist it in front of me like a shield. “Did you say you likeThe Terminator?” I ask.
Distance and distraction. Perfect.
His eyes bob down to the tray and back up again. The corner of his lip curls. “Clever little fox. Yeah, I did.”
Head nodding, grip tightening on the tray, I ask, “Which one?”
“The first one,” he says. “What's your favorite color?”
He picks up a strawberry and holds it between his thumb and index finger in front of me. An offering. Except my hands are full holding this tray, and I’m not confident in my balancing skills at the moment, so I can’t take it from him. Not with my hands, at least.
