Page 98 of Show Me How
My brow slides up. “You’re not getting an infection, Millie. I’ll be bossy about that any damn day.”
“And I’m sure you keep all of your new tattoos covered, right?”
I lean forward on my stool and brace my arms on the edge of the table she’s still stretched out on. Her eyes follow the shift in my stance, and I trace the edge of her skirt, my groin tightening.
“Give me one and we’ll see how well I follow your aftercare rules,” I rasp, enamoured by the sight of her thigh breaking out in goosebumps, the short, thin blonde hairs rising.
“Give you . . . a tattoo?”
I sweep my gaze up her body. “Yeah, princess. Give me a tattoo.”
“That’s not a good idea. I’d probably hurt you. I’m not?—”
“The first time Bryce came into my shop, she was eighteen and had never tattooed anyone or anything before. But I saw something in her. I saw the clutter in her head and the desire to dump it out into the world in a way that wouldn’t land her in prison or completely isolated from the people who loved her. Tattooing gave her that, and it did the same for me. And maybe I’m reading you all fucking wrong, Millie, and if I am, you can tell me to shut up, and I’ll listen. But I’ve got a feeling that if I put this machine in your hand right now and offered you a bare piece of skin anywhere on my body, you’d feel the same way Bryce and I do.”
Palming her thigh now, I knead my fingers into the muscle. She doesn’t reply for a few long moments, her eyes drifting as she sinks into their thoughts. There’s still music playing, although it’s quiet and doing nothing to drown out the tension swirling around us right now.
The worst case here is that she tells me off for assuming things about her like a jackass, and I apologize because I’m too much of a suck for this woman to let her stay mad at me for anything. Especially not something like this.
Her hand shifts, covering mine. The gentle weight of it smothers my fingers, squeezing just enough for me to feel it.
“I don’t have a bubbling rage inside of me. That’s not what I feel,” she whispers.
My swallow is audible. “So whatdoyou feel?”
“Helpless,” she admits, gripping my hand tighter. Her mouth flattens, eyes dulling. “And guilty. Guilty for feeling helpless in the first place when I come from a place of privilege. Being anything less than grateful for that is wrong.”
“You don’t owe anyone anything. Growing up with money doesn’t mean your feelings mean any less than mine do. I didn’t have shit when I was a kid, but I don’t believe that you deserve to be miserable because you grew up differently.”
“My resentment comes from being so sheltered. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much. So many years that I should have been, I don’t know, making stupid mistakes and getting my heart broken.”
“You yearn for the wrong things,” I muse, touching her in a way that reeks of . . . possession.
Her voice drops when she asks, “What should I yearn for, then?”
“This.”
“And what is this?”
I drag my palms over the tops of her thighs and to the inside, where she’s hot and so sensitive that her exhale morphs into a low moan. Wetting my dry lips, I roll forward further and let my pinky drag beneath the hem of her dress.
“Lust, Millie. The kind that turns your breath shallow and makes your muscles quiver,” I breathe out, pushing my hand up further until I’m wrist-deep up her dress. She wiggles down the table, pressing against my fingers. Her gaze glitters with mischief when I feel the slickness on the centre of her panties and pull in a quick breath. “You should experience a sexual chemistry that pulses like a living thing at least once in your life.”
“I’ve already done that,” she admits before sinking her teeth into her lip.
“And?”
“And I’m afraid nothing will compare to it.”
To you.
It hangs on to the tip of her tongue, refusing to fall. The clarity in her eyes is so pure and honest that I nearly combust.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I let go of the groan I’ve been holding in and press my thumb against her panties while standing so quickly my stool shoots backward. Millie doesn’t do anything but lie and wait, staring at me as I lean over her and pant like a man seeing a fucking steak after being starved for a decade.
Her head rolls on the table, her neck arching in invitation before I’m taking it and burying my face in her hair. Lips dragging up the side of her throat, I shift her panties out of my way and rub my finger between her slit, finding her drenched and so hot I might have burn marks on my fingertips after this. She writhes on the table, her hips lifting and falling as she tries to get me to touch her harder or faster, or I don’t fucking know. All I do know is that I’m not going to stop touching her until she comes for me.
“Shade,” she whines, slapping a hand to my shoulder and trying to pull me closer.
