Page 89 of Dukes of Peril

“And you want me to watch while Remy does it?” I ask, trying to figure out what he wants. It doesn’t help that his hand is creeping up my shirt, fingers running along the underside of my boob.

“I wantyouto do it.”

I blink slowly, trying to find my bearings. “Do what?”

“Ink me.” I pull back but his hand splays behind my back, holding me tight. “Like you did for Remy.”

I loosen as it dawns on me. “Oh my god, you really are jealous!”

“Fuck yeah, I’m jealous. I want your mark on me, Little Bird. Somewhere special.” He releases me and again goes for his pants. I expect him to show me the same spot I gave Remy the moon, but instead, he reveals a smooth, hairless swath of skin above the cock that’s currently straining against the lower part of his jeans. “Right here.”

I gape at the skin. “You already shaved?”

Shrugging, he answers, “Of course. In the shower, before we left for the gym earlier.”

So he’s been planning this. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the question of just how far down that goes. Instead, I ask, “But what if you didn’t win?” Only it’s a stupid question, and the sarcastic tug of his brow is more than enough to drive that home.

“Come on,” is all he says.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Tipping my chin up, he stares at my lips, licking his own. “No, ridiculous is when I considered having you put inkonmy dick. You know, so I could see it every time I fucked into you.” He says it so seriously, as though he’s considered this in a very careful, scientific way. “It would have been hot as hell, but let’s face it, there’s no way I’m going sexless long enough for it to heal, so obviously that’s off the table.”

“Obviously,” I say, not hiding my sarcasm. “So instead, you just want me to mark youaboveyour dick.”

“Exactly.” He tugs his pants back up but doesn’t button them. “I’m the victor, Lavinia. These are my spoils.” He tilts his head, and even though I know the glare is playful, it still sends a shiver down my spine. “You wouldn’t deny a Duke his spoils, would you?”

Some girls would suspect a gesture like this is bogus. A way of over-compensating for a wayward eye or to prove something. Nick doesn’t need to give me grand gestures, though. His whole existence is proof of his commitment.

But maybe he needs a gesture from me.

“Okay,” I say, just as coolly as he’d requested it. “But Remy needs to supervise, and it can’t be anything too involved, because I’m not an artist. At all.”

He grins, eyes darkening. “Don’t worry, baby. The design I want is so easy, you could draw it with your eyes closed.”

That’s easy for him to say, but I let him lead me across the room to where Remy has his things set up. He’s just finishing up with Kaczinski, who hops out of the chair, showing off the broken crown tattooed on his forearm to his friends.

“You ready?” Remy asks, putting away the dirty needles and opening a package of sealed, sterile ones. He lost his shirt somewhere in the last five minutes, and the curve of his bare shoulder blade distracts me as his back curves over his large box of supplies, green eyes darting up to meet ours.

“I’m going to do something a little different this time, Rem.” Nick spins the chair that Kaz was sitting in to face Remy. It’s adjustable, and he shifts the lever, dropping it to a reclining position.

Remy observes this with a suspicious stare. “Different how?”

“Little Bird.” Reaching up, he tugs his shirt over his head, revealing his chest and torso, the muscles sharp and toned and wallpapered with Remy’s designs. “She’s going to ink me.”

Remy’s rolling eyes land on me. “He got jealous, huh?”

I don’t respond, because when I turn around Nick has dropped his pants, lowering his shorts until they’re just covering his junk. He leans back, spreading his legs on either side of the seat. With his hands, he makes a motion over the hard V muscles flanking his lower abdomen. “Right here between the cum gutters.”

Needless to say, his cock bulges against his cotton shorts.

It’s instantly obvious that everyone, male and female, is turning to watch my man put his body on display. Cheeks heating, I suggest, “Maybe we should go upstairs.”

Nick follows my gaze around the room, an impish chuckle escaping his throat. “Who’s jealous now?” But he doesn’t shrink away from the attention. If anything, he leans into it, grabbing my hand to tug me closer. When I duck down, close enough for him to speak into my ear, he whispers, “I want everyone to see.”

Remy drags his chair over and places it right in front of Nick, “Here you go, Vinny.” I’ll basically be positioned between Nick’s legs, trapped by both of their hot, piercing gazes, only then Remy is the one to sit in it.

Spreading his legs, Remy pats the chair, beckoning me.

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