Page 81 of Prove You Wrong

We’re entwined in bed, I feel safe lying here in his arms. He lazily rubs his thumb across my shoulder, down my arm and up again. His warm touch feels so right.

Everything feels right. Even the throb and sting between my legs where it feels like he’s still inside me, feels right. My stomach does a little flip remembering how deep my last orgasm ran through me. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard or for so long.

It’s got dark outside with the short winter days, and I couldn’t tell you if we’ve been lying together for hours or weeks.

‘So, tell me about your tattoos.’ I trace the contours of a flower with a fingertip. A rich magenta infuses the petals. ‘Do they have a story?’

‘I usually tell people no, that I just happened to like them.’

‘But?’ I twist to look up at his face from where I’m curled against him.

He winds a lock of my hair through his fingers. ‘I got them to remind me of important things.’ Nate’s chest rises and falls steadily against my cheek.

‘What’s this one?’

‘The peony is to remind me life is transient.’ He takes a breath and then says,‘Shit happens, and then it doesn’t.’

I gaze into his eyes as I ponder this, then kiss the petals softly, unable to express how profound I find the sentiment.

My fingers tip-toe down to a twist of roman numerals. ‘And the clock?’

‘Life is short, so I’d better have fun.’ He drops a kiss on my forehead.

I chuckle and brush my lips across the tattoo.

‘And this?’ The silhouette of sinews and fascia interlaced with cogs, bolts, pistons and pipes wraps across his deltoid, like he’s half man, half machine. His taut muscles move beneath the outline, eerily bringing the engine to life.

‘Ah, that was my first.’ He snuffs out a short laugh. ‘And that one really was just because I liked it.’

Before I can respond, my phone pings with a text.

Chloe: Get the kettle on.

I sit bolt upright. ‘Shit. My sister’s on her way back.’

‘Where is she?’ Nate mirrors my pose, eyes wide.

‘I don’t know.’ I jump out of bed. ‘She won’t let me track her location on that app thing. But she’s on her way.’

Throwing on the nearest clothing — some old leggings and a tee-shirt — I hightail it out to the bathroom to track down the clothes we’d discarded a couple of hours ago.

Nate dresses as I fill the laundry basket with my muddy gear.

Running fingers through my hair does little to tame my messy bed-head but it’s an improvement.

I shut the door on my room and urge Nate downstairs, pushing and prodding at his back to hurry him along. Perhaps I can get him out before Chloe bursts in on us.

No such luck. Half-way down the stairs, the porch light flicks on, illuminating the front door from outside, and there’s movement on the other side of the obscured glass.

‘That’s her,’ I whisper. ‘Into the kitchen.’

From behind, I steer Nate round the bottom of the stairs, ignoring his protestations it’ll be okay. I scuttle us through the hall and into the kitchen.

‘My boots are by the front door,’ Nate says as I shut the kitchen door behind us. I can hear Chloe’s key scratching in the lock.

The expression on his face is a mixture of trepidation and devilish amusement. I’m sure mine must be of sheer horror. This is specifically the situation I wanted to avoid. My brain has short circuited and I look from Nate to the door and back again with not a single useful thought coming to mind.

The front door rushes open and Chloe shouts out a hello, Nate releases a chuckle without any hint of compunction.

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