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I looked down and, seized with a bit of bravery, set my hand on his erection. It actually moved at my touch.
Michael jerked. “Fuck.”
I giggled, unable to help myself. “It’s like it’s saying hello.”
With a dry look, he moved my hand away.
“I—why?” I found myself asking as he pulled it back to his chest.
Shame flickered through my bliss once more. Was something wrong? Didn’t he want me too?
“Because,” he murmured as he continued caressing my back with his other hand, “you deserve better than a quickie in a breakroom for your first time, Tess. You deserve a hell of a lot more than I can give you?—”
“Don’t start that again,” I cut in, pushing back up. “You can’t leave me alone after that, Michael Scarrone. I won’t let you.”
To my surprise, I received no argument—just a perfectly beautiful boyish grin.
“Oh, I won’t argue,” he said before kissing me again. “We’re in this now, baby. You got me hooked. You’ll never get rid of me, I’m sorry to say.”
My insides practically glowed. “I’m okay with that.”
“I only meant that we don’t have to rush,” Michael continued. “We can take our time. Make sure you’re ready.”
I tipped my head with a shy smile. “So I get more than the one date now?”
Michael’s big hands clasped my face, pulling me down for one final kiss. “I sure as shit hope so, Tess. I’ll take as many as I can get.”
SIXTEEN
STORIES ETCHED IN INK AND HEARTBREAK
Michael
“What does this tattoo mean?” Lea asked some time later.
I chuckled as I stroked her hair. She lay on my bare chest, still recovering her breath after yelling my name through three more orgasms, exploring the various tattoos that littered my body.
I looked down to where she was pointing at the skull and crossbones on my ribs.
I made a face. “That one is so fuckin’ whack. What am I, a pirate? I got it when I was maybe fifteen because I thought it was cool. Probably have it covered with something else when I have the money.”
Lea chuckled, probably because I’d given her similar responses for every tattoo she’d asked about so far. My hips arched automatically as her fingers danced down my abs, playing above my belt buckle. She’d offered a few times to undo it, to give me some of the pleasure I’d been providing her for the last few hours.
But I’d stopped her every time. Not because I didn’t want it—fuck me, did I want it. I probably wanted it more than any man on the planet had ever wanted it.
I was starting to realize that something about Lea made me feel a little old-fashioned. I didn’t want our first time—and at this point, I’d bet my life there would actually be a first time—to be a transaction. I wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be good enough for someone like her.
Which how I found myself repeatedly turning down that particular offer for the first time ever.
“Did you get all of them because they’re cool?” she teased as I placed a hand over hers, stilling its progress across my chest.
Typically, I said “yes” when people asked me some version of that question. I’d even been in a situation almost like this with my last girlfriend—with Gina—when, in the blissful dream right after sex, she’d sometimes pepper me with personal questions. Like she knew that was the best time to ask them, that it was maybe the only time I would actually answer her.
But Lea didn’t know that. Probably because she already knew I’d answer her questions at any time of day.
I was already an open book with her.
It was dangerous. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.
