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On the back of his right calf was a tattoo that had taken me a little while to find. Usually, he was facing me when we were naked, and usually, I was too blissed-out to notice the backs of his lower legs.
He did tell me he liked sci-fi, but the alien being beamed up to his spaceship right there in black ink sort of hammered his words home.
It was probably my favorite tattoo on his entire body. It even beat out his tramp stamp.
Yep. My boyfriend has a tramp stamp. He insists it is not a tramp stamp, but I mean, it was right there in the small of his back right above his ass.
The design was a sexy-as-hell symbol I initially didn’t know the meaning of. Karma. What goes around comes around, he’d told me. The ultimate consequence of a person’s actions.
And you and I both know Arsen likes to inform people of the consequences of their actions.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, completely smug, turning around to give me a full-frontal view.
Fucking of course I was.
“What about all the buttons I was lying on?” I asked because it was easier than trying to articulate just how much I loved the view. And the man providing it. I pushed up from the couch, grimacing at the feeling of drying cum on my midsection.
The things I did for this man.
“I had most everything locked,” he told me with a wink.
Must have been springtime in my stomach because those butterflies were out again.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” he suggested. “I only have a few more songs before I have to be back on.”
I grabbed a pack of wipes out of my messenger bag (I don’t like messes, remember) and handed them to him first. He ripped them open, but instead of using one on himself, he cleaned me up first. This kind of intimacy always hit a little different. I mean, we’d literally just been going at it and he’d been talking filthy to me, but it was somehow less embarrassing than him using wipes to clean up my lower half.
His warm laugh filled the room. “Are you shy?” he teased.
I didn’t say anything.
He tossed away the wipes he was done with and grabbed another, reaching for my chest.
I caught his wrist, frowning. “You said you wanted me to wear it.”
“You’re going to be uncomfortable,” he said, reaching for me again.
I denied him again. “Leave it. I’m not uncomfortable.”
He gave me the I know you’re lying look, and I sighed.
“It’s a little crusty,” I admitted, and he laughed. “But I want it, okay? For a little while. Maybe later you can put some where I like it.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, pulling me against him. “One of these days, I’m going to buy a plug so I can fill you up and let you walk around full of me all day.”
My cock jerked, and with us being pressed together, he felt it.
A broad shit-eating grin lit up his face. “Oh, someone loves that idea.”
“Bear,” I whined, hiding my face in his neck.
He laughed and rubbed over the back of my shoulder. “I’m ordering one. A pink one.”
He was literally obsessed with putting me in pink. That had to be some kind of kink. I didn’t complain, though, because I kinda liked it. Whenever I had something in pink, he always called me precious.
Who wouldn’t want to be precious to someone?
After we were both cleaned up and dressed, I sat in his lap for a little while longer, just soaking in his presence.
