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CHAPTER SIX
Fuck-shit-fucking ow.
Every muscle in my body tenses against the buzzing, burning, vibrating sting. Like scraping my skin against a roughcast wall. Like razor burn times a million. Like a bazillion wasps have decided to attack. And all while warning me to keep still.
Perched on the dresser, my feet propped up on either side of the chair Sonnie’s sitting on, wearing just his board shorts, I glare down the length of my body and the sleeveless black T-shirt he made me put on to keep the distractions to a minimum.
Forehead furrowed, jaw clenched, he flicks his gaze up to meet mine. “We’re halfway there.”
My smile feels wobbly, even to me. Getting your vajayjay, or your lower pelvis if you want to get technical about it, tattooed is definitely not for the faint-hearted.
He sprays the tender skin with cool water, and my eyes roll closed with relief as he wipes away the excess ink and speckling of blood. They pop open again at the sound of him snapping one of his black latex gloves off. “Why are you stopping?”
“Because this—” He lays his hand on my dramatically trembling thigh. “—Doesn’t bode well for straight lines. You’re here for a few weeks, right? We’ve got time.”
We’ve got time? I press my lips together and drop my attention to the beginning of my pretty chandelier tattoo. The skin’s a little red, but that doesn’t take away from how intricately detailed it is ... or how unfinished it is. Time is not something I’ve spent on any guy since the first and only time ... even if this one does seem to be my perfect flavor of man. It’s just not the way I’m built anymore. I’m pretty sure it’s not the way he’s built either. This could be ... awkward.
I return my attention to him and attempt a nonplussed smile.
Those dimples appear at whatever he thinks he reads on my face. “Tattoos on boney body parts kill. You did good.” He squirts some sort of jelly-type substance into his gloved fingers then smooths it over his work.
My pulse promptly does a naught to sixty take off at such a blissful sensation after such discomfort.
His eyes lower to his fingers then lift to mine. “Painful?”
“You kidding me?” My laugh is breathless. “Not sure anything’s ever felt better.”
“Really?” He reaches for the surgical tape and cellophane from his case. “I’m sure that’s what you said earlier too.”
“You’re funny.” I curl my lip in the face of the smug twinkle in his eyes.
“I know.” A yawn splits his face, and he stretches his arms above his head, fingers linked, back arched like a big, tattooed mountain lion. “I’m also beat. Come to bed. We should sleep.”
When he stands and lifts me from my perch, the excuses that usually spring to my mind in the face of sleeping over with a man like this are nowhere to be seen.
Maybe Flynn sent them on a little vacay too—I’m sure they’ll be back.
It’s just the way I’m built.
Regardless of everything, I sleep good. I sleep really, really good. One of those head hits the pillow and you’re already out for the count sleeps. One of those sleeps so deep you don’t even dream.
Until I smell coffee.
My eyes flutter open, nostrils flaring to take in more of the delicious caffeine-tainted air. My brain struggles to whir into gear against the fog of sleep, so it takes a second to register my surroundings.
Pillows wedged under each side, my arms resting on them, I arch to stretch the aches my weird sleeping position has brought with it and the skin of my pelvis pulls at the tape. I jackknife up in bed. Yay. My new tattoo. The scent of coffee tickles my nose again.
“Coffee?” Sonnie’s voice is just as rough and rugged, if not more so, than last night.
My eyes have a hard time deciding where to linger—his far-too-sexy-for-this-time-of-the-morning grin, or the unusual tattoo that covers his lower torso and disappears beneath the waistband of his low-slung board shorts.
Body. Definitely body. Faces generally have way too much going on behind them for me to contemplate before my wake-up cuppa. I admire the swirling lines and intricate details that paint his skin. I’ve never seen a design like it. Like Mauri, but kind of Celtic, but something else.
“Stan?”
“Mm-hmm?” My lip clamped between my teeth, I meet his stare dead on. I should have had the talk with him last night instead of thinking with the little brain in my hoo-ha. She’s selfish.
But then again, if he only does the one-night thing too, no harm no foul. Right?
