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My stomach drops like a speeding elevator.
“Y-you know, I can’t really afford it. Guess I was just window shopping and I got carried away,” I blurt out, hot all over.
He raises one of his thick, dark eyebrows and, damn, he looks sexier than ever. “My treat. I’ll tattoo you for free. Any design you like.”
I gulp. How the hell am I going to get out of this one?
“Tell me where,” he repeats.
He has the unwavering gaze of a predator, I think, and my gut turns another notch.
I’ll do this. For my brother. For my mom.
I think of someplace not too obvious, where only a lover would see it. I lift a trembling finger and point to the area just inside my hip bone.
His tracks the movement of my hand and his nostrils flare. “A sensitive spot,” he comments.
“Mmm… hmm.” I don’t trust myself to speak.
“You’ll have to pull those jeans down a little and lie on my bench.” He indicates the black leather seat in the back.
I’m pretty sure he’s calling my bluff. But suddenly I want this to happen. I want him to inscribe his own design onto my body. I want him to…
Mark me?
I have no idea where this impulse came from. But it’s there. A fierce need, beating right through me:
I want his mark.
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“And what kind of design speaks to you?”
I lick my lips. A little cluster of flowers—I saw one like that. I riffle through the catalog and show him.
“Good choice,” he says, and I glow under his approval. I want him to be pleased with me, however ridiculous that sounds.
“Let’s go.” There’s a challenge in his eyes and I’m sure he expects me to back out.
But this is happening.
I leap up and stroll to the bench. It’s a little high for me, though.
He’s right there. His big presence at my back. Forge’s hands grasp my hips and lift me effortlessly onto the seat. He guides me into position, until I’m reclining against the cool leather. Comfy.
Or it would be if I wasn’t basically lying on my back now, right in front of the sexiest man I’ve met in my life.
“Unfasten your jeans,” he says.
Heat pours through me yet again. I can’t look at him as I fumble the top button open, undo the zipper, and lift my ass as I shuck my jeans over my hips. My panties are bright pink lace, and they emerge like a beacon. They couldn’t be more attention-grabbing if they tried.
By the time I’m done, my cheeks are burning, and when I finally look up, I think I might as well be naked for the way his gaze is roving over me.
“You can use this modesty cloth, if you want.” He hands me a black square of fabric. I tuck it over myself, but it’s kind of late for modesty, and from the little tug in his lips, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
He looks at the design again, then he takes something like a sharpie and makes some marks on my skin.
“Looks complicated,” I mumble nervously.
