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He shakes his head, cocking one dark eyebrow in something almost like a challenge.
“Not this time, Solnyshka. You’ve got my mark on you. Three of them, actually. Now I want your mark on me.”
23
WILLOW
My jaw falls openin surprise, and I’m suddenly filled with a rush of nerves.
“You want me to tattoo you?” I ask, incredulous. “I’ve never done that before. I wouldn’t even know how. I’m definitely going to mess it up, and you take such pride in your tattoos.”
I look at the ones I can see on his skin, the ones I’ve practically memorized by now. The last thing I want is for him to have something wonky and ugly there, standing out from the good work he’s done on himself, or had done in prison.
But Malice just chuckles, coming over and cupping my face in both hands. He draws me up into a kiss, and I can’t help but melt into it. It’s possessive and messy, all teeth and tongue and sharp edges. If I wasn’t already so fucked out, it would have me tingling with the need for more.
As it is, it leaves me breathless, and I have to stare at him for a second to get my brain back online after we break apart.
“I don’t care,” he says, the rough edge in his voice making it sound deeper than it usually does. “You could tattoo a stick figure or a blob on me, and I’d still love it. I want to wear your mark.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re crazy.”
But I can tell he’s serious. He means it unequivocally, and it makes my stomach turn over with nerves. At the same time, something about the idea is so appealing. Malice is marked up in so many ways, from his tattoos to all the scars that litter his body, and the thought of having something permanent on him, something that I put there, is thrilling in a way I didn’t expect it to be.
Maybe some of his possessiveness has rubbed off on me.
I take a deep breath, then nod. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. But you can’t get mad if it looks like shit.”
He grins, kissing my forehead before stepping back. “I promise. Now come here.” He purses his lips before he adds, “And don’t get dressed yet. I want you naked while you tattoo me.”
My nipples harden, my thighs unconsciously squeezing together. Leaving my scattered clothes where they are, I scoot to the edge of the couch as he sits down beside me.
He shoves the coffee table out of the way a bit and then sets the tattoo equipment down on it, and I listen attentively as he gives me a rundown on how the gear all works. I have a basic understanding of it from watching him, but it’s impressive how much he knows, and how easily he explains it.
There’s still an anxious rumble in my stomach, but the more Malice talks, the more excited I get to tattoo him. It’s a huge show of trust—and knowing Malice the way I do, I understand it’s a big deal for him. He doesn’t trust easily at all.
Once he finishes his lesson, I stand up and run my gaze over him, struck as always by how unfairly hot he is.
He might not be model gorgeous the way Ransom is, but there’s something about his dark intensity that’s so striking. The way he carries himself, the way his muscles stand out. It’s all very appealing, and there’s so much of him to work with. Even though he has a lot of tattoos already, there are some empty spaces, and I look at him the way he looked at me the first time he tattooed me, like a canvas to be evaluated.
Malice just lets me get on with it, one eyebrow raised, heat flickering in his eyes while I take him in.
“See something you like?” he asks, a teasing note in his voice.
I roll my eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”
“Maybe I just like hearing it from you.”
“Vain,” I tease back. “I’m checking out what I have to work with.”
He nods, letting me look my fill, but I know we’re both aware of the heat building between us. It’s bright and undeniable, and I swallow hard, letting my fingers trail over the skin of his shoulders and upper arms.
Finally, I pick a spot on his chest. It’s not a large spot, just a bit of open space between his other tattoos. But I don’t want to do anything big anyway, and I like the idea of him having my mark near his heart, just like the first one he gave me.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Malice nods. He wraps my fingers around the tattoo gun. “Remember what I told you, and you’ll be fine. Even pressure, don’t go too deep.”
“Right,” I murmur.
