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Almost as if she couldn’t decide which part of me she wanted to touch first.
So I touched her instead.
My hands floated from my sides to mold themselves to her shoulders. I lightly trailed my fingers over the smooth, lean muscle all the way down to her elbows. “What do they mean?” I asked. “Your tattoos.”
Even if this close proximity, I could pick out no shapes that resembled objects I recognized.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“How can you not know when you’re the one that got them?”
“They’re intuitive. The artist decides what wants to be tattooed there and then applies it.”
“How long ago did you get them?” I asked.
“Two years,” she said. “Right after I left the Order.”
She rotated her arms to show me the undersides as my fingers reached her wrists.
“Interesting,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“This one connects to your lifeline,” I said, thumbing the place where the delicate line connected to the crease of her roughened palm.
“Huh,” she said. “I’d never noticed.”
I looked at her from beneath my eyelashes. “You went to all the trouble to get these elaborate markings, and you never bothered looking closely enough at them to notice that they connected to your lifeline?”
Sal shrugged. “It was more like a trade, actually. The tattoos were how she paid me.”
“Paid you for what?”
“Services,” she said cryptically.
“What is it that you do exactly?” I asked.
Her dark eyes burned into mine. “You’re asking this now?”
“I am,” I said.
Sal’s open palm closed around my wrist and curled me into her with my back to her front. “What is needed.”
“Could you be any more specific than that?”
Her fingers splayed across my belly. “Not without compromising the confidentiality of my clients,” she said, trailing fingertips just below the exposed under-curve of my breasts.
“Out of curiosity, what would have happened had I refused to come with you?” I asked before I was robbed of sanity entirely.
Her mouth nuzzled the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I would have persuaded you.”
“How?”
“By any means necessary.” Sal’s lips were hot velvet against the curve of my neck, endlessly sampling. Nipping. Tickling. Her hands worked in concert, continuing their slow sensual exploration of the underside of my breasts only.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of my pleasure-fogged brain, I knew that I should continue this conversation. To stop Sal from distracting me and see it through.
But it felt so good.
