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I can still see it in my memory, though, so I do my best.
“I need it in red,” I start. “Blood red.”
Dante’s favorite color.
I drag my fingers over my chest, mimicking the slash of red paint he put there once. It was bold and dangerous-looking and hopeful. More importantly, it was his, and I want it on my skin permanently. Just like the scars Logan has marked me with. Just like the claim all three men have made on my heart.
Nico nods. “We can do that. Like a true crimson, yeah? That’ll pop nicely against your skin. What’s it gonna look like?”
I try to describe the shape with touch, curling my fingers over the top of my right breast. “It needs to twist around like this.”
I meet Dante’s eyes, the heat of them making my breath hitch. I can see that he remembers.
I can also see that possessiveness flare up in his eyes when Nico nods and tells me to take my shirt off.
“You want to just guide me as I freehand it?” Nico asks as I reach for my hem. “Dante can hold this mirror for you—”
“No,” Dante says, shooting to his feet. He pushes between me and Nico and bats my hands away. “I’ll do the fucking stencil. I know what she wants.”
Nico snorts, but I can’t see what he thinks about that with Dante blocking my view.
Or, I suppose, blockingNico’sview.
“You do remember we met in a strip club, right?” I tease Dante once I realize that.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he says, his voice low. He peels my shirt off and cups my bare breasts. “These are mine now.”
I squeeze my thighs together. “Just yours?”
“You know what I mean, princess.” He pinches my nipples hard enough to send a bolt of arousal shooting through me that almost has me forgetting what we’re doing here. “This is Reaper territory, and I only share with my brothers.”
“That might make this whole tattoo thing kind of hard to do,” Nico drawls from behind him. “You do know I need to work on her skin, right?”
Dante’s eyes stay locked onto mine. “I know.”
But he doesn’t like it, and that possessiveness has me turned on enough that it takes a bit of effort to remember how much I want this tattoo too.
“You can keep me covered up,” I say, sliding his hands down to cover my tits. “But I want this, Dante. I need your marks on me.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing my tits. “Okay, princess. We’ll make it happen.”
He snags the shirt he just took off me and flips it around a few times, turning it into something like a bandeau top for me that leaves enough of my breast exposed to allow him to follow through on freehand stenciling in the shape of the mark he painted on me when we fucked in his studio.
“This what you want?” he asks, his voice husky as he traces it with the tip of his finger, feather-light.
“Yes,” I tell him, a lump in my throat. “It’s perfect.”
No one has offered me the mirror, but I still know it’s true.
Actually, it’s a million times more perfect than I’d imagined when I spontaneously asked to come here for some ink, because now it really will truly be Dante’s mark that Nico inks onto my skin.
“Ready for this?” Nico asks once Dante finally steps aside.
He takes one of the rolling stools and puts a hand on my thigh that feels like one part possession and one part support.
I hold his gaze as Nico leans over my chest with his tools, and get a reassuring squeeze in return.
“I’m ready.”
