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I smile at him reassuringly, my fingertips stroking over the ink on the side of his neck and into the buzzed bristles of hair at his nape.
“I just thought it would be more comfortable if we moved this to the bedroom,” I tell him using my voice. I can’t believe how at ease I feel speaking out loud when I’m around him. He makes me feel so safe that all the old fears and the shame I used to live with are mere shades in the further corners of my mind now.
I stand up, gesturing toward the back of the jet, and he grins, giving me a slow, smoking-hot once-over that makes me tremble even more.
“I like the way you think, love,”he signs and lets me pull him up on his feet.
I lift on my tiptoes and kiss his chin. He’s too tall for me to reach any higher. He obligingly stoops a bit until our lips meet in a small, light kiss.
I hastily pull back before our passion gets the drop on us again and lead him through the small hall and into the bedroom.
As soon as we clear the sliding door, he’s on me again, one of his hands reaching the lower part of his long-sleeved t-shirt to slip it off his torso. Once his tee is on the floor, he stalks toward me, hands immediately going for my top.
“Such a beast! Slow down!” I scold him, laughing. I shake my head as I playfully bat his hands off my body. He’s so focused on me that he hasn’t even glimpsed his surprise.
He chuckles. “I can’t ever slow down around you. I’ve missed you so much…”
I smile up at him, my hands splayed over his bare muscular chest. “We were just now sitting together, love…”
He sighs, his eyes trained on my lips as he sim-coms. “I know… but I miss you every time I’m not inside of you. Anything less than that closeness is too far away for me.”
I blush from my throat to my forehead, gulping. My guy does have a way with words. Everything that comes out of his mouth is like a hit song waiting to happen. And the best part?
I know he really means every single word.
God knows I feel exactly the same. No close is close enough when it comes to us.
“Carson,” his name is like a prayer on my lips as my fingers trace the new ink over his left pectoral.
It wasn’t there when I sent him on his way two weeks ago. In fact, he had ink pretty much everywhere else on the sides and the back part of his upper body, but his chest was empty.
As I was coming up with his surprise this week, he was working on a special gift of his own for me.
Where his skin was completely clear, there’s now a minuscule music sheet with actual teeny tiny notes inked over it. More of the little notes float around it, and then, just underneath, exactly where his heart beats, there’s my name written so big it takes up all of his pec.
I love so much seeing it there —I might also be a tad possessive over my guy— that I can’t stop running my fingers over it as soon as Carson gets shirtless.
And what’s more, he got my name inked in my own calligraphy as if I myself had scribbled it onto his skin.
When I first saw the tattoo, I was speechless for a few minutes, barely holding back tears, then I made the mistake of asking him what my name in connection with the score sheet meant, and he said it’s because I’m his love and his inspiration and there I was bawling my eyes out.
I still don’t know exactly how he managed to get the lettering done in my writing style, but I’m pretty sure my brother helped him out. I caught him snooping in my notepads about a week ago, and I know for a fact amongst all my usual doodling, there has to be my own name written somewhere. Jared, of course, played dumb when I asked him, but he doesn’t fool me. Despite their less-than-stellar beginning, my man and my big brother have grown pretty close, probably bonding over their overprotective nature when it comes to me and little Anna —who, by the way— is completely gaga over her new uncle.
I look into Carson’s eyes, hands moving away from his chest and up to his neck and jaw. I use my hold on his frame to slowly slide behind him, my hands now covering both of his eyes.
I can feel the vibration of his laughter through his back and into my chest.
I turn us around as best as I can so he can see the surprise he totally missed when we got in.
“Ta-da!” I cry, lifting my hands from his eyes and quickly circling around him so I can stand beside him, my gaze fixed on his face. I don’t want to miss a fraction of his expression.
And there it is. What I was waiting to see.
The complete stupor, the pleasure, and, finally, the utter joy.
I can see from his profile how he absolutely lights up.
His electric black and chrome custom-made Markbass bass guitar is on a little silver stand in the farther corner of the bedroom.
