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A sad smile twists up one side of his lips. “Okay, Chuckie.”
“Better.”
He pauses, as if remembering something. “What did you mean, I used your words against you?”
I wince. He’s referring to what I’d blurted out in anger. I trace the scarred words and ask, “Where did you find this quote?”
His eyes turn wistful and he smiles gently. “There were these posters plastered all over the neighbor”—he breaks off and realization spreads over his face—“hood.” His expression turns dark, and yet fierce. “You didn’t.”
I grimace. “I did.”
His face slackens with shock. “I’ve seen those posters in every urine-stained corner of the ’hood, even in the tunnel under the bridge. You went there in the deep of night? Alone?”
I scowl at Marku and then the offending scarification. “Can you look past that aspect of it and return to the part where you were so inspired by my poetry that you burned it into your skin?”
He sits back on his haunches, gazes down at my words on his body, and sighs. “I was walking to get a Turkish coffee at The Dacia Café when I saw it plastered on a wall nearby. Some phrase caught my eye. I paused to read it. That poem hit me in the solar plexus. I took a pic of it with my phone and had it seared on my ribs by the end of the week. Hurt like a bitch.”
“You got your entire back burned up, too,” I commented.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Yeaaah, but the ribs…” He shakes his head in awe, his gaze darting up to Cristian’s enormous painting above his bed for an instant before returning to me. “Like I said earlier, you have the heart of an artist. Just like him.”
“You humble me by having my words etched on your body.”
“Baby, you humble me with everything you do,” he replies.
“So…you’re not mad?”
“I’m mad, but you clearly won’t stop. You may be the creative one, but I’m sure as hell not a slacker.” He taps his temple. “I just have to be one step ahead of you. And baby?”
I lift my brows in a question.
“I love the chase. Don’t worry, I’ll run you to ground, but we’re going to set that aside for the moment. I’ve got bigger fish to fry tonight. Returning to our earlier discussion, we’re going to do something a little different tonight.” His eyes grow soft. “We’re going to make love.”
I pull a face.
He laughs, and that clear, crisp sound dispels my anxiety over his discovery of my street art and makes the center of my chest feel squirrelly.
A smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth, he tells me, “Don’t give me that look.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “You know what I prefer, but I suppose, just this once”—I push him onto his back with a dramatic sigh—“we can makelooove.” I give him a stern look. “But don’t get used to it.”
On that note, I crawl on top and over him, dip my head, and lick along the raised lines of my poem.
CHAPTER15
MARKU
Iblink down at Crina’s head as she laves the raised, dead skin of the words carved along my ribs with her tongue. She thinks I’m a glutton for punishment, and while scarification is used to prove pain endurance, she doesn’t know the euphoria you experience as your body releases endorphins to counteract the pain.
But I’ll explain it another time. Right now, I let the waves of deep love and endless yearning for this woman crash over me and wash me out to sea.
She drifts farther down, using her tongue to trace a snake tat coiling down my abs. My belly clenches in anticipation, and I stop her, gripping her by the arms and dragging her up to me. “Tell me you were not about to suck my dick right now.”
Having been caught in her nefarious plan to make me putty in her hands, her bright eyes crinkle with mischief. “Busted.”
I place her so that she’s straddling me. As she sways above me, I capture one of her bouncing breasts and suckle her nipple hard, the way she likes it. “Fuck, your tits are a goddamn revelation.” I massage the plump flesh in my hand. “I see men drool over them. Pisses me off to no end.”
Kissing me, she unbuckles my belt and tears the zipper down. I strip out of my jeans and boxer briefs. She peels off her panties and returns to her position back on top. The moment our bare bodies touch, we groan in unison. I’m hard as a rock and she’s drenched.
