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Address: Apt 3E—
Contact Number:
My pen stops on the paper, and I glance up at her. “Ahh . . . what’s the rest of my address?”
Kyah’s brows arch, and an amused grin cuts across that beautiful face. “You’re screwing with me, right?” she laughs. “You don’t know your address?”
“In my defense, I’ve only been there a few weeks.”
Kyah rolls her eyes and steps into my side. “Just fill out the medical stuff and sign at the bottom,” she tells me. “I’ll fill out the rest of it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, scanning over the list of medical questions before going through and ticking all the NO boxes. I sign it at the bottom, and as I get up from the desk, Kyah takes the pen and quickly scribbles in the rest of my address. Then plunging her hand into her handbag, she grabs a familiar slip of paper to copy down my phone number. “You kept that?” I ask, remembering the exact moment I stuck it to her door.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she tells me, pointing toward her tattooing chair for me to take a seat. “Once something gets dumped into my handbag, it might as well start paying rent because it’ll never come out again.”
I laugh and drop down into her chair, watching as she rolls toward me on her wheely stool, her knee brushing against mine. “What do you want?” she asks, her gaze trailing over my body.
“You, Mace.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. “That’s not what I—”
“I know what you meant,” I say, cutting her off and taking her chin, holding her gaze hostage.
Hesitation flashes in her eyes. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“The tattoo, or you and me?”
“You and me,” she murmurs, her voice so low as though she’s afraid of saying it any louder.
Pushing forward in the chair, I lean into her, my hands dropping to her thighs and rolling her in even closer. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Mace. I see the pulse at the base of your throat speed up every time I come close,” I say, brushing my fingers across her neck. “You want this just as much as I do.”
Kyah nods and relief pounds through my chest.
“Then whatever it is that’s holding you back, we’ll work through it.”
“It’s not that simple,” she tells me. “Being with me is . . . it’s complicated. I could be putting you in danger.”
I scoff. “What? Because of those biker dudes who follow you everywhere you go?”
“You noticed that, huh?”
I lean in even closer, my lips brushing over hers. “How could I not?”
Kyah’s lips gently move with mine, kissing me back, and when she pulls away, there’s a reluctance in her bright blue eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” she tells me. “I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
“I can handle myself, Mace,” I tell her. “And for what it’s worth, if something were to happen to me simply for being close to you, then it’d be worth it.”
Kyah groans and shoves me back into the chair, her cheeks flushed. “You’re impossible, you know that, right?” she questions with a wide grin. I laugh as she quickly recovers and tries to get serious. “Okay, but really, what kind of tattoo do you want and where?”
My lips quirk up into a smirk. “Okay, so you know Pinocchio?” I ask, watching as her brows furrow and she slowly nods her head. “I was thinking of getting the top of his face right in the center of my groin. You know, just up to his eyes, and then the start of his nose would be where my dick is, so every time I got hard—”
Kyah’s booming laugh cuts me off. “Holy shit. Why does that image come with sound effects in my head?” she questions, shaking her head. “But for the sake of your sex life, I’m not turning your dick into Pinocchio’s nose.”
“Come on, Mace,” I tease. “You’ll be begging me to lie to you.”
“Lying to women might get you hard, but nothing’s going to dry me up faster. Besides, from my experience, I don’t need you to lie to me to get you hard. I can do that all on my own.”
Fuck. I adjust the front of my pants. All this talk of Kyah getting me hard works like magic.
