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Minutes drag. Her breathing never slows, but it changes from a ragged panic that scissor-kicks my brainstem to a desperate fucking pant that juices my knot.
Don’t think she feels it yet, but she will.
Her hips are right fucking there.
I keep purring, and her fingers drift. They freeze at my neck. She brushes the edge of a dark line that spills above my shirt. “You got a tattoo.”
“You want to see it, Starshine?” Been dying to show her, to get her alone. That’s why I snarled until they hung back in the gym.
Can’t let those other fuckers see.
They’ll copy.
This shit is my intellectual property.
Lilah leans back to watch.
Wish she’d always be watching me.
Her cheeks are flushed.
Pink.
So pretty. Love her little nose. The wrinkle it gets when she’s all the hell is he doing now.
You don’t even know, Star.
I yank the hem of my tee and whip it off.
Lilah’s little rosebud lips part. “You…”
I have more sessions before the colored parts are finished, but letters are done.
L I L A H.
Dreams come true when she traces the L of her name, satin fingers running over my skin. “Why?”
“Because I’m yours.” My body, this whole fucking shell.
All hers.
She brushes a butterfly wing, following its morph into a knife blade. All the pretty, sharp, Lilah things. “This is real ink? Permanent?”
“Forever.”
She makes a fist. “You’re trying to break me.”
“Never,” I purr. “I want to keep you. My mate.”
Lilah’s perfume spikes. “You can’t say shit like that and not follow through.”
“That’s why I’m saying it.”
“Fuck.”
My purr hitches. Love that word on her lips. I wanna find out what other sweet, filthy things I can drag out of that mouth.
Lilah grabs my neck and squeezes.
