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“You are so ridiculous,” she huffs and stretches out along the table on her stomach.
“That might be true, but you enjoy it.”
She’s just as twisted as I am.
Pulling a lighter from my pocket, I hover over her and flick the flame to life.
“Do not even think of burning down this room. He made a mistake. Humans do that sometimes.”
I smile. “Really? I had no idea.” Apparently, this particular human doing her tattoo isn’t the brightest, either.
Bringing the flame to her shirt, I drag it slowly down the middle until it sears the fabric.
“Stay on your stomach.” I drag my finger down the parted seam, exposing her smooth skin and unhooking her bra. My palm finds her spine, which will soon be like mine. “Let this be my last warning: If your sweet artist volunteers to touch you more than he must, your first tattoo experience will begin and end with his screams.”
Like the pain in the ass she is, she turns to me and grins. “Always the romantic.”
Always so fucking sarcastic.
Stepping away, I bang my fist on the inside of the door, signaling that she’s ready, and sit in the chair closest to the table. I flick the lighter repeatedly, freeing the fire, then capping it. It’s not much of a threat, but enough that when the tattoo artist walks in and sees her seared shirt, he gets it.
It’s a long three hours of occasional groans and winces, but my girl handles getting a tattoo like a true champion.
“Help me up?” she asks after the artist leaves us with a bandage that I insisted on handling once he got the fuck out.
Reese rolls over and I take her hand and pull her into a seated position. “How does it look?”
Turning her, I brush my fingers along her shoulders, leaning in and pressing my lips lightly against her inflamed skin, kissing away any pain that still lingers. “It looks like my sunflower.”
A bright smile reaches her cheeks. “I want to see.”
Turning her, I watch as she lights up at all the hues of yellow and orange. Flames lick up the side of the flower but never mars it. The flower stands strong amidst the darkness—just like her.
“Do you like it?”
My fingers trace over the ink, familiarizing myself with this new part of her.
“My rock-solid dick says yes.”
She shakes her head and grins, slipping her arms into my coat I hold out for her. “Next time, I’ll bring you an extra shirt.” I wince. What was I thinking, burning her shirt off her body? I wasn’t. My cock was staking claim.
She smiles as she moves closer, looping her arms around my neck. “I don’t know… I kind of want a repeat.”
A repeat she will have, then.
“Though, I think it’s time for you to admit that the sunflower of the east,”—her fingers trail up and down my spine as she molds herself to me—“survived the darkness of the west.”
I laugh. “You haven’t survived yet.” A lifetime will afford many more opportunities to fail.
“Yeah, but—” Her phone rings in my coat pocket.
“Unknown number.” She shows me the lit screen. “You think it’s the chief?”
I shrug, my heart already pounding in my chest. “Only one way to find out.”
“Hello,” she answers, putting the phone on speaker.
“Mrs. Cain. This is Chief Benton. I have the name you requested.”
