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13
Kit
I’ll Be Doing What, Now?
We lie on our sides and breathe the same air. My skin is hypersensitive, it tingles and puckers as Bobby gently feathers his fingers along my arm.
I’m reeling; not only from the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, but from Bobby’s declaration of love. I never expected him to love me back. I knew I loved him. I’ve known he had something special, a kind of power over me, from the moment we locked eyes in the club. My stomach turned and my heart tumbled. Before he even spoke a word to me, I knew he wielded power that I never wanted to surrender to anyone.
To have that kind of power to make me so happy, but the potential to crush me; giving that away didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want it. I fought against it. But it seems, it was never something for me to give, but something to be taken. And Bobby… he took it. He didn’t have my permission, but that doesn’t matter anymore, because I love him, and he loves me, and I physically ache at the thought of not being with him.
When he told me he loved me too, my earlier uncertainties: my complications, my self-doubt, any thoughts I had about my body physically lacking, all of it – none of it mattered anymore, because I believed him. My heart believed his.
“What are you thinking?”
My gaze slides over to his as he rests on his elbow and strokes the skin above my breasts. He smiles softly and drops a kiss on my shoulder.
“I was thinking about you.” I’m so thoroughly relaxed, my words are a lazy mumble. “I was thinking that maybe we should go out for pasta more often.”
He smiles wolfishly. “We can go out for pasta every single day for the rest of my life, as far as I’m concerned.” He watches me for a beat, then leaning in closer, bounces his brow. “Who knew there was this whole other side to you, huh?” My face burns at his words. “My own femme fatale. Who knew Shy Kit would almost make me blow my load just by watching you… And the little show you put on in my car.” He smirks. “You could kill me. You have the power to end me, do you know that?” He leans forward and nibbles on my lips. “Or that you have tattoos. Amazing, sexy, secret tattoos.”
I giggle lightly. “Yeah, they’re kinda my secret.”
His eyes dance. “Amazing secret. Which was your first?”
I look down my body. “The one on my hip. Hurt like a damn bitch,” I laugh. “I was never doing that again… until I did.” I look up into his smiling eyes. “The bird on my ribs was already half drawn in my head by the time I got home. And the rest is history.” I push his shoulder back and rise to my knees. “May I?”
“Sure,” he says easily. I yelp as he grabs my hips and lifts me over to straddle him. No girl is ever going to tire of being lifted so she feels tiny and delicate. I’d die if he grunted, but he’s so strong, he makes it seem easy. I lean down first to kiss his lips, a silent thank you, then sitting up straight, I finally bask in the unrestricted view I’ve been wanting since the first moment I met him.
His defined pectoral has a tattooed clock resting over his heart. The hands sit at a little past three o’clock, and the face is a mandala design, with chains and diamonds dangling from the bottom, making the whole design look as though it’s also a dream catcher.
Tribal art stretches toward his left shoulder, and works its way down with flowers and swirling designs filling in a three-quarter sleeve. He has script scattered about, some in English, some Latin, woven in seamlessly with the rest of his art. I lean down and kiss the inside of his elbow, then work my way up to place a soft kiss in the center of his dream catcher.
He inhales softly and stares into my eyes. “I love you, baby.”
I thrill in my confidence to be able to easily reply, “I love you, too.” I peck him on the lips, and quickly snatch my head back when he tries to catch my lip between his teeth. I laugh and push his shoulder back so I can continue my examination.
More script on his right side – numbers, dates. I look up to him in question.
“Important dates in my life.” He lazily points to one. “The first day I stepped into a fight gym.” Then moves his finger to another. “The first day I graded.” Then another. “The day I got my black belt.” Another. “The day I won my first title.” This time looking at me, he wears an arrogant smirk. “Thesecondtime I won the title. This one is the day we bought the gym.” Then he moves his finger to a blank space and meets my eyes. “The day I bedded Kit Maree Reilly.”
“Shut up!” I slap his shoulder.
He laughs and pulls me against his hard chest. “Don’t be shy, babe. This is a big day. It’s definitely worthy of ink.”
“Stop,” I snicker. To change the subject, I move my finger along his chest and deliberately draw his attention to tattoos further down. I stop at script on his bicep. “Pick the round. Knock ‘em out.” I look up at him curiously.
“It’s a simplified version of something Muhammad Ali said.”
Nodding, I continue tracing the tendons in his arm until I stop on a Peter Pan-esque silhouette. My eyes snap to his in surprise.
“I got that for my dad,” he admits. “He never really got to grow up. He was so busy surviving, providing. Doing his best. Then he was gone.”
My attention snaps back to the clock on his chest. I get it now. Tears itch the backs of my eyes, and noticing – of course he notices – he pulls my chin up. “What’s the matter, baby? Don’t be sad.” He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my lips.
I knuckle away a single tear and clear my throat. “Remind me to show you my notebook next time we’re at my house. I want to show you something.”
He stares into my eyes for a long moment. “Will it make you sad?”
