“Yeah. I have no problem making this permanent on my skin.” She smiles, but bites her bottom lip. “Unless our first year has made you reconsider forever.”
As an answer, I slip my wedding band off my finger and into my pocket then turn to Matty, who’s already prepping his ink and needles.
“All right, partner, do your worst.”
I’ve gotten used to the discomfort that comes with tattooing— hell, I got my first one when I was only fourteen. Amir and I were Matty’s guinea pigs, and he had to fix that first one—a sadly disfigured angel—years later, after his skills improved. Bristol, though, has only gotten one tat, and she winces at the sharp needle pumping ink into her skin. Matty’s fast, though, and as gentle as he can be. After a couple of hours, we have matching tattoo bands on our ring fingers, not huge, but present enough to see even under our wedding rings. Matty has cleaned the tats and is prepping for his next customer while we eat the last of our cold empanadas and drink flat beer in the back room that serves as kitchen, office, and occasional bedroom for Matty and his staff.
“It’s not what I expected.” I grin when her questioning eyes find mine. “But it’s perfect.”
“Good.” She licks her lips and sets her bottle of beer on the small round table that’s covered in drawings; the tattoo artists must use it to practice on. “I did something today that I hope you approve of. I probably should have asked you first.”
“Asked me first?” There aren’t too many things that fall into Bristol’s ask Grip first category. “What’d you do?”
“I removed my birth control.” She twists her lips, unaware of the freak-out she just set off with her words. “Well, technically, my doctor did. It was really simple. She just—”
“Whoa.” I carefully set my beer beside hers. “Back up. You said you—”
“Removed my birth control, yeah.” She peeks at me from under her lashes. “Is that okay? You said whenever I was ready—”
“We could start trying, yeah.” A foot-long grin stretches between my cheeks. “So you’re . . . are you saying you’re—”
“Ready to have a baby, yes.” She worries the corner of her mouth with her teeth. “Your baby, yeah.”
Being married to Bristol has made the last year of my life the best. To think of us adding children to this . . . so many emotions rocket through me. A girl, a boy—could be both. Bristol’s a twin, and her father and her Uncle Grady are twins.
“We could have twins!” The words fly from my mouth before I think better of it, and I can tell it hadn’t occurred to Bristol, though I don’t know how that’s possible.
“Two?” Her eyes stretch. “At one time?”
“Your father’s a twin. You’re a twin,” I remind her gently. “If your mom, who has the maternal instincts of a barracuda, can do it, I’m sure you’d be fine.”
“Oh, God.” Her dazed eyes fixate on the table. “Two.”
She snatches her bottle from the table, tipping it back until the last drop is gone. Without missing a beat, she grabs mine and does the same. Before she starts raiding Matty’s small refrigerator for cheap liquor, I decide to stop her.
“Baby, come here.”
I hold my arms out and wait for her to settle on my lap. The mere thought of Bristol havin
g my baby has me horny as hell, so when she squirms to get comfortable in my lap, I’m anything but comfortable as my dick swells into the curve of her ass. I had the best intentions when I asked her to come to me. I wanted to soothe her fears, wanted to reassure her that whatever we have, however many kids we have, we’ll be fine.
But damn.
Now with her in my lap and her scent surrounding me and the satiny skin of her throat silently begging to be licked and bitten, reassuring her is the furthest thing from my mind.
I just want to fuck her.
“We have a couple of options,” I mutter into the sweet-smelling curve of her neck.
“What are they?” she asks breathlessly, tipping her head back so I can take more of her skin into my mouth. “These options, what are they?”
“I can lock that door, and we can hope no one needs to come back here to microwave a Hot Pocket.”
She pants against my lips, turning so she’s facing me, her thighs splayed over mine while she grinds her wet heat into me.
“And the other options?” She feathers kisses over my cheeks and plunges her tongue into my ear.
Holy hell. I’ll come in my pants like a pubescent boy if she does that shit again—and that’s a promise, not a threat.