Thirty-five and Single

“What about the arrow?”

It points to my vagina. Damn Ella.

“I can fix that too,” he says.

“Now?”

“Do you trust me?”

I nod vigorously because I trust him with everything, including my heart.

He stands and goes behind a door as I wait with my pants around my ankles.

“Can I get ink?” I ask, suddenly remembering I’m pregnant.

“It’s not advisable. I have brand new needles I could use, but I won’t put our child at risk. That’s why I have this.”

He holds up paintbrushes.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

Joel is an artist. His apartment should be a gallery. He’s talented and sees beauty in ordinary things, making works of art that are museum worthy. He draws, paints, and even sculpts. But his passion lies in drawing with pencil and ink.

He helps me step out of my pants and urges me toward a chair lit by another lamp.

“You said you trusted me.”

I silently agree and sit down. He tilts the chair back until I’m flat. He brings out a palette of colors. While getting his tools ready, he explains what he’s about to do.

“There are a lot of people nervous about getting inked. I started offering a service of testing out a design in full color, not with henna but body paint.”

“How much do you charge for that?”

“Around the same amount as a real tattoo, as it takes about the same time. It isn’t for everyone, but I’m getting more and more clients wanting to do it.”

His breath fans over the lace that covers my center, and I squirm.

“You’re going to have to keep still if you want me to show you exactly how I can fix this after our baby is born.”

I swallow and admit to my desires. “I want—”

He licks his lips as if understanding my unfinished statement. “I want it too. And I will.”

I let out an impatient groan and his eyes darken.

“You aren’t making this easy.” He easily breaks the thin strap on my thong, which does nothing to keep me still. His hand moves to my center where I’m so fucking wet and slips a finger inside of me.

“Is this what you need?”

I can’t think and incoherent words leave my mouth. It doesn’t take long. I’ve been close since I revealed Ella’s joke of a tattoo. When he presses the heel of his palm on my nub, I explode. And when I come down, I’m boneless as I ride out the last of the waves.

He goes back to work and I wonder how I thought him too young for me. He’s always been so considerate of my needs, like this. Like everything he’s done for me over the last year, including watching me date other people.

I think about how I could have lost him, and without knowing how much time has passed, I blink open my eyes in panic.

“I’m done,” he says.

He angles a mirror, and I see he’s turned the old tattoo into a heart. The dreaded sperm bank words are gone, and the arrow pierces it. A new word is inked in black, and immediately I get its meaning. It’s almost empowering, because it signifies that I own my sexuality and can make my own decisions.

“Mine,” he declares, and the ink takes on a new meaning. “You are mine.” He points to the juncture between my legs. “This is mine.” He touches my chest where my heart is. “This is mine.” His finger drops to my belly. “He or she is ours.”

I feel the emotion welling up in me.

“Are we agreed? No more dates—no other guys—just you and me.”

“Agreed.”

He leans down and kisses me hard. But he isn’t done. When he pulls back, his eyes aren’t playful. He reaches for the hem of his shirt to help me out of it. Then he gives me a show taking off his clothes, all of which end up in a pile somewhere on the floor.

Though the chair is off to the side and hidden partially by a half-wall, it’s possible we could be seen. Someone would have to press their face to the glass to see us. Then again, with it so dark, clouds having muted the moonlight, they still might not be able to see us. But, the thought of being caught turns up my need and I make a grab for him.

I don’t have time to think before he’s kissing me, covering my body with his. His cock is at my opening and I roll my hips, wanting him inside.

“I need you to understand something.”

“What?” I ask, anxious for him to get to it.

“I’m in love with you, Olivia Cole,” he announces.

Before I can respond, he drives home and all the air in my lungs is gone.

There’s something primal in the way he takes me. It’s hard and fast and furious, like he can’t control himself. I’m lost to the rocketing explosions that tingle every nerve ending. His powerful thrusts and probing fingers bring me to a peak faster than I’ve ever experienced before.