"Every time?"
"Every few weeks."
"I have to slow down." I stare back into her gorgeous green eyes. "I'm running out of skin."
She drags her fingers over my forearm, presses her palm against all the bare skin. "You have plenty." She drags her fingers over my stomach. Plays with the hem of my t-shirt. "And here."
"And there." I soak in her touch as her fingers skim my bare skin.
"You've always wanted to do tattoos. As long as I've known you."
"Yeah."
"What is it about them you love?"
"Everything."
"But specifically." She traces the ink over my hip all the way to the waistband of my jeans. "You... you practically left your family over them."
Yeah, I did. I was a little shit, but then it was the only way. I was never going to be good enough for my parents. "It feels right."
"That's it?"
"What else is there?" I watch her trace the outlines of my skin. Watch her eyes travel over my body. Watch her lips purse with a sigh.
She wants me.
I want her.
We're both in a fucking bed.
I should pull back. I should at least get vertical.
But I don't.
"When I'm working on someone's ink, I'm a part of something. I'm leaving a mark in the world. On their skin. That's forever. I get to help people channel all that shit in their guts onto their skin. There are a million reasons why people get ink. To look cool. To celebrate. To mourn. Being a part of that... it's fucking amazing."
She nods. "I wish I had that kind of passion."
"You do, Kay. The way you get when you're writing—" I nod to her purple notebook. "It's still your turn."
She lets out a soft groan. "Do I have to?"
"No. You could disappoint me."
"That's such a dad thing to say."
How about I bend you over my knee and spank you? Would that be daddy enough for you? "I'm not going to push you."
She nods as she climbs up the bed and presses her back against her pillow.
She pries open the notebook. Flips through the pages. Her eyes get dreamy. Like she's lost in her own world.
She turns the page. "Okay. This one. It's short."
"Perfect for my attention span," I offer.
Her laugh is nervous. "Maybe." Her eyes bore into mine. "Promise you won't make fun of it."