He tried not to blush. He was bravado and brag. Image and expectation. But deep down he was boy. All of nearly 18. Playing a man's game. This woman was into him. He had no clue why. A woman! He had been so caught up in it, it was too late. He was trapped himself.
Because he liked her. Like, really liked her.
Not that he was gonna show that. Duh. Never show your cards. But his heart beat faster as he saw her look at his special sanctuary. And him. The game became real. She was an older woman.
But he had hung from the telecomm tower. It wasn't like fear held him back. Those trees or the drop would ruin his shit much more permanently than she would. The adrenaline drove him
Plus she was fucking hot.
He grinned at her, patting the blanket he'd laid out for them. Not to fuck. Maybe later, if it came to it. He did hope it was in the cards.
No. She had come here to see his true heart. And a bit more.
He'd learned a lot in the last couple years. He wasn't an artist like Leopold. Not even close. But he had learned. He had the equipment. Gun. Ink. Gloves. Alcohol. Paper towels. Plastic wrap. All his stuff was sterile. You couldn't be too careful. His first left an infection that gave him a fever and lasted two weeks. Fucking sucked. Naw. However gorgeous they were, tattoos were open wounds. You don't fuck around with that shit.
But he had two things more. For her. Because he wanted to impress this woman. He was standing at that edge, the vertigo seizing him, and he climbed out onto the overhang.
A bottle of wine. A candle. He lit one and cracked the other. Morons thought alchohol and tattoos didn't go together. Uh, hello?!? Half of all tattoos were done when people were drunk. Sign whatever paper you wanted, it didn't matter
And truth is, he wanted it to be special for her. It was her first time, after all.
The candle cast an ethereal glow on the ceiling and somehow, it just felt more...private. The chipped painted eyes seemed to look down on them and he smiled up, before looking into her eyes.
Nina. She had his number alright. Fuck, but he could get lost. Why did she have this over him? None of the others had.
His half smile stayed put, but his eyebrows rose, awe not hidden. "My god, woman. I might as well paint you on this ceiling." He reached out and took her hand. It was soft and he looked at it, then at her, into her eyes.
He pulled her hand to his heart, let her feel it beat. "Nina..." A finger traced the side of her face to her chin, then neck, lightly feeling her pulse. His other hand squeezed her hand gently. He pulled her close so their faces nearly touched, both breathing the same air.
Dumbass kid. What game was he playing? He didn't know. He just fucking liked her.
After a minute or two- however long it was- his voice was a whisper. "Do you know what you want?"
Because he liked her. Like, really liked her.
Not that he was gonna show that. Duh. Never show your cards. But his heart beat faster as he saw her look at his special sanctuary. And him. The game became real. She was an older woman.
But he had hung from the telecomm tower. It wasn't like fear held him back. Those trees or the drop would ruin his shit much more permanently than she would. The adrenaline drove him
Plus she was fucking hot.
He grinned at her, patting the blanket he'd laid out for them. Not to fuck. Maybe later, if it came to it. He did hope it was in the cards.
No. She had come here to see his true heart. And a bit more.
He'd learned a lot in the last couple years. He wasn't an artist like Leopold. Not even close. But he had learned. He had the equipment. Gun. Ink. Gloves. Alcohol. Paper towels. Plastic wrap. All his stuff was sterile. You couldn't be too careful. His first left an infection that gave him a fever and lasted two weeks. Fucking sucked. Naw. However gorgeous they were, tattoos were open wounds. You don't fuck around with that shit.
But he had two things more. For her. Because he wanted to impress this woman. He was standing at that edge, the vertigo seizing him, and he climbed out onto the overhang.
A bottle of wine. A candle. He lit one and cracked the other. Morons thought alchohol and tattoos didn't go together. Uh, hello?!? Half of all tattoos were done when people were drunk. Sign whatever paper you wanted, it didn't matter
And truth is, he wanted it to be special for her. It was her first time, after all.
The candle cast an ethereal glow on the ceiling and somehow, it just felt more...private. The chipped painted eyes seemed to look down on them and he smiled up, before looking into her eyes.
Nina. She had his number alright. Fuck, but he could get lost. Why did she have this over him? None of the others had.
His half smile stayed put, but his eyebrows rose, awe not hidden. "My god, woman. I might as well paint you on this ceiling." He reached out and took her hand. It was soft and he looked at it, then at her, into her eyes.
He pulled her hand to his heart, let her feel it beat. "Nina..." A finger traced the side of her face to her chin, then neck, lightly feeling her pulse. His other hand squeezed her hand gently. He pulled her close so their faces nearly touched, both breathing the same air.
Dumbass kid. What game was he playing? He didn't know. He just fucking liked her.
After a minute or two- however long it was- his voice was a whisper. "Do you know what you want?"