Page 70 of Wanting Wentworth

“Well… these markers are semi-permanent,” he tells me, that smirk of his back in full force. “It’ll take a few days to wash off—I don’t think you’d want your mother or anyone else around here, to see a tattoo, fake or not. That means I’ll have to draw it somewhere you can cover it up.” He tugs on my shirt again. “So, it’s either your shirt or your pants. I can draw it on your ass if you want...” His gaze heats and he gives me that grin again. “Or maybe the inside of your thigh.”

I have a sudden mental image of Went between my legs, head bent low while he skims the tip of his tongue along the inside of my thigh. Fingers wrapped in his hair while he licks and nips his way along the seam of my pussy…

“Shirt.” I give him a jerky nod. “I’ll take off my shirt.”

“Are you sure?” His gaze dips to my mouth again like he’s reading my mind. “Pants are sounding like the better option to me.”

Turning away from him, I aim my gaze across the water in a desperate attempt to keep myself together. “I’m sure.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Maybe next time.”

Before he can say anything else, I wrap my fingers around the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head. Setting it on the dock, I clear my throat. “Bra too?”

For a second he doesn’t say anything. Just sits behind me, his warm breath against my shoulder before he finally answers me. “No.” I feel his large, blunt-tipped fingers slip beneath my bra strap. “This is good enough...” Went pulls it down, letting it hang against my arm before he leans into me and presses a soft kiss against my bare shoulder that has me turning toward him again. “For now.” Lifting his head, he presses another one against the corner of my mouth. “Eyes front, Sunshine—and don’t move until I say so.”

“Okay…” Doing as I’m told, I stare out across the water, clutching my discarded shirt to my chest. “What are you going to draw?” I feel something cool swipe across my shoulder and catch the astringent sting of rubbing alcohol.

“What do you want?”

You.

I want you…

“Surprise me.”

“One surprise, semi-permanent tattoo coming up,” he says on a laugh. “If you hate it, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t hate it…” I want to turn around and look at him so maybe he’ll kiss me again, this time for real, but before I can, I feel something press against my shoulder before sliding across my skin. “Can I ask you a question?” I ask instead. “About something Damien told me.”

The pressure lifts and Went goes still behind me. “I guess… as long as you’re willing to answer mine.”

Giving him a slight nod, I agree to his terms.

The pressure resumes. “Then ask me anything you want.”

“He told me that before you came here, the two of you hadn’t seen or talked to each other for seven years.” When he doesn’t say anything, I give him a prompt. “Well?”

“I’m still waiting for the question,” he tells me, his tone laced with amusement. And relief, like what I asked wasn’t the question he expected.

I give him a frustrated huff while fighting the urge to turn around again. “Is it true?”

“Yes, it’s true.” The blunt pressure against my shoulder stops for a second and I listen to him recap the marker before trading it for a different one. Just when I think I’m going to have to prompt him again, he speaks. “It’s not as weird as it sounds—Damien and I weren’t raised together. We have different mothers.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek and wait for him to elaborate.

“Our father met Damien and Kota’s mom—”

“Kota?” I forget myself and start to turn and the legs I’m sitting in between immediately squeeze. Powerful muscles grip my hips, silently reminding me to be still, the hard pulse of them instantly stiffening my nipples before sending a warm rush down my spine. “Sorry…” I mutter it, embarrassed and turned on in equal measure. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Who’s Kota?”

“Dakota…” He switches pens again, his tone detached, like he’s listening to me and answering my questions from a different room. “Dakota Bravebird—Damien’s twin sister.”

I didn’t know Damien had a sister, let alone a twin sister. “Oh…” Feeling salty about it for some reason, I frown. “He’s never mentioned her.” Saying it out loud makes me realize that there’s not a whole lot that Damien has shared about his personal life. All I really knew before Went showed up was that his mother works in Helena and he spends weekends on the reservation with his grandfather.

“Anyway, our dad met their mom when he was in Helena doing a chef residency at some fancy hotel—”

“What hotel?” I interrupt him again, my curiosity getting the better of me.

For a second he doesn’t answer me and I start to think he doesn’t know. “The Hawthorne,” he finally says, naming the biggest luxury hotel in Helena. “Suzi—Damien’s mom was a sous chef at the time and like I said, our father was doing a residency for the hotel—he traveled around the country, developing regional menus for each hotel and training their staff on how to execute them.”

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