Page 38 of Inferno

I scan the page, but I’m not reading the words, I keep gazing over at him as he studies it.

His sharp, chiseled jaw. The ink that runs up his neck.

What the hell am I doing here?

The waiter returns with the bottle and pops it open, pouring us each a glass.

I take a sip and the bubbles dance on my tongue. It’s creamy. Delicious. My first taste of it, actually.

“Mmmm.”

“That’s one of the sounds I’d like to hear,” he tells me with a mischievous tone.

Hiding my face behind the menu, I decide on the steak salad.

“I make you nervous.” His voice is low.

It’s a statement, not a question.

I look down at my leg bouncing.

“I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

Excited. Relaxed. I don’t know. I’ve not felt like this before.

We order our food and slip back into chatting. About everything and nothing.

I’ve learned he loves fixing cars. Whiskey. His favorite color is black.

He wants a dog.

He loves chocolate. Or anything sweet.

As I finish up my last glass of champagne, I’m all giggly. He slides me a napkin and pen; he must have got that on his way back from the bathroom.

“You owe me one tattoo design, heartbreaker.”

His eyes focus on my ink.

“Yours are pretty.” He nods at them.

If only he knew what they represented.

“Thank you. I can’t help but keep adding to it.” I hiccup as I speak.

“You do your own ink?”

“Taught myself. Although, I’ve always enjoyed drawing. But you can see as it goes up the arm, they get better.”

I hold out my arm to show him.

As his fingers wrap around my wrist, my heart beats so rapidly, and my pussy also has a heartbeat.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, looking directly into my eyes.

How many times can this man make me blush?

As our meal arrives, I study him, trying to get some sort of inspiration for his ink.

---