Page 74 of Dean

He pulls the covers back and his body disappears beneath them.

I look at him, the way he stares up at the ceiling, his fingers clutching the sheets.

“Can I cuddle?” I ask, not sure if I’m pushing boundaries right now. I know we just fucked, but this is intimate. And I’m technically still his employee.

His head turns and our eyes meet. “Yeah.”

His arm moves out and I shuffle closer, bridging that gap, rubbing my face against his chest, my fingers tracing across the colorful art on his chest. I want to know the story behind each one. I’ve always wanted to ask but never had the opportunity. But now I do.

It’s something to talk about. And it’s better than asking him why he didn’t have sex for ten years. Good god. That poor man.

Did he just get off with his hand for all that time?

I want to know, and yet I know I can’t ask. He looked almost embarrassed. He can tell me when he’s ready, if he’s ever willing to.

I wiggle closer and notice something in his bed, just near the headboard.

“Dean, why is there a soup spoon in your bed?”

His cheeks flush.

“Sometimes my back gets itchy. Can’t reach certain parts.”

My eyebrows rise. “Well, you have me now. You don’t need this damn thing.”

I snatch it and toss it onto the ground, and it clatters noisily.

Dean huffs in response, and I grin at him.

“Now that I have you naked, can I ask you about your tattoos?”

His arm shifts beneath me, and I feel his fingers trail across the base of my spine.

“Sure. If you want to know.”

My thumb brushes against the one near his left pec, right where my cheek is resting. A dove. Black and white, carrying an olive branch.

“What’s this one?”

“Just something to remind me to always mend fences. Things were hard with Elaine’s parents when she died. The cancer took her pretty quickly. It all happened so fast. And they were distraught and wanted to hold on to Ben for as long as they could. They fought me every step of the way, and yet I knew why they did it. I understood, and I always tried to extend the olive branch…until they passed away.”

“Oh god,” I say, my throat scratchy from his admission. “Are all of them sad? I may end up crying if they are.”

He huffs a laugh. “No. Not all. Many were just me being a young asshole. You just started with the most poignant one.”

“Ah. I see. Well then, show me an asshole one. I want to know the story behind it.”

His hand moves down his chest to his abdomen, a small barbed wire with writing on it is etched into his skin.

“What does it say?”

“Just some stupid song lyrics I thought were deep when I was twenty. Was gonna cover it up, but decided against it. It’s a part of my journey, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any tattoos? I think no but then again, you’re full of surprises.”

“No tattoos. I want some, but they’re expensive.”

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