Page 65 of Dr. Bad Boy

I can still feel his name all over me.

We showered together and Max washed off all those amazing drawings. His names, however, only faded. Permanent marker, he said. Should wear off by the end of the week.

When I got home last night, I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom and traced the letters in his name across my belly.

Max.

What an unexpected thing this weekend had been.

And now reality demands our return.

I think about him non-stop on Monday. When I get home, I strip naked and stretch out on my bed.

I look at the photos on my phone, and send him one. The dragon’s eye. It’s beautiful.

V: Thank you for an incredible weekend.

M: Thank you for the photo. And being my canvas.

V: Anytime.

M: This coming weekend?

V: Absolutely.

M: My place, Friday night. Plan to stay the weekend.

V: I’ll have to leave Sunday at noon.

He doesn’t reply right away. Then…

M: Send me another photo.

V: What’s the magic word?

M: Now.

I giggle. Then I send him the dahlia. You can see the bottom curve of my breast in it. I stroke that spot as I watch the file upload, then the little delivered check mark appear. I grow wet between my legs as I imagine him opening it, seeing that curve of flesh. The hint of beard burn right above the topmost petal.

V: I’ve been looking at them since I came home.

V: They’re hot.

I send those as two separate messages. Dots appear at the bottom of the screen, then stop. Then they start again.

M: Have you been touching yourself?

V: Just my breast…so far.

M: Can I call you?

Instead, I call him. He answers on the first ring. “Violet.”

His voice is a rough rub against the composed persona I carried around all day, and I close my eyes and lean into the warmth of his words.

“Tell me what you want to do, kitten.”

I drift my fingers across my abdomen, featherlight. “I’m thinking about your name on my skin. That’s really, really hot.”

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