Page 53 of Fighting for You
“Nah. It’s a good kind of pain. Steady, uncomfortable enough to distract you but not painful enough to have any lasting effects,” I reply, trying to make sense of something that’s nonsensical until you try it for yourself. As she reaches my fingers, I thread my hand through hers, stopping her in her tracks. “Have you ever thought of getting one?
She immediately blushes, and I’m reminded how much I love the shade of pink coating her skin. Even more so today after watching it spread from her chest to her face as she lost herself on my cock last night. My fingers itch to try and recreate the exact hue, and once again, I’m shocked by the need to create when I’m around her or thinking about her.
“Umm… maybe.”
I narrow my eyes at her, and she laughs again.Fuck. I wish she’d quit laughing so I could stop whatever is happening to me.
“I do want one. I just… it’s so permanent, and I don’t know how I feel about it. Plus the pain. I won’t lie, I’m scared.” Her nose scrunches as she says the last words like she’s embarrassed to say them out loud.
“What would you get?” I ask as I play with her fingers.
“It’s stupid.”
“Baby, nothing about art is stupid. And no art could look stupid on you. I promise. Now, tell me, please.” I sound like I’m begging. The tone isn’t something I’m used to, but I feel like she could pull it out of me daily without even trying.
“Okay… well,” she starts, rolling onto her back so she isn’t looking at me. Our fingers are still intertwined, delicately sitting on her stomach. Seeing her from this angle reminds me she wore my shirt to bed. I don’t know what it is about seeing her in my clothes, but it does it for me. The evidence pushing against the confines of my boxer briefs.
“My mom died when I was two from pancreatic cancer.” My entire body stiffens at her words. I had no idea. I never asked her or Hayes because it wasn’t my business. “It’s okay,” she reassures me as if I’m the one who needs comforting right now. “Really. It was a long time ago, and I don’t even remember her.”
I know she means for it to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I start playing with her fingers again, letting her know she can keep going.
“I found her sketchbook when I was twelve. I asked Hayes about it, and he told me she was always drawing. She took the sketchbook everywhere she went.”
A weight plants itself on my shoulders as I listen to her. Plenty of people draw or doodle. It shouldn’t catch me by surprise or make me think it’s anything but a coincidence.
“Inside were all sorts of drawings, but in the corners of many of the pages was a little clam with a pearl inside. When I asked Hayes about it, he teared up and said it was for me. Apparently, since Margot means ‘pearl’ in French, she called me her little pearl. I had no idea.”
I watch in helplessness as a tear falls down the side of her face. On instinct, I unthread my hand from hers and reach up to wipe the tear away. She turns her face so my hand is cupping her cheek. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know her, Freckles.”
She nods her head but doesn’t speak. Then she pulls my palm to her lips and plants a kiss in the center. Without another word, I pull away, turning over to open the bedside drawer. “What are you—” she starts as I turn back with a fine tip sharpie in my hand.
“Can I…?” I ask with my hand outstretched for her arm. She places her hand in my hold, and I readjust so I’m lying over her. I need the perfect angle to get the design right.
“Brooks, what’re you doing?”
“I’m giving you your first tattoo.”
She doesn’t say any more as we lie in silence. I let the quiet calm me as I draw a tiny clam shell on the inside of her right arm, in the middle of her bicep. It’s a sharpie, so I can’t do any shading or tiny details, but I try to make it as tattoo-like as possible. I add in a couple of tiny four-point stars around the pearl sitting inside the clam like it’s shimmering.
“I didn’t know you could draw,” she says as she eyes the design.
I huff out a sardonic laugh. “Uh, yeah, it’s something I used to do a lot. I actually want to be a tattoo artist like your brother. Even asked him for a job the other day.”
“You did?” she asks, her voice sounding entirely too optimistic.
“Yeah, didn’t work out though.”
After a few more minutes, I’m happy with the “tattoo” and blow on it to dry it quickly. I watch in rapture as goosebumps break out on her skin where my breath hits.
As I pull away, she tilts her head to look at the little clam now adorning her arm like it was meant to be there all along. Tears prick at her eyes, and I silently beg them not to fall.
“Brooks…” Her voice is breathy, barely audible. “It’s so perfect, thank you.” She turns her gaze to me and gives me zero warning before she’s jumping up and crawling into my lap. She slams her lips onto mine, her tongue immediately seeking access. I try not to shudder as she grinds herself on my now fully erect cock.
Sliding my hands down her back, I grip her ass so I’m holding both cheeks. I squeeze, digging my fingers into her skin and relishing the way her body moves quicker from the contact. She glides her hands up my chest until they’re cupping both sides of my face.
Pulling away, I try to catch my breath. “Damn, woman, you’re insatiable.”
She smirks, letting out a huff of a laugh before placing a kiss on the corner of my lips. “Are you complaining?” she asks but starts kissing all over my face before I can answer.
