Page 53 of Painted Scars
“Ten out of five chili pepper rating.” I give it back to him.
“What you’re really saying is you want fifteen out of ten next time?” This man gets me.
At first, he thought I was mad. But, hello, he’s the one filming masked knife TikTok videos. We’re clearly a match made in morally gray heaven!
“You’re my ideal man,” I banter back.
He claps my ass. “I thought you said I wasn’t relationship material.”
“I’m reconsidering,” I say with a teasing grin. “This is your entry test. But you’ve got stiff competition and big expectations to live up to in order to be book boyfriend material.”
“What expectations?” He traces circles on my belly.
“Well, you’ve got the 6 feet 4 height going for you.” I reel off the rest of the book boyfriend list. “Muscled, big dick, dark, and dangerous too.”
“Good to know I fit the bill.” His voice is part laughter, part exasperation.
“But… do you live up to the tattoos and piercings?” I ask.
His fingers claw into my stomach. “Nice try, Glitter Bomb. I’m immune to your reporter charm.”
Damn. So close!
I continue. “And are you a billionaire, made man, biker, member of some secret society, monster or a demon assassin?”
He splutters out a laugh. “You don’t need books anymore if you’ve got me.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll give up my books for a grumpy stalker.” He tickles me for that cheeky reply.
I love the natural ease we have with each other, like we skipped the trust fall and landed in bed instead. The truth hums beneath the surface. He’s guarding something. His face, identity, or past. No matter how good he is with his hands, or how safe I feel in his orbit, I’m not handing over my heart to a man blanketed in secrets without unraveling them first.
“Maybe I should test you then, Glitter Bomb,” he says.
Before I can ask how, he rolls me onto my back, slithers down my body, and brings me to orgasm with his tongue like a man starved. When I come apart for him, shaking, gasping, gloriously satisfied, he crawls back up my body and wraps me in his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin like I belong there.
I feel safe, held, and at home. I don’t want him to leave, but the way his muscles stiffen and his breathing changes, says he’s about to.
I creep my fingers along his swoon-worthy abs, memorizing them like a road map. “Will you stay?”
“I can’t, Glitter Bomb.” It hits harder than it should.
I sense the undercurrent of his restraint. The war inside him. How his words screamNo, but his body whispersPlease. As if he doesn’t trust himself to walk away once this is done. He holds back for my sake. Hurting me hurts him. And it makes me want to kiss him even more.
I remind myself that he’s here for now, not forever, and can’t help but swallow the sting in my throat. It’s best for both our sakes that this is just for fun. A fling. An escape, nothing more. I’ll make it fun while it lasts.
I groan. “You lose a point on the book boyfriend scale.”
He slips out of bed, his warmth fading just as quickly. The rustle of clothing and zip of his pants betrays his retreat.
“Don’t even think about taking off that blindfold until I’m out that window, Glitter Bomb.” His voice is gruff, back to business and heavy armor.
I sink under my sheets and pull the comforter over my head. “Can’t you at least leave me with something to dream about?”
The swish of bedding masks the lacing of his boots. The last thing I hear is the window creaking open and closed. Then he’s gone, and I’m alone again.
The space he filled lingers, achy and haunting.
I don’t remove the blindfold. Not yet. I can’t when his scent clings to my sheets, his touch smolders on my skin, and his words echo in my head.
