Page 31 of Then Came You

"Pretty damn priceless," she utters with no hesitancy.

This woman.

This irresistible conundrum, too young for me but I'm losing my mind over her woman.

"What about you? Where are your tatts hiding?" I haven't seen any marked across her flawless canvas of a body, so that must mean they're hidden in places I'm begging to see.

"I have an underboob tattoo that spans from one of my breasts to the other, but more often than not, it's covered from... um... my chest." She avoids mentioning the size of her chest, but it doesn't matter if she mimes the words, my mind is already thinking about them, and so is another part of me.

She pulls a wispy lock of hair behind her ear and peeks up at my reaction. I'm a stunned mullet because my mind is still trying to compute the fuckable image she's created in my head. She clears her throat and continues. "It's a Snow White quote written in script and is entwined with little stars, flowers, and birds. Very whimsical. There hasn't been much to dream about in my life, so it was my way of always having a bit of hope and magic on me."

"I bet it's gorgeous." What I really want to say, I can't voice out loud. Like I have Tourette's, I blurt the other thing that's been plaguing my fantasies.

"Any piercings?" She cocks her eyebrows at me.

"I think you know the answer to that, mister," she says coyly, the thick fringe of her lashes caressing her cheekbones.

Of course, I know that. It has been too long since my greedy fingers played with them.

"What do you have in there at the moment?" My verbal diarrhoea keeps running out of my mouth.

"I have little cupcakes now." Jesus fucking Christ. She's here to lead me in temptation. The fact she wears the same kind of jewellery as my daughter shouldn't turn me on, but it does, and it's all sorts of fucked because the idea of them on Row is the opposite of pure and chaste.

"Thinking of getting any more?" I cough, spluttering.

"When I can afford to, sure." She shrugs, blushing at the question, which can only mean one thing - she wants a naughty piercing.

"Where?" I can't help myself. It's like I need this brand-new information to survive.

She shoots me a mischievous look.

"One that's much, much lower," she whispers, darting her eyes down to my crotch.

"Come home with me?" It's not a question; it's a desperate plea. She bobs her head ever so slightly, a silent affirmation of what's about to happen between us.

Chapter 13

Row

He called me a 'good girl.' Someone, get me a defibrillator because I'm coding at how much I've died and gone to heaven.

I have a secret praise kink, and when Blade said those words, my mind and body went wild.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out my need for attention and affection, given my upbringing.

Tonight, I'm not the girl whose Mum abuses her. I'm not the girl who has a sick sister. I'm not the girl who's lesser than Cindy. I'm not the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks. I'm not the girl who works herself to the bone, barely scraping by pay check to pay check to ensure her sister can survive. And I'm not the almost emaciated version of myself I used to be because there's never anything left over to afford proper food.

I'm just Row, the girl who is taking a chance on a guy who seems too good to be true.

A few minutes later, an Uber arrives.

"Here. I got it," he opens the door for me, and up until this moment, I've only ever seen that move in movies. I slide over, so he can get in after me. The leather is pristine, and it smells like a new car. I feel immediately out of place in my ratty old clothes. As I'm contemplating how to apologise to the driver, Blade leans over and buckles me in. I'm not two, but it makes me feel so safe and protected. It's the kind of gesture that again reminds me of how little affection I've had in my life. It also tells me how caring he must be as a parent.

When the doors close, I'm encased by Blade's tangy aftershave, which acts as a Row-specific aphrodisiac. There's some cultural radio station humming in the background, but I'm hyper-focused on Blade swirling his fingers on the top of my exposed thigh. I have chills, and it's not because the driver has the air-con blasting.

When he touches me, it feels cataclysmic. Life-altering. My heart pounds behind my ribcage, threatening to leap from my cavity, the more his fingers dance on my skin.

I smile flightily over at him, feeling a kaleidoscope of butterflies deep in my core.

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