Page 101 of Ablaze

“Ooh!” My sister-in-law gleams. “Fancy. What movie are we watching?”

I giggle, thinking about my conversation–or argument, rather–with Malcolm the other day when I told him what movie we’d be watching. “Ghost with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore.”

The number of times Malcolm repeated, “Oh, hell nah!” has my smile stretching uncontrollably. God, I missed him and our movie madness nights. I missed the entire group.

Samantha snorts. “Oh, I’m sure Malcolm and Rohan are going to love that.”

I laugh, finally putting the large vase on the counter. “You know, half the reason I pick the movie is so I can watch them as they watch it. The torture on their faces is pure gold.”

She laughs with me, turning back toward the double doors. “God, you’re evil, but I love you for it.” She winks over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to tend to your flowers in peace.”

I whisper my thanks to her before turning around to inspect my bouquet.

A confused smile plays on my lips when I regard it closely. Not a single flower looks like another. There’s a yellow rose, a stem of a blue hydrangea, a blush-colored dahlia, a carnation, a tulip, a stargazer lily, and more I don’t know the names of.

I pluck out the little note stuck inside it. It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be.

I didn’t know what your favorite flower was, so I got you one of each kind.

P.S. Since you refuse to get that tattoo we talked about, I got the garments inside the bag personalized. I suppose I’ll settle for seeing you in those.

I huff out a laugh, not understanding what the heck he’s talking about, before reaching for the gift bag. I take out the tissue paper and pull out one of the seven, very silky and very expensive-looking, panties.

Holding it in front of me, I throw back my head and laugh after I read his name and declaration on the backs of each one, and remember the conversation I had with him last week after he gave me not one, but eight orgasms in the span of a few hours.

After the last one, he placed his head on my lower back while I laid on my stomach with my head turned to the side, resting on the backs of my hands. Dean made little circles at the base of my spine with the tip of his finger that elicited little shivers from me now and again.

“You should get a tattoo,” he murmured, as if he was helping me decide on an outfit to wear, like, ‘You should wear this purple dress.’

I snorted. “You’re right. It’s exactly what’s been missing from my life all these years.”

He bit my bare ass gently and I squirmed, giggling. “But seriously, you should,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. And what, pray tell, should I get a tattoo of?” I bit my bottom lip, closing my eyes and taking in the moment. It was one of many moments I’d enjoyed with him over the course of the past couple of months. And each moment contributed to my colossal, earth-shattering love for him.

“Right here.” He made a circle on the center of each of my ass cheeks and my stomach clenched. Only he was capable of bringing about a full-body tremble with just the slightest of touches. “You should get the words, ‘Property of Dean Emerson Meyer’ written on each one of these cheeks.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, pretending to consider his preposterous idea. I swallowed an oncoming laugh, knowing I was about to piss him off. Preparing myself for his flared nostrils and caveman chest-thumping. Not like the idea of inking myself with his name and ownership wasn’t caveman enough. “That seems reasonable enough, except . . .”

He tensed. “Except?”

“Except, what will I tell all the other boyfriends that come after you?”

Before I could even prepare for his reaction, I was turned around with Dean hovering over me. How he’d crawled up my body and had his flared nostrils and clenched jaw in my face so fast, I’ll never know. His heavy erection settled between my legs, and I relished under his solid weight.

“Just for that, I’m going to need you to tattoo your forehead, too.”

I giggled, but then my smile washed off as I laid there, looking from his clear blue eyes, framed by those dark lashes and thick eyebrows, to his plush pink lips. “Is it not enough that you’re tattooed on my soul? It’s been yours from the moment we met.”

He shook his head. “Soul, heart, mind, skin. I want it all.”

I lifted to brush my lips to his before I felt him nudge my entrance open with the pierced tip of his erection. “You have it all.”

* * *

I drag my nose through Sage’s warm head, his dark and soft curls tickling my skin. He takes a deep inhale, settling further into my arms, and I watch his little eyelids flutter. His lips twitch in his sleep, and I almost wonder if he’s about to smile.

He’s a hot sleeper. I can see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but apparently, this is just a normal thing for him. No matter how low the A/C is running, the boy sweats like he’s running a marathon in his dreams.

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