Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“I knew we had similar taste, soon as you started glossing me.” Amore rolled back over with a stretch of Saran Wrap and some surgical tape. “And you got my number, girl. You call Amore when you need your ink.”
Nate glanced down at the other planning sketch the two had worked out together, using pictures from Nalla’s phone. It was the grand facade of the Black Dagger Brotherhood mansion, with the fountain centered just in front of the ornate entry and those massive doors. Even though the artwork was just a conceptual, it had everything, the little circles at the roofline representing the gargoyles, the windows all aligned, the three-story wings extending off to the sides.
“You also grew up in that house, Nate?” Amore asked as they laid the clear sheet over their work. “Pretty fucking fancy.”
“No, I was just a visitor.”
“And my family doesn’t live there anymore.” Nalla’s eyes also went to the drawing. “I haven’t been back to that house for years. Too busy with work… and stuff.”
“Adulting sucks,” Amore announced.
“It sure does.” She pinned a smile on her face and picked up the hand mirror again, angling it to see what had been done through the protective barrier as Amore taped things in place. “Boy, that is perfect. And I’m glad it’s on my back. I couldn’t look at it all the time. Too sad.”
“Honey, we’ve all got those parts to us.” Amore patted her arm gently. “And we gotta do what we can to keep ’em. I’ll meet you in front and we can settle up, ’kay?”
“Thanks, Amore.”
“You got it.”
The tattooist gave Nate a nod, and then extended up to their full height on those tall heels. After they left, Nate handed over Nalla’s black bra and turtleneck.
“I’ll go talk with Amore, and let you get dressed,” he said.
It was supposed to be a statement. Like, of course he was going to give her some privacy while she put the top half of her clothes on again. In a semi-private setting. When she had to be sore, not just on her back, but in the muscles she’d tensed up while that high-pitched, vibrating Sharpie had been going in and out of her skin at a hundred miles a second.
Instead… there was a question weaving in and out of his words.
And what do you know, Nalla’s eyes lifted to his own—and yup, there it was. Fire. Pure elemental fire, the kind of thing that made the world disappear as his attention locked on her and her alone. Plus he had the sense that it was the same for her: Sexual need was in the way her lips parted, as if she were remembering what it was like to kiss him, and how she shifted her lower body on the padded worktable… as if she were reliving what it was like for him to be between her thighs.
“You don’t have to go,” she said in a low voice.
“And I didn’t want to.”
With a sinuous movement, she slipped her legs off the edge and sat up, one arm covering her breasts. She’d worn her hair free and loose tonight, but had tucked it down for the work. Now the lengths released again, and under the chandelier, the multi-colored waves gleamed in invitation for him to thread with greedy fingers.
That were going to go a lot of places on her body. In her body.
As she extended her hand to him, he wanted to grab it and yank her to him. Instead, he gave her the bra.
And then watched the show.
With her eyes locked on his, she lowered that arm—and holy fucking shit. Her breasts were tipped with pink nipples that tightened under his gaze, their weights perfectly balanced to her upper body, the image of her naked in front of him searing into his mind.
“Jesus, Nalla…” he breathed.
She took it nice and slow with the bra, threading the cups under everything he couldn’t stop looking at, arching her back as she did the clasp under her shoulder blades—which was an offer if he’d ever seen one. And then she flipped the cotton triangles up and put her arms through the straps one by one, things swaying—and then getting squeezed by the supports, the top halves of her swelling out.
“Help me?” she said as she leaned forward. “I didn’t have it on exactly right.”
Nate licked his lips. And then glanced at the door Amore had put to use. But the tattooist wasn’t stupid. They weren’t coming back in here, even if Nate and Nalla didn’t resurface for an hour.
“My pleasure,” he murmured.
Reaching forward, he ran his fingertips over the top rims of the cups, where the cotton fabric cut into her fine, soft skin. When she moaned, he glanced up at her face. She had let her head fall back, and he liked the way her grip was cutting into the padding of the table.