Nash (Marked Men #4)(45)

“One bargain I had to make with him in order to apprentice was no more shitty tattoo work. Phil wouldn’t tolerate it if I was going to represent him and his shop. He told me I had to agree to let him and only him tattoo me until the apprenticeship was up. I agreed and he started the back part of the dragon that day. Of course as we went along he let Rule get his licks in on my skin as he got better, but pretty much only Phil got to pound on me with a needle for years. This was the result. He said I needed something strong, something that reminded me that people always had my back and would protect me from those that wanted to hurt me. He knew I had a rough time with my mom, so he was trying to make me feel less alone.”

My voice trailed off as her hands moved up my chest, across my collarbone, and to my head.

Her voice was quiet when she asked, “Why up here?”

“I was never going to be a cubicle kind of guy or a kindergarten teacher. I wanted something that really solidified the idea that I was doing my own thing and that my mom’s approval or lack thereof wasn’t something I needed to work on getting anymore. When you tattoo your head, or your face, even your neck and hands, it makes a statement. It clearly defines that this is a choice not a fashion accessory. I was pretty used to getting looked down on, getting torn up at home, so having strangers and the general public gape at my ink never bothered me. Plus it’s a great conversation starter. I get asked everywhere I go about it, so I just hand them a business card and tell them to swing by the shop. I can’t count how many new clients it’s gotten me. If I grow my hair out you can’t even tell it’s there, which is why the fire the dragon is breathing goes over my shoulders as well.”

“It’s amazing. Really beautiful.”

I turned around and put my arms around her. She was on her knees on the bed, so we were almost on the same level. I kissed her stunned mouth. She tasted like sex and mystery.

“So are you.”

She didn’t say anything and I saw her flush. She never said anything when I told her how attractive she was. Most chicks ate it up with a spoon, tried to play coy, but Saint just ignored it like I never spoke. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. I wasn’t trying to flatter her, to lure her to bed. I was just telling her the truth.

I brushed my thumb over the owl tattoo she had on her collarbone. She had another one on her hip where her underwear normally covered it, a small cross, and on her back right between her shoulder blades was a traditional Catholic saint depicted in all its detailed grandeur.

“These are all well done, and I can guess they have a lot of personal meaning behind them. I can always tell.”

She lifted an eyebrow and put her arms around my neck as I leaned over and took her back to the bed with me stretched out on top of her.

“How can you tell?”

“They’re in places no one can see but you. They aren’t flash designs off the wall, and even though they are all pretty tiny they have a lot of detail.” A tiny smile flirted with her mouth. “The owl is for wisdom, I bet; the saint, your name?”

She shook her head, and the way we pressed against each other I could feel her body start to soften and melt into the pressure of my much bigger frame. I liked the way my dark skin contrasted so vividly against her much paler skin tone.

“Saint Agnes, patron saint of nurses. My sister is Faith, so that’s the cross, and the owl …” She ran her finger over the tip of my nose. “You got it. They don’t have anything on the stuff you’ve got, but I’ve always been happy with them.”

I worked a hand between the two of us and started to untie the knot at her waist. The lights were still on, so I wasn’t sure how far she was going to let me go before getting shy on me again. Hell, I was counting my blessings she hadn’t kicked me out the front door after the first ten minutes were up.

“Body art isn’t a contest. The only person that has to like it is the person stuck with it for the rest of their life. As long as you love it when you see it, that’s all that matters.”

I rubbed my thumb over the cross when her robe slid open.

“I had a girl artist do it. She was nice and made me feel really comfortable. You are the only other person who has ever seen it.”

I was kissing her on the side of the neck, drawing a lazy pattern on her hip with the tips of my fingers, but her words made me still. She told me I was the only guy to ever get her off, but I didn’t really think about that translating into the fact that she hadn’t been with very many men. It made the world tilt back on that parallel axis again. I loved the idea of being the only guy who got to see her special markings, the only guy who got to make her feel special and good in a way only great sex could.

“Thank you. That matters, Saint, I hope you know that.”

I ran my tongue along her collarbone and down the center of her chest. I was surprised she hadn’t asked me to stop or at least hit the lights. But she was rolling with it and I had another condom somewhere in my wallet, so why not see how far she would let me go? She was so soft and lush, not at all stick-figure skinny but a handful of curves and warm flesh. She did indeed have a very light dusting of freckles that crossed the top of both br**sts and I wasn’t surprised at all when I pulled her turgid nipple into my mouth that she tasted like velvet and candy on my tongue. I rolled one and then the other pink tip across my tongue, leaving them both shiny and pointy while her eyes had gotten darker and heavy-lidded.