Alcohol You Later (24)

He growls in that sexy way only the most alpha alphahole can pull off, not missing a beat. “I can smell how bad you want me right now.”

“Mmm,” I moan. “Well, I can feel how badly you want me.” I grab the steel rod stabbing me in the thigh and squeeze. His massive dick pulses in my palm, and a flush of heat shoots right to my pussy.

“Tonight,” he rasps, tracing his tongue along the shell of my ear as he withdraws my hand.

“If you’re lucky,” I tease before ripping myself away and putting some distance between us.

Nick’s answering chuckle is one filled with promise. “I’m fortunate for every minute I get to spend in your esteemed presence, pretty girl.”

Such a scoundrel.

Someone pinch me. I’m about to have Nicholas Potter’s words—his actual handwriting—etched on my skin for the rest of my days.

This feels huge and significant.

And permanent.

“Let’s go pop that cherry,” he says, swatting me on the ass.

Oh, shit. I got so wrapped up in the allure of it all that I forgot to be afraid. But now that we’re heading back there to do the deed, my virgin skin is on pins and needles, my pulse drumming a mile a minute. And my throat is dried up like the desert.

I know it’s an irrational fear, considering I have my nipples pierced, but that was not done without major anxiety and was over in seconds. This is hours of needles steadily stabbing into me, and I am not okay.

“Is it gonna hurt?” I almost consider backing out, but we’re talking about the man of my dreams here. This gift of his is almost as good as a proposal…it could only be made better with a commitment. Getting rid of a tattoo is way harder than dropping a wife. I’ve got to pull myself together.

Go go gadget, lady balls.

“Just a little at first,” he says, giving me a wink. “Don’t be alarmed if you see a little blood.” That last bit is said with the devil blazing in his evil eyes.

“You serious?”

He scoffs. “No, dumbass. You won’t see the blood, it’ll be behind your neck.”

“Who’s up first?” Max asks when Nicholas all but shoves me through the doorway.

“Ladies, always.” With that he ushers me through the door and toward a counter where Max is all prepped for us to write out our tattoos and do whatever he has to do to them to get them transferred onto our skin.

“All right,” Max says rubbing his palms together. “Have a seat in that chair.”

“I think I might pass out.” My words are whispered so only Nick can hear. I’m suddenly hot all over and dizzy.

He tips my chin with his curled index finger, lowering his lips to mine. “We don’t have to do this, Ray.” He brushes the softest kiss over my mouth. “It was just an idea…but if it’s okay with you, I’d still like to get mine.”

Well, now I want to swoon, but for an entirely different reason.

I half laugh, half snort. “And let you show me up, Potter?” I bite his lower lip, giving it a little tug. “Not a chance.”





“Let’s see it!” Korie is too damn cute, bouncing on the toes of her black Converse, anxiously awaiting our reunion as if it’s been months since we last saw one another and not just this morning.

The high of having an entire day dedicated to me and my drummer boy has me floating on air from his dressing room to where I’m headed to join her at our designated spot backstage.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, got a tattoo!”

I cut my hand through the air, waving her comment away like it’s no big deal, as if I’m some total badass and wasn’t seconds away from hightailing it out of there the minute I realized what was about to happen.

Lifting my hair, I spin around so she can have a look. “Don’t peel that clear stuff off,” I instruct just as she prods at the tender flesh. “And don’t touch it! Damn, Kor.”

“Sorry.” Her answering grin says she’s anything but. “I’ll keep you wild,” she reads. “That’s revoltingly sweet, but you have to know his handwriting is godawful.”

Leave it to Korie to be so brutal with her honesty. “Thankssss…” I say, shuddering with unfettered lust, my snarky response lost somewhere in sensation.

“Uhhh…” Korie rests the back of a hand against my forehead. “You okay? You’re like, really flushed.”

Ignoring her, I scour the area in search of the responsible party, locating him easily enough on the stage, getting situated behind his drum kit. Shirtless, black ink covering most of his chest and sweaty abs rippling into a pair of low-slung black jeans, he is the literal depiction of a wet dream—at least every one I’ve ever had.

With a naughty wink, he dangles the little remote that controls the other half of my surprise between two fingers before stuffing it into the waist of his pants.

Yep, the matching tats were just the tip of the iceberg. Every detail of this day was carefully planned to keep me anxiously awaiting the main event. He’ll be lucky if I don’t maul him on that stage before the last note sounds.

Well played, Mr. Potter.

“Oh, gross. Is that what I think it is?” My bestie’s eyes volley between her cousin and me, her face taking on a green hue.